tohrunkimi15

My life is a fairytale:                               I'm the fairytale misfit. While Rapunzel grew her hair, while the Prince awaited her, I was the poor horse Prince Charming rode. beneath royalty, less than charming While Cinderella attended the magic ball, while her Prince saved her glass slipper, I was the poor pumpkin, beautiful for a night, then reversed, rotting While Jasmine groomed her pampered tiger, while Aladdin wished his dreams to Reality, I was the poor magic carpe

"Justice is the firm and continuous desire to render to everyone that which is his due." - Emperor Justinian I It is ten minutes to five o'clock in the afternoon. You hesitate as you watch the dust-covered analog clock mounted on the wall pass the time by without incident, save for its incessant ticking. The rainstorm outside continues its relentless downpour, but you ignore it as you proceed to shut the windows and close the blinds. Only the muted sound of thunder disturbs the supernatural silence now established in your study. He had given you one hour; one hour to examine your life, to prepare your case, and to choose the words that wo

hold on. hold onto what? hold onto me, hold me, when nothing else matters because my arms are open 24/7 25/7 actually, even that extra hour on the longest day of the year because that's how special you are (to me?  i guess.  but i never know if i guess correctly or not) "wait, did you say something important/poetic/meaningless?" what. "hold on a second, i'm busy." well, i've never held onto a second; time always slip through my fragile fingertips.  never held onto an hour either.  or an our.  a your?  fuck you pronouns.  just hold onto something (i'm a thi

where's the border, between reassurance and deception? does hiding raw emotion constitute an excuse for lies, or is it simply the lack of empathy, that compels one to hide the truth? even when emotion peeks through a tiny pinhole into the real world; who really notices, who really cares? would the sadness dissipate, if the truth were more widely known? would the tears be any less real if they were seen? would the laughs be any more sincere if they were noticed? would life be any more worth living, if those with naïveté were a bit more versed in the art of perception?

her emotions are concealed, obstructed by the barrier she puts up for the world to see. cause if they can't see the strain in her eyes they won't know what she carries on her shoulders. her friends no longer inquire, since the only response, was a constant denial of pain. and she weaves secrets like a spider weaves silk (but spiders don't get caught in their own webs.) her echoing heart says to let a door open so that maybe the agony won't crush quite so much. but she's scared to let the light in, cause she knows it'll cut through the darkness. her universe consists of affliction and attempting to cause it to cease.

i once said, listen up, because here's the way it's going to work: there will be milky ways and mountains and clouds dancing with rain, the sun won't quite look the same, and the moon won't seem so dull. i once said, come closer, because there's something that you need to know: at night we'll breathe against each other, move with each other, and our delirious melodies will wake the waves and shake the stars. i once said, stay here, don't go, never ever leave me: but here i am now, eating my words from a silver platter.