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“i know a boy, this boy is me”

~ 🥀

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work and work and work but why? ivy leagues don’t take kids who get depressed, who cross their fingers when they check their grades, who can’t come in until halfway through the solo. they take the kids who fight in spite of what is right for those extra points. they take kids who put in the hundred and ten and come out with a hundred twenty. they take the kids who can tongue triplet eighth note rhythms at a tempo of a hundred twenty six beats per minute. but honestly what the point of going to a name brand school. it’ll look good on my resume but not on my grave when i die of stress in my early twenties, the three letters engraved into the stone read RIP no matter your GPA. and what’s all this about making your family proud? how can i do that when my own pride is closeted and concealed, so deeply repressed i don’t know how it feels. and all of these things are things i can’t reveal. i just want to steal away, i want to live under a rock that isn’t a tombstone, no longer forced to walk the walk that others have talked on my behalf. 

not peer pressure

you told me you smoked

so now i cough my lungs out everyday thinking maybe you’ll fall for me

you told me you didn’t watch sitcoms

so now i don’t laugh thinking maybe you’ll fall for me

you told me you liked jazz

so now i only tickle the ivories with the works of Art Tatum thinking maybe you’ll fall for me

you told me you liked him

h l e p

today

someone wrote faggot on my folder again

and i realized that i wont lose weight bc the only thing i can think about is the comfort of food. hungry all the time. i feel hunger pangs on a full stomach but at the same time, it keeps me together. also i haven’t created anything in a while

found this in a sofa cushion in my depress journal???

so i’ll just lay here in bed / compile my regrets / hope for the best / (hope for a text) / all i really want’s to see you / but to you i am just see through

late night neighborhood introspections

at the bench of contemplation waterfalls, my condemnation bitter night my symphony music plays, no listening drums and beats and song and sing red fish blue fish one, two things at the bench of contemplation golf courses are consolation i’ll pass on green eggs and ham i’ll stay on purp gram by graham i’ll skrrt and i’ll spit and slam i’ll stay shooting straight dunks slam at the bench of contemplation no more time for deliberation surgically stich a suture prolly how i’ll spend my future L shaped fingers im a loser high school stereotyped drug user at the bench of contemplation cut the cake, no celebration wasting time on wasting time wasting time on song and rhyme wasting time waiting in line wasting time being just fine at the bench of contemplation at the bench, no conversation

i need someone who wants to stay through the parts that aren’t pretty

(via razor-andblades)