paradox

broken record machine

the jarring words,

darken her soul,

shred her heart.

as each second slept away,

breathing become a task, 

a strenuous burden

the moment, a tragic memory,

still kept fresh in the depths of her mind

keeps playing

over and over and over

in her head

like a broken record machine.

I sympathise with the engine,

because i too,

am a broken machine

who can’t be fixed.

christopherpoindexter:

The Universe and Her, and I poem #125 written by Christopher Poindexter

I wonder,

about words 

how they tear open a silence 

& cause a surge of air; 

to hit my lips with great force. 

I wonder if I could be silent 

If that would change my essence 

if I captured my words today, &

imprisoned them on paper 

Would they mean as much? 

would simple ink hold weight? 

or do words need sound 

to become complete?

would I wither away with my words 

if the pronunciation simply was not? 

Could I expect you to breathe them 

into existence; thereby creating me? 

a new existence with every word spoken

procrastinating & art & ranting & ib

I’m an IB student and I procrastinate like its my damn job.

If you know anything about the IB program, you know that I’m, well, screwed.

I’ve lost count on the number of assignments that I have pending. But the worst thing is, I’m a HL Visual Art student who has no idea where she is going with the subject. I just have 8 moths left for my IB examinations and I haven’t even figured out what my theme could be. 

Life couldn’t get any better

:)

tylerknott:

Typewriter Series #548 by Tyler Knott Gregson

As a little girl, I believed that my mom was my best friend, the one person I could lean on, the one person who understands me, and the one person who would stay by my side no matter what.

But as I grow older, these feelings change. With each day passing by, I feel further distant from her. I know “It’s just a phase. You’re a teenager, this is supposed to happen” 

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

With constant coldness & harsh words for even the littlest things that I do wrong, I feel so sad. I’m afraid to talk to her, or even be myself when she’s around, afraid she’ll judge me.

The worst part in all of this is that, if it were a friend, it wouldn’t matter. For me, family is world. So having my own mother so disappointed in me feels like having knives pass through my heart. 

To get things clear - no, I don’t do drugs, or smoke, or even drink. Nor do I go off partying each time I have a chance. I don’t even swear or back answer my mom, ever. 

But the things that are wrong with me are that I’m so lazy, so useless. I spend more time on the internet wasting than I should. My grades are below average and I don’t know where I’m going with my life, I don’t know if I even have any talents. I know I’m not the ideal child each mom wants, not smart enough, not pretty enough, not wise enough. But still, I just wished she loved me, just a little, for who I am.

As I go further with writing this, I realise, that its not only my mom, I’m disappointed in me too. How can I expect someone else to love me when I can’t love myself? I mean, she has every right to be upset with me. I’ve not done anything great, not achieved anything. I’m good for nothing. 

This passage, rant, or whatever I’m writing, was supposed to be about something very different than what it turned out to be, but that the thing about me; everything that I’m upset about, or everything that goes wrong, relates (somehow or the other) to my self disappointment and how I’m such a failure in life. My mom must feel truly disgusted with the sort of thing she’s given birth to. No wonder the harsh behaviour. Sorry Mumma…

Words. I believe, that words can conquer the world. The magic & power that they hold, is unmeasurable. Just put them together right, and they can do anything. make you, or break you.

I love words. I love how you can play with them. Mould them into metaphors or puns or create imagery, and design something beautiful. The words are my puzzle pieces, I untangle the secrets the carry, getting lost in the maze. My ultimate haven. 

I envy those who have who can hypnotise you with their words. 

I wonder, the words in our dictionary are all the same, so what power do some have, to create something more magical then others?  

“Words are, of course, the most powerful drug used by mankind.” 
― Rudyard Kipling