when they don’t know what is going to happen, that a flash is coming. But I am not the person making these photos, they are. They are my art, and they mould my brain until I can’t handle living in my own skin, because I don’t think that I deserve to have such beautiful friends, and that I don’t deserve to absorb all of this, and I hate living in my own skin sometimes but they ease my pain and this is what makes me so fucking cliché. I am just a girl, a tall girl, a tall shy girl who lets people in and pushes people away, for whatever reasons: but mostly, that they are too good, and I am not good enough, and maybe sometimes I am ashamed of it or my actions, and I realize things, and a short haired drunk girl in a plaid dress can explain to me, after a certain amount of group hugs &cheek kisses, “you put up with a lot of stuff and I respect you for that.” &it’s true, and in the words of Zoë trope, “I have a lot of love to give and for this reason I will always be alone.” I believe her, because her voice is cutting into me And maybe it’s true, but as much as I feel alone sometimes, it’s next to impossible to let it last for very long, and I don’t have a lot reasons for it either.
Reply
Leave a comment