full moon

magical

tenho medo de ele não gostar do que vê. porque eu não gosto do que eu vejo. eu sei o que é não gostar do que se vê quando olha-se para mim. tenho medo de que, assim que eu mostrar como realmente meu corpo é, sem ângulos e vestes, ele sentir o que eu sinto quando olho para o espelho.

i wish he loved me that much

hoje, provavelmente, eu fiz a coisa mais burra, sem sentido e dolorosa da minha vida.

“playing russian roulette with death.  but when do i draw the line? when the knife hits the skin, isn’t it the same thing as dying? because i’m so obsessed with death.  some people just have more guts than others. the funny thing is boys like me don’t shoot. i swallow pills, still wanting to be beautiful at the morgue, still hoping that the mortician finds me sexy and attractive, i might as well be buried with my shoes and handbags and scarves. i flirt with death everytime i etch a new tally mark into my skin, i know how to split my wrists to reveal a battlefield too. 'i only know how to exist when i am wanted’ boys like me are hardly ever wanted you know, we’re used up, and sad, and drunk and perpetually waiting by the phone for someone to pick up and tell us that we did good."

addapted from somewhere

can you realize how little i ask for? and even then, it seems like it's too much for me to have.

notoutsiderr reblogged

serious.tumblr.com

internet isn’t real life

Source: weheartit.com

i wanted someone to tell me i'm pretty, to tell my body is beautiful, i'm attractive or something that makes me believe i'm not as horrible as i know i am.

it's wonderful to know that you're happy, it means a lot to me. but i'm not. and i haven't been for a long time.

i've always dreamed to be desired, wanted. unfortunately this is what i'll never be.

i became insecure and desperate

please don’t judge me entirely for my appearance, for more gross that it looks. let me show you at least a good part of who i am. and sorry to ask, it’s just that i need a person to tell me i’m not as bad as i look

you don't have to tell me what is wrong with me, i know what it is. and for the ones who care, you don't have to lie.

i'll never accept my body if it gonna stay the way it is.

i'm so weak

i wish i could be wanted. desired. i wish someone would look at me and tell how beautiful i am.

i'm that good friend that's always there, but no one cares about when it comes to a romantic relationship

there's no particular moment when i realized i'm ugly. it was gradual. years pass by and nobody called me beautiful, pretty or cute.

everyone is so much better than me

i need someone to talk to, someone that doesn't know me

please tell me i'm beautiful