wanna chat with a hot, young, single gal?
well too bad. because the hunger games are all that matter right now.
Me and Mom out to lunch. When I was growing up, people told me she was “the prettiest girl in the barrio.” I think she still is! (Taken with instagram)
today’s agenda.
what is life and why is it so ridiculous and am i dead?
Taking a mental health day and skipping class. Off to Venice Beach with the Hunger Games and my cigarettes. (instead of my dreams and a cardigan.) (Taken with instagram)
sometimes you feel on the precipice of something great. before someone even loves you, you imagine marrying him and having his children and hyphenating your last name to have a long, ornate, loopy, signature.
sometimes, you can already tell something is wrong but you hold it closer so that it still feels good.
sometimes, when you reach the point where you have to jump, you fall. it is a long way down.
sometimes, you feel as if no one wants to invest in you—like no one in your life has, does, or will ever love you enough to stay. (to keep.)
those times, you will be wrong. because you have. you have loved yourself enough to live.
sometimes, when you reach the point where you have to jump, you fall. and you face the climb. it is pain and sweat and agony, excitement and elation, fear and hopelessness, burning and burning. and then one day, you are there again. you have to try again. to jump again.
sometimes, something that you wanted to be good, and beautiful, full of love and significance… just isn’t, and it hurts.
but it is significant in ways you didn’t expect. and that is ok. maybe better.
(Source: bohemeextreme, via yearoftherebellion)
so FUCKING over (rich white) people throwin up gang signs like it’s cute because they have never been affected by ACTUAL gang culture.
like, why would you even take this picture? to be all, OH IN CASE YOU GUYS DIDN’T KNOW, I’M A FUCKING IDIOT, BUT DON’T WORRY CUZ I’M IGNORANT ABOUT MY IGNORANCE TOO AND I LIVE IN A HAPPY IGNORANT BUBBLE WHERE MY ACTIONS HAVE NO HISTORICAL CONTEXT OR FUTURE CONSEQUENCES BECAUSE WHAT’S THE REAL WORLD?!
(via nikkotine)
i am the kind of girl who turns into a monster when she is hungry. and often times, i can’t recognize hunger as the cause. my stomach doesn’t hurt. my brain doesn’t tell me i’m hungry. i just feel cold, mean, and empty. it’s only once i eat and feel better that i realize i was feeling shitty in the first place.
the first time we fucked, we were in my mother’s house and my twin bed squeaked. i felt excited about him in a way that i hadn’t felt for anything in a very long time. the actual fucking was painful and uncomfortable, but when i asked him to kiss me, i said, “it’s never felt this good before.” it was true in some ways, but it became truer in others.
when i was a little girl, i received pink barbie rollerskates for a birthday—i don’t remember which. my friends encouraged me to wear them around the block, but i convinced myself that they were too special to get scuffed up on city sidewalks. i would save them for my next trip to the roller-rink. but i didn’t get to the roller-rink for months, and i was a kid with a fast-growing body. in saving them for a special occasion, i outgrew my pink barbie rollerskates, and never got the chance to wear them. correction. i never took the chance to wear them.
i am the kind of girl who comes from a broken home. i have written pages and pages of navel-gazing questions of home. i try to build homes out of human beings—i really do. i hold people close and follow with dog-like obedience. once i find an avenue that feels good, i never stray. but that isn’t enough nourishment—why would such a smart girl be so nearsighted? putting all those eggs in that basket of his…
when i (think) i am in love, i want long, lazy days where we eat, sleep, breathe nothing but each other. we were sprawled on his bed and i wore nothing but the pink in my cheeks. i breathed deeply and observed his naked body. i thought to myself that such a thing should never be covered. but when i kissed his face, he sighed and got up to get dressed. he covered his flesh and it was like a light went off. (or were we illuminated?) he sighed again and said, “we can’t stay in bed all day.” and i pulled the sheets over myself, embarrassed because i knew it was true.
i can’t stay in bed all day. i can’t create homes out of people. i can’t keep doing the same thing and think it best or sustainable. i can’t build happiness in one person—i should know that the best structures need safe, large, strong, foundations.
these are all difficult things for me to admit. i can find heartbreak in all the ways i’ve been impractical, but the past is past. and i am hungry now, and i’ve got my pink barbie rollerskates and all these eggs and all these baskets…
is unfollowing each other on all social media, deleting all cookies and clearing your history so that the internet stops reminding you of them. history deletion takes forever and feels symbolic, but then you think, this computer is just ancient. have you ever tried to clean an actual slate?
in conclusion, i’m a terrible tweeter but you should be twitter friends with me so that i feel less like an unsociable loser with a big ass and more like a semi-sociable bitch with a big ass. i don’t know if i really get twitter, though. responding is a lot of pressure, so i usually just favorite things. that’s ok, right?
your love’s as sweet as candy.
i’ll be forever yours.
love always,
MANDY
