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ftwraw · 12 days
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“why are you tired? you haven’t done anything all day” the simple fact that i exist drains me. hope this helps
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ftwraw · 26 days
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ftwraw · 3 months
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Do you ever feel like you’re losing your grip on reality?
Like if you let your guard down, you’ll just.. slip away?
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ftwraw · 3 months
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Why do I always feel alone? I have family and I have friends but I’ve never once felt as if I have someone by me. I grew up too soon and now I’ve fallen behind literally and emotionally. I’m trapped in a cycle I can’t see the end of. I spent years chasing happiness through venues that only provide sadness. The drugs and alcohol I abused only lead me deeper into madness. Im lost in a struggle of tolerance, my thoughts are all fighting for dominance. I always think they fake there compliments. When I die I’ll fade into the populace.
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ftwraw · 3 months
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Just ignore me, everyone else always has.
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ftwraw · 3 months
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ftwraw · 3 months
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sometimes you need to learn to be quiet even when you have a lot to say.
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ftwraw · 3 months
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ftwraw · 3 months
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Having to live a future you didn’t think you’d be alive for is so fucking hard
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ftwraw · 3 months
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“Millions of people have decided not to be sensitive. They have grown thick skins around themselves just to avoid being hurt by anybody. But it is at great cost. Nobody can hurt them, but nobody can make them happy either.”
— Unknown
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ftwraw · 3 months
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ftwraw · 3 months
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ftwraw · 3 months
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ftwraw · 3 months
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anyone else start getting shaky when someone gets into an interest of yours or is that just me
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ftwraw · 3 months
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“If you break someone and they still wish you the best, you’ve lost the greatest thing for you”
— Unknown
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ftwraw · 3 months
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“There are two reasons why people don’t talk about things; either it doesn’t mean anything to them, or it means everything.”
— Unknown
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ftwraw · 3 months
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“My creative writing professor told me to stop writing about love. I asked him why and he said, “Because you have turned it over and over in your hands, felt every angle, every fault, every inch, every bruise. You have ruined it for yourself.” I spent the next 3 weeks writing about science and space. Stars exploding. Getting sucked into a black hole. How much I wished I could sleep inside of that nothingness without being annihilated. What an exploding star would taste like. If it would make our stomachs glow like fireflies, or tingle and shake like pop rocks under our tongue. My creative writing professor told me that those poems weren’t what he was looking for. He tells me to stop writing about outer space. Stop writing about science. Again, I ask him why. Again, he says, “You have ruined it for yourself.” I spend the next three weeks writing about my mother, how we are told we can’t make homes inside of other human beings, but the foreclosure sign on my mother’s empty womb tells me that women who give birth know a different, more painful truth. My creative writing professor tells me I am both talented and hopeless, that everything I write is both visceral and empty, a walking circus with no animals inside but a beautiful trapeze artist with a broken hip selling popcorn in the entrance-way. He tells me to stop writing about my mother. I don’t ask why. I pick up my books and my notepad and I leave his office with my war stories tucked under my tongue like an exploding star, like the taste of the last person I ever loved, like my mother’s baby thermometer, and I do not look back. We are all writing about our mothers, our lovers, the empty space that we will never be able to breathe in. We are all carrying stones in our pockets and tossing them back and forth in our hands, trying to explain the heaviness and we will never stop writing about love, about black holes, about how quiet it must have been inside the chaos of my mother’s belly, inside the chaos of his arms, inside the chaos of the spaces in every poem I have ever written. None of this is ruined. Do not listen to them when they tell you that it is.”
— Caitlyn Siehl, “My Creative Writing Professor Told Me to Stop Writing About Love” (via alonesomes)
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