"I like my hair messy. My love wild. And my sex aggressive. But I’m still a sensitive woman, just with passion."

Sade Harrison (via jaymahribee)

Good Vibes HERE

(via kushandwizdom)

i’m on the edge right now and i don’t know what to do. i’m so done.

it was my birthday yesterday—april 12th. It was great and really fun. i spent my birthday performing at world of dance and watching famous people walk past me. but there was something missing to it. i got a lot of love from my close friends, but i don’t feel the true celebration. i appreciate all the love, i do, but what happened to gifts and shit? at least one gift-from-the-heart present. my mom asks me what i want for my birthday and i always say idk. but what i really want is for her to surprise me. i mean for the past 10-17 years of my fucking life, i haven’t gotten a decent physical present. i don’t want money, i’m tired of being taken out to dinner; people are using food as a substitute as fucking gift. i want something sentimental to hold and cherish. am i the only one that feels this way about birthdays? idc what it is, i just want someone to actually think of me whilst buying or making something out of affection. my birthday this year was pretty great, but it was disconnected and there was no sentimentality. 

sleepless nights prove to be expensive
the mulberry bags beneath my eyes capture
the thoughts that cycle through my head
when i lay down after a long, 
long, long day of responsibilities.
when i wake up, those thoughts—
they’re still there, bruising the rim of
my sight and mind—
the price of being a drowsed teenage 

the moments when i sit down and think about who i am makes me realize how much i hate myself. those moments are the most honest, in my opinion. i have a persona whenever i hang out with others, and sometimes id love to become who i am whenever i’m surrounded by people/friends. but it doesn’t work that way. tonight, in particular, i’m contemplating about how looks matter so much in the start of a relationship. everybody is beautiful, yes that’s true, but those who are labeled pretty tend to be few. insecurity isn’t something you can just get rid of and replace. i honestly think its a mental disorder. this kind of thing is always on my mind. its sickening and i’m tired of it. sigh. i’m just so tired of life right now, it’s leaving me speechless.

these poems have made a mess out of me
i rip the stars out of my eyes and
sketch them onto a piece of paper—
just to get some sort of release.
ink splatter adorn my walls from years
of beating myself up and constant 
bursts of emotions
its all evident on the walls, 
some might even call it art.

i don’t know where i’m going in life. i’m feeling a bit clueless today. its two hours before tmjrs practice and i laid in bed for three hours not knowing what to do and if its even worth it to try. senior year is really black and white; when some good happens, everything is incredibly euphoric—its the best, really. but when something bad happens, everything is chaotic and falling apart. god i’m so tired. i’m just so tired. i need to live more. i understand that i’m 17 and i’m about to enter college and adulthood, but that does not necessarily limit me from living my life the way i want to. still though, i’m tired. I’m tired as hell.

i practice self-hatred in
the form of helter-skelter religion—

i believe in purging the traits
that i don’t like about myself,
compliments, honest opinions,
and binging on things like
new shoes and a pretty face—
or even a chance to skinny the
graveyard wreckage i call my body.

to even begin liking myself often 
feels sinful and wrong and 
but I guess that’s what i deserve
for believing that a person like me
could remotely be more than 
just an arrangement of atoms and

i feel like complete shit at the moment. constantly, i’m being reminded that i’m not good enough in anything i do—there’s always something or someone telling me what i can improve on or what i can do better in. it’s annoying, it really is. i’m sick of being brushed to the side because i’m not good enough. i’m not a piece of paper you can crumple and shoot into a trashcan, i’m not a mere person you can ignore.