In her eyes she sees the world staring at her. Judging her to a point of high level insecurity. She sees others act so differently and compares herself and feels she acts with immaturity. She looks at how other people dresses. And her mind confesses change so she excesses the attire and stresses that her breasts do not look good in this dress. Shes in distress. Because men are giving her no other choice. She wants them to see that she not only has breasts but she also has a voice. She doesn’t want you to stare at her body but look into her eyes. she doesn’t want you to care on what she wears but care whats on her mind. But if you dare to stare compliments would be suffice. But not anything provocative but a simple, “you look nice”. And when she said nothing is wrong, don’t feed into her lies. She’d rather have you lift her chin up, ask her whats wrong, as you look into her eyes…
As I show up, I know I don’t want to be here. Here playing for that coach. But basketball is my passion. And to just play one last year is all i can hope. It’s the first day and im going all out. I pull up for a shot, come back down, ankles go out. Yea both ankles. What the hell am i supposed to do now? laying on the floor, in agonizing pain. as the hardwood becomes moist from the sweat this body cannot contain. But i suck it up and behind these lids the tears remain. I show up the next day crutched up. Sitting on the sidelines with my emotions all bunched up. Thinking this is tryouts and I have possibly gone and fucked up. That all my waiting and practicing has gone down the drain. That next year telling people why im not on the team will be so hard to explain. Because the days i have to sit on the side and not work on my game but be detained and have no one to blame but myself.
when you leave your three year old brother in your room with your mac.
literally me on the computer
aw so cute!!
OHMYGOODNESS AAH TOOOO CUTE
(via h-i-l-a-r-i-o-u-s)
