What comes from boredom and old poems.
Good Girl. The Story of Elisa Castaneda and the boy who Never Really Loved her, Anyways.
Let’s see how much more clichè my life could possibly get. I don’t see much room for expansion.
Elisa
Playing a game called my face is crooked forever
Maybe I’ll feel crappy enough later to make another, longer, more meaningful text post. But for now, the day has been exceptionally decent.
Feeling alright today. Needed photographic proof that happiness, though often fleeting for me, is a possibility.
It occurs to me that I’ve really broken the only men who showed me sweetness. I don’t know what to say about it…only that it’s a trend that exists. Starting with J**** and then M***** and most recently with Him. It’s undeniable. By it was never for nothing. As petty as it may sound, it was always reactionary. Either as a precaution to keep myself from getting hurt or as an act of revenge. I’m not as bad as these fuckers made me seem…maybe only half.
Another practice in remembering I’m a human, still. In spite and because of it al, I still exist and I’m still alive. It surprises even me sometimes.
I’m a piece of shit and want you to tell me I’m worth anything at all
I could really use someone to love
atinyfeline 