If you ever wanted to peek into the head of that chick that daydreams all day, here's your chance :3 Why am I called SpiderWriter? I weave webs of words for my friends to get caught in.
Chinye: 16, Female, GSMST, GA, USA
-Search "poetry" for my stuff
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"ughh I only have 200 followers" no. you have 200 people. 200 people who get up in the morning. 200 people who walk outside and experience life. 200 people who could walk with their head down just to avoid eye contact. 200 people who could dance in the rain and gaze up at the stars. so feel blessed for every single follower you have, because that 200, is not just a number. each one is a living breathing person who enjoys the things you do. remember that.
I hope when you die you get to see your stats like how many times you laughed or told a lie or kissed or how many people loved you and how many people hated you and what you meant to people
My cousin has two deaf parents and just posted
“You don’t know the struggle until you run out of toilet paper and everyone in your house is deaf.”
and i’m laughing reALLY HARD
There are three-hundred and sixty-five days in a year,
but I only have two.
I’m whimpering before I even wake up. I am Germany in World War II. I ruthlessly wake to ruin someone else’s day; just so mine doesn’t seem as heinous. I refuse to take responsibility, I pity only myself. I try to find poetry in my misery, but I am not that kind of girl. I forget that he once loved me, that it ended because he loved me, not because he didn’t. I forget that I am my brother’s favorite person. I pick fights with people in traffic because I’d rather hurt someone who I don’t have to face in the morning. I scream at my father because I know he will forgive me. I sleep because if I neglect my problems they will be gone by the morning. I fail to remember Germany had to pay one-hundred and twenty billion dollars to its victorious enemies. I will face my own aftermath tomorrow.
The boy I slept with last night is still there when I wake up. I call my brother to ask if he saw the game last night, we end up saying “I love you” too many times. I drop by my parents just to say hello, and to say I’ll be there for Christmas. I take my time driving home, I smile at everyone, even if they don’t see me. I’m Paris at peace. My cigarette break was longer than usual, I got home before it was dark. I sat by myself at the table and drank red wine from the liquor store. It turns out you don’t need to be fucked to feel something. I pray before I go to bed; I thank God for reminding me why I have bad days. I appreciate just how little has to happen to identify a day as a good one. I’m making treaties with myself.
When the world seems like a waste,
I remember ice cream on cold days
And silly dances in front of strangers,
Old pop songs on bus rides,
The sharing of snacks like the breaking of bread,
I think of long awaited hugs
And welcoming hellos;
I think of things like these
That are unique,
Things like these to break the monotony
That borders on insanity.
I remember the hellos
But I’ve lost count of the goodbyes