It’s funny that there is a difference between what women think men like and what men actually like, yet we don’t distinguish that.
This is from what someone (a man) just told me on how he found me wearing baggy jeans extremely sexy, but I always thought guys prefer women wearing tight jeans/ clothes. Same with make-up. Every single relationship I’ve been in, men have said they prefer me without make-up yet I still wear it thinking I need to, but for who? Who am I trying to impress? Its like a part of me is refusing to believe them. It’s like women refuse to believe men in these certain circumstances.
We make men expect us to look/be a certain way because we make them used to it, even though it wasn’t what they asked for in the first place.
He said ‘I feel blue without Blue, but when I’m with Blue, I don’t feel blue at all’.
His eyes watered as did mine and he headed for the door. I turned and heard it close. I knew then, I would never remember the sound of a door closing as I did with that one, again.
I really cant take this. I want to shatter the day and rely on sleeps medication. Four walls, a bed, a window, a swollen soul. I feel I’m guided in an unguided direction. No artefacts, just illusion. No scriptures, just scribbles. I’m destined to be dying, and I’m dying to meet my destiny, yet punctured and wounded at the thought of thinking.
I just want reality to take a break. I want to leave my body to then turn around and talk to me from another persons view, but in keeping my mind. I want to communicate with myself and ask so many questions that I have never allowed myself to answer before.
I fucking hate life, although I’d admit it is beautiful.
I know I’m not making sense, I just wish I was. :/
Creating a line just to cross it,
Seeing how far my conscience will go
Falling in love to dive out from it,
Just because my heart said so
Making things just to break them,
As possessions are hidden addictions
Realising I can have it all then nothing at all,
As life itself has no restrictions
Yet another discussion has occurred under the topic of the female beauty and more accurately, the female being aware of their beauty only to acknowledge this and still make negative claims about their appearance for a third parties corrected approval.
A common example of this is uploading a self photo to Facebook as a profile picture, yet writing a negative comment about how they appear to themselves in it such as “My face look so fat and ugly like a Humpty Dumpty egg”, knowing this isn’t the case as that specific photo would never have been chosen under the attractions of the self holders eye to then be published on the world wide internet.
No matter what side you argue for on this case, it can not be denied that females tend to have a tendency to purposely lower ones self esteem just gain approval on their established looks as being rewarded with the attentive affection they have longed for, “Don’t be silly, you are beautiful.” This pretense attitude is undoubtedly a depiction of ones lack of honesty and often shows a cunning plan in being fairly un-honest to gain a certain approval which is usually both unnecessary and unreturned.
None the less it doesn’t matter what scale of beauty society scales these girls under, they all just want to be identified and accepted as positive objects of arousal whether that be provocative or just the simple observed facial beauty.
The winds are beneath me in its excess to change. Such a lack of moderation in activity makes me scout for more. I study the dirt on your lower clothing and wonder if you dragged your selfless body through the mud. Dazed and confused you down another glass while I decide to watch it all from a birds eye view.
My mind is swarmed by the lack of presence of this sharpened cold fresh air. I need to feel the cold to know I am living, warm and also breathing. Where is it?
I see nothing upon my walk but white vultures and crows and beyond that one tree with stairs thats leads me up then back down.
Settled here I just think. All I can do here is think. The mind is too troubled to think of the troubles I am in. The crow is smiling while I am crying, and I realise this is where my first dynamic chapter begins. So I keep on walk bare feet with cracks sunken in so deep. I keep walking round this beautifully disruptive space of just dried dirt and grey skies waiting for any sign to notice and hold.
Then it hits me, I notice it. A bright white square light shinning in the distance with such intensity that it almost burns my eyes. I walk towards with no hesitation. If I am to die now at least I will die looking at such beauty.
My bare feet bring me closer, closer enough to make me realise I have a memory, I recognise this light, I have been in it before.
The square box is a window and looking in I can see a bedroom that I know all about. The is champagne in milk bottles, while under the bed is organised row of chocolate that have lived there for years.
i remember being in this room. I would secretly cry every at night every night so decided to tattoo a white tear on my cheek so people would notice.
Here in this tiny room I would always call for love but just hear the draft which is why I need to feel the coldness of the air at all times.
On the windowsill my drugs lay openly displayed for my personal lust and seduction.
I look up to a decorations of condoms hanging from the ceiling, I then understand why the vultures are here and turn to them to watch them fly off followed by the crows.
I feel the cold fresh air, it has come back for me. Because of this feel the warmth. I am alive and this is all I live for.
I shall title this ‘Two Box Eyes Over Outer Box Face Over Outer Box Body’
The mind feels uncertain while my body lay restless.
That sickly feeling stays obscure on my stomach lining.
Interacting with people right now will only feel like a bleak loss of experience with a merely exhausting composure. Life must be put on hold.
Yes the element of time still continues, but every tick shall be ignored. I simply must hide away for a while. I must gain the energy to smile again, for these grey clouds wont leave until I do.
I hide my face behind the similarities of my parents.
I grew up at a young age resembling my mother,somehow strangely resulting in having intertwined personalities… and now sitting here in front of my cracked mirror, I see myself resembling my father. This may or may not be a co incidence in the comments made by my mother not so long ago about me gaining his characteristics recently.
I find this truly striking as I have not seen him in an extremely long time. Maybe this is the reason I feel I have been drifting away from myself and into the body of a complete stranger.
I believe that roses should be in only one colour. The colour of black. Black because although each combined petal carries such a beautiful structure, significant to the eye, almost like a folding sculpture which you aim to touch, the stabbing thorns below keep us aware that beauty is only so much of the flower itself; the other is danger and darkness and pain as the pure drops of blood gently flow down your finger onto the palm of your hand as you silently wish that mistake was never made.