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red nail polish

i seen this couple and she had red nails. not gel or acrylic they were natural. not really long either just a little grown out. like mine. i have the same shade of red nail polish that sits on the shelf at the foot of my bed, and ive been thinking of painting them for a couple days. ultimately, i dont, because my nails never grow out so well and i enjoy the way they look bare when they do. but i seen this couple and she had red nails. and it was just clips of their hands put together with soft background music. and their fingers intertwined and held each other like they were having a conversation. i thought, maybe i will paint my nails after all. i do this whenever i see a girl in love. i want to look like them. i have an epiphany in that moment that my nails should be painted, or that my hair should be brown, or longer, or shorter, or that i should wear more pants or more tube tops or more cardigans. that i should let my hair air dry, that i should spend an hour carefully curling each piece, that i should trim my bangs, that i should grow them out. that i should be shorter, actually, and skinnier. that i should love the weight im at because, look at that girl in love! we have the same body! that my hoodies should be more oversized, that they should be in my size. i act like dying my hair, that cutting my hair, that painting my nails, changing my style, buying a specific pair of sneakers no one really cares about because they’re just some Walmart brand, will give me the experiences of love. that if my nails are red they too will have been held like hers, or if my hair is brown it’ll have been tucked behind my ear by him like hers. i suppose its a desperate attempt to be closer to what i see. to mimic what i cant seem to grasp despite it being all around me. that if my nails are red my hands will suddenly hold memories of being held by someone i don’t even know the face of. by someone that doesn’t exist in my life. that i’ll be able to lie to myself, to others, put out energy that believes i am not alone romantically. that im held when i need to be and know the touch of someone that wants to touch me just to know im still beside them, that im real. that if my nails are red it will send out a signal to the person im praying for that i am right here. i know im not very tall but please stop looking over my head when you’re staring in my direction. i act like this shift, this change in my appearance will magically bring love to me, like im trying to figure out the steps on how to draw it towards me. how to attract it. they could do it, it worked for them. why wouldn’t it work for me? 

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#fairycore

“You really should take better care of your scalp, you have a lot of dandruff”

No, that is literally my fairy dust god

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like i’m sorry but is this not the most romantic thing ever it’s not even in romantic context in ruth but its just so 💘💘💕💖💕💕🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

where you die, i will die, and there i will be buried. the Lord do so to me, and more, if anything but death parts us.

ruth 1:17

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where you die, i will die, and there i will be buried. the Lord do so to me, and more, if anything but death parts us.

ruth 1:17

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I got an old camcorder on ebay and it had a bunch of bear pictures and some videos already on it, here are some of my favorites

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chiekuma0602 on Instagram

https://www.instagram.com/chiekuma0602/

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Grand Lotus Sokka and Chief Katara.

My take on the older water siblings, the prides and joys of the Southern Water Tribe.

Commission info

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i think the thing i love most about Being A Writer isn’t even when i write something i love or get past some really bad writers block after months; it’s reading other peoples writing. i love the way i see magical little stories unfold or how poems fit together like a little puzzle. peaking into somebodies brain is typically so hard, but not when they write. you can try your hardest to not be vulnerable and naked when you write, but you can’t. it’s coming from somewhere, there is always a deeper meaning even if it’s hidden in plain sight. granted, you know what you have to look for, but that doesn’t make it any more difficult. it’s always something that the writer relates to personally, whether it’s a dream they have or a fear or a sadness. when you read someone’s writing it’s like cracking their skull open and peaking around, and when they bring their writing to you to read it’s like they’ve cupped their hands around a bit of their soul and handed it to you.

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am i doomed to fall so easily forever and ever and ever and ever and

i know my ankles are weak but come on.

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People I met for a few moments that live in my head forever.

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i wish my entire life had been different i wish i grew up somewhere that isn’t canada or even in north america i wish i had different struggles or had brown eyes or went to school in japan i wish i had friends in person i wish i wasn’t so lonely while also being so loved by everyone.

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I’m at home among the trees

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