I am more than just this body,
just this skin.
Yet people look at me
and can’t see within.
They don’t care about me
or what I have to say.
They just want to use me,
then toss me far away.
I have known this since
I was about five:
That women are useless
and only good for a night.
Our mouths should
Our faces made up.
They’re only listening
when we’re being fucked.
But I am sick of being
Of living and breathing
and even sleeping in stress.
I don’t want to be
just a sock on your door.
I know I am worth more
than being your whore.
So wake the hell up and
I am much more
than simply soft skin.
Swallowing, she accepts the call and hits the speaker button while simultaneously pausing her fourth-in-a-row rerun episode of Project Runway.
“Hey,” she says into the room and the mic of her phone.
“Hey,” Yoongi’s voice comes through the speaker, his deep voice slightly muffled from the terrible phone service she gets. “How are you doing?”
She clears her throat and answers, “Well, I just ate three packets of Annie’s gummy bunnies for dinner, so that probably answers your question.”
“That bad, huh?” he asks. She’s silent, and she hears him sigh over the increasing crackle of a poor-quality phone call. “Mina, I wish you’d talk to me.”
Her laugh comes out strangled and she looks up at the ceiling of her apartment. “I just… I feel like I’ve said everything I can say. At least without repeating myself, you know?”
“I know you – repeating–”
“–Yoongi, I’m sorry, I can’t hear shit again, you know my service is so bad. Text me?”
“No, I hate – about stuff like thi – coming over, okay?”
He either ends the call before she can answer or it drops altogether and Mina lets out an ugh. She contemplates a quick shower before he gets to her place–she’ll have time. She knows for certain he’ll pick up food first, unsatisfied with her sugar-and-gelatin dinner. Her hair is just in need of a wash, and while her face was clean and dewy with what felt like a thirty-step skincare routine, she knew her dark circles were more purpled than usual and her skin-tone was looking a bit on the sallow side.
“What the hell,” John grumbles angrily, flipping through the school paper in frustration. His article has been bumped, again, replaced with something whoever this A. Ham kid has written. He huffs through his nose, annoyed. The pages crinkle a little as he lets his tension out through his fists, and he wants to ball up the entire paper and then jump on it, but he doesn’t want to cause a scene in the middle of the hallway.
That article was good, damnit. He worked hard on it. Angelica promised him that it’d get in, and yet again he’s been passed up. John wants to punch that A. Ham kid in the face, whoever the fuck they are.
He puts in extra effort over the next week, finding the most interesting and topical subject he can and editing and polishing until it’s perfect. He pesters Angelica until she all but promises him in blood that it’ll get in, and grins in smug satisfaction when he reads his article, which he knows off by heart at this point, in the paper the next week.
A. Ham isn’t anywhere in the paper. John checked. Twice.
He’s smiling over a particular turn of phrase that he’s really proud of when he’s jolted out of it by someone yelling from the other end of the hallway.
“Hey!” an angry looking short boy with very nearly ink black hair tied up in a ribbon of all things is waving his arms and stomping down the hallway, eyes on John, headed towards him like a missile.
“Uh,” John says, stumped. “Do I know you?”
“You’re J. Laurens right?” the guy snaps. His nostrils are flared. John’s reminded of his baby sister seconds before she throws a temper tantrum and hastily moves his bag in front of his crotch, lest this kid decides to knee him in the nuts.
“Yes,” he confirms slowly, warily.
“I’m A. Ham,” the kid says firmly, holding out his hand. “Alexander,” and John finds himself nearly getting his arm pulled out of his socket with the force of the handshake.
“John,” he provides faintly. “But most people call me Jack.”
“Don’t ever call me Alex,” Alexander warns, and John quickly lets go of his hand. This guy is intense, what the fuck. His eyes are like deep dark wells, endless, and John feels a bit entranced.
“Anyway,” Alexander continues like he didn’t just implicitly threaten John, “I wanted to talk to you about your article. Although I enjoyed reading it, I don’t think my piece deserved to get tossed and replaced by yours.”
John bristles, offended. “Excuse me, my pieces have been getting bumped for weeks because of you,” he hisses.
Alexander narrows his eyes. “Maybe that’s because my pieces are better than yours,” and all of John’s patience flies out of the window.
“What the fuck, dude, you don’t get to decide that. My work is good, it was a staple of the paper until you turned up and ruined everything. It’s not my fault that your work this week was subpar and mine was superior.”
Alexander’s mouth drops open. “You’ve not even read the article I wrote for this week! No one has! Because it’s not in the paper!”
“You’ve not read my articles for all the weeks you were in the paper and I wasn’t either!” John retorts. “Who gives you the right to say yours is better than mine?”
“Fine,” Alexander says through gritted teeth. “We’ll ask Angelica.”
Angelica takes one look at them and starts shaking her head. “No, no, I am not doing this, you can take your pissing contest somewhere else.”
“Angie,” John tries, “Just settle this one thing between us and then we’ll be out of your hair, I swear. Just… Who’s writing is better, mine or his?”
Angelica pinches the bridge of her nose. “I am not doing this. Both of you are brilliant. If I had my way you’d both be in the paper, but we don’t have enough room for two political commentaries every week. People would find it too depressing to read!”
“But-” Alexander starts, but Angelica holds up her hand to halt him. “No, I’m done with this, I have actual work to do. See you boys around,” and with that she’s gone.
John crosses his arms. Damn her for being so reasonable.
“What does she mean there’s not enough room for two political commentaries? The whole paper would be political commentary if I had my way. Who cares if people think it’s depressing, the press is there to inform and present the world. They can’t just bury their heads in the sand and pretend it’s not happening. This is the political climate we’ll be going into when we graduate, we need to know as much about it as possible!” Alexander rants, and John finds himself nodding.
“People are dumb,” he says, and Alexander nods his head vehemently in agreement.
“Oh well,” he says, “I guess we’ll just have to write our own paper, huh?”
John blinks at him. “What?”
“You in? We could go half and half. That way we’d both be in the paper and we’d get to write as much as we want about whatever we want.”
John stares at him, at his big earnest eyes, and then smiles slowly. “I’m in,” he holds his hand out for Alexander to shake.
“Hey!” he yelps, when Alexander nearly pulls his shoulder from his socket, for the second time. “I need that arm to write with!”
“You mean you’re not ambidextrous?” Alexander tilts his head, smirking. “I guess I am better than you, after all.”
There will be no pivot. There never was going to be.
There will be no becoming presidential. There never was going to be.
There will be no humility. No decorum. No sense of justice or empathy. There never was going to be.
We are far past the time for excuses, for anyone.
In one of the most surreal and depressing presidential press conferences ever, Mr. Trump said what most people dreaded but already knew. His blatant false equivalence between Nazis and those who oppose them that he said on Saturday, that’s how he really feels - times a thousand.
With any other president this would be unbelievable. But with Mr. Trump it is all too believable. It is clear that he doesn’t consider himself to be the President of the United States of America - no matter what his official job title says. Down where he lives he is the president of his base, which includes a lot of bigots and even Nazis and members of the Klan. Not everyone who voted for him is in this category, not nearly. But they make up a large majority of his personal base. And thankfully for all of us, this is a distinct (but frightening) minority of our nation. The vast majority of Americans are decent people of conscience. And I believe in the end this vast majority will prevail.
The question is whether those who defend the President, or seeks to normalize him or change the subject, will be seen as worse than enablers. Will they be viewed by history as sympathizers to the worst instincts of American hatred?
(This is now my third
request since your last post sorry lol) but maybe one where your best friends
are Conor and Jack and your going through a bad breakup and they help you
through it (basing it off of This is My Version?? HONESTLY MY FAVE SONG EVER)
Also you’re such an amazing writer ❤️❤️
I know this is a
little different from my usual writing style but somehow it made sense for this
particular imagine. I tried a few different things but this was the only one that seemed to work. Also this was something very personal to write, so if it seems a bit off, I’m sorry. I hope you guys like it anyway. Let me know what you think, if you even notice the difference and if you like it better.
Word Count: 2150
They said time
healed all wounds. You believed it. But that time had not come for you yet. So,
you sat waiting. You waited for time to heal. It seemed time had other plans
Four months had
part of you had accepted it. But of course, the naïve little girl who grew up
on Disney tales and stories of happily ever after still had hope. I mean all of
them had happy endings, didn’t they?
Sat on Conor’s
bed, with your laptop perched on your legs, your eyes remained glued to the
screen. Conor had probably assumed you were doing work, seeing as you hadn’t
spoken in a while, your focus mainly on the bright screen before you.
wouldn’t flow anymore. Even they had reached its end, you thought. Ben’s old
shirt hung loosely on shoulders, the fabric coming to rest mid-thigh. Even
though the shirt had become yours a long time ago, everything about it reminded
you of him, even more so after the break-up.
Conor got up
from his position at his desk, moving to the bed. He sat by the side, facing
you, one hand resting on your knee. As he sat down, his eyes automatically
found its way to the screen. A sigh escaped his lips as he saw the pictures on
your screen. “I should’ve guessed shouldn’t I?”
You didn’t meet
his eyes. You couldn’t. An empty gaping hole was left somewhere in you. Maybe
you were pushing the blame around, but you attributed the lack of you, to the situation you were in. Had
things not turned out the way you had hoped, everything would have remained the
same. Same was good, right?
A tear slipped
out of the corner of your eye. Conor’s pulled your laptop away, closing it
shut, and placed it on the other side of the bed. His hands reached up to cup
your face, gently running his thumb under your chin.
“I know it
still hurts love, but you can’t stay in the past. You gotta live in the
present”, he spoke.
responded, “Easier said, yeah?”
party tonight. One of Joe and Caspar’s friends I think. We’ve all met a while
ago and everyone’s invited”, he tried to tempt you.
break-up, you were never one to turn down a chance to party. It wasn’t that you
got wasted at every party, you just knew how to have some fun. Besides, the
occasional drunkenness was always allowed.
Baby steps? I can’t watch you wallow in self-pity and lead yourself to
depression”, he pressed on. “Really though, you’re not gonna end up in a good
place if this continues. And I do not want to see you like that.”
A smile crept
onto your face. “I could do with it I guess.”
cheered. “That’s my girl! Party’s around 8.” A satisfied smile was plastered on
eyes, you head to your room across the hall. It was almost 5pm, which left you
with more than enough time to get ready, but you knew the difficult part would
be finding an outfit.
that everyone was invited. You had to look good seeing as you could bump into
anyone at the party. And your friends would definitely point all fingers to
your broken heart if you didn’t show up at your best.
8pm had come
and gone. Out of the three boys you lived with, one had still yet to appear.
You were sat on the sofa with Jack and Josh, waiting for the diva to finish
getting ready. At long last he emerged, not appearing to aware that he had made
the lot of you late.
“Sure the party
hasn’t ended yet?” Josh joked.
You got into
your Uber, mocking Conor on your way. The party was in full swing when you
arrived. No surprise considering how late you were. You were not too bothered
if truth be told. It was always more fun being late than the first one to a
The night went
great. You got to spend some time with a couple of your friends, having cut
yourself off a little bit for a while. This was what you needed. The energy
level was definitely getting to you. You were having way too much fun, but you
let yourself have it.
After a while
of dancing, your feet started to ache, but there was this newfound energy and
excitement in you. You hadn’t the slightest intention in retreating from the
makeshift dancefloor. Most of the friends you were dancing with had left the
dancefloor, leaving you with someone you considered to be more of a mutual. She
beckoned you over, since there was previously a considerable number of people
between you. You shimmied your way over through the mass of sweaty bodies. Some
even grinding on you as you passed them.
You bumped into
a couple that was in the middle of a make out session. You were about to
manoeuvre around them, but you stopped short when you looked up. You felt tears
well up in your eyes. Blinking them away, you did your best to stand tall in
front of the happy couple. Words were not in your favour right then, seeing as you
could not utter a single one.
the guy before you said, his voice rather soft. The girl next to him stayed
silent, trying her best to avoid looking at you.
“Hi”, was all
you managed. You nodded at the girl, making the first move.
There was no
response from her. Instead, it came from the boy. “So how’ve you been?”
You let out a
dry chuckle. “You’re one hell of a guy aren’t you. Break up over text after I
find out you were cheating on me with my best friend. And only because I called
you out, when one of my girls caught you two together. And now after four
months, you ask me how I am in the middle of a dancefloor, dangling my best
friend on your arm.” A sinister smile took over your face, “I’m fantastic, babe.”
He looked at
you, loss for word. You turned away from him, looking to the girl you once
considered your best friend. The girl whose house you spent more time at than
your own. The girl who treated whose family treated you as if you were their
own. The girl who you despite not always spending time together was there when
you needed a shoulder to cry on. That girl now stood beside the boy who used to
love you. That girl could not look you in the eyes. That girl wanted nothing
more than to be done with this conversation.
anything to say to your best friend?” you mocked.
with silence, you turned around to leave, only to be pulled back. The hand
holding on to your arm was all too familiar. It was the hand that held yours
every day and would have been there to wipe away the tears that were now threatening
to spill over.
You raised an
eyebrow at him in question. “I’m sorry. Look I never meant for that to happen.
It just did. I couldn’t-“
stopped him. “You could. Whatever it was, it didn’t have to happen that way.
But it did, because you chose that.”
You mustered up
the widest, most genuine smile you could, and turned around to leave. You
pushed through the crowd, with no intention of joining your friend anymore.
Your sole purpose at this moment was to find an exit. Your body craved fresh
air and peace. You wanted to be alone at this moment.
You made your
way to the backyard. A handful of people littered the grassy patches, but it
was peaceful enough where no one would notice you. Most of them were smoking
something anyway. You walked as far out a you could, creating as big a gap
between you and everyone else. The tears had fallen even before you could make
it to seclusion. Leaning on the low brick wall, you let the tears fall freely,
heaving heavily as memories flooded back.
Looking up at
the night sky, you had never felt more alone despite the huge crowd just meters
away from you. You wanted to numb the pain that was resurfacing.
Not too long
after securing your peace, you felt a hand brushing your matted hair out of the
place. You looked up to see a worried expression on Conor. As soon as his eyes
fell on your tear stained face, he let out a soft “fuck”, and pulled you into
me what happened”, he said, referring to the girl you were dancing with earlier
on. “What did he do?”
Nothing happened”, you replied.
his eyebrows at you.
“He didn’t do
anything”, your voice quavering. “Neither did she. You’d think they’d both feel
an ounce of remorse. No, they were perfectly happy fucking behind my back
before, and now they’re just glad they can do it in my face.” You tried to stay
angry, so you would not break down.
Right as Conor
was about to speak, a figure came rushing at the pair of you. “(Y/N)!”
grew hard upon seeing the boy who broke your heart. He stepped in front of you,
blocking most of your view of the guy in front of you. “What the hell do you
“I just need to
talk to (Y/N). I need to explain”, he pleaded. “(Y/N) please? I just wanna
around Conor, giving him a look to say you knew what you were doing when he
looked incredulously at you. “Go on”, you urged.
The boy you
once thought of as a strong man, now stood before you looking unsure and
uncomfortable. Scared even, as his eyes shifted behind you to Conor. “Could we
go over there?” he asked pointing to an empty area.
The part of you
that still loved him was willing to agree. Thankfully you had Conor there,
which forced you to appear stronger than you felt. “Here’s good”, you looked
straight at him.
He tried to
turn away from Conor to block him out of the conversation, but there wasn’t
“Look I know we
shouldn’t have gone behind your back. I know that wrong. And I’ve apologised,
I’m sorry. But you were my best friend, and I don’t want to lose you
You looked up
at him in shock. “You’re sorry? That might have been the first time you said
sorry to my face (Y/Ex-BF/N).”
He kept silent
for a bit, looking down at the ground. “I know. And I am really sorry. I didn’t
want to hurt you. I just-”
“But you did”,
you cut him off. “You know I can understand falling out of love with someone
and falling for someone else. But there are other ways of going about that
situation (Y/Ex-BF/N).” Your throat felt chocked up.
“I still love
you (Y/N)”, he reached out to hold your hand.
away the tears, pulling out of his grasp. “But as a best friend.”
A sad smile sat
on your face when he didn’t respond. He held your gaze for a while, his eyes
piercing through yours. You felt yourself breaking. Your barrier and composure
were both crumbling to the ground.
But before it
could shatter right in front of him, Conor walked between you both. “I think
it’s time you leave’, his voice cold and sharp, very much unlike Conor.
It took a while
before he budged, but eventually he walked away with a sad smile on his face.
The look on his face told you enough. He had given up. He was not going to try
again. He may have said you were his best friend, and that’s exactly it, you
were. It was all in the past. Somehow, she had managed to wrap him around her
finger. To him, you were a thing of the past. Nothing more. It was time to
close that door.
brought out your bubble of thoughts by Conor’s concern. A lone tear escaped
your eyes. Conor reached out, pulling you into his embrace. As you stayed in
his arms, a new, fresh feeling washed over you.
“I think I’m
okay”, you pulled away from him, that sentence almost coming out as a question.
rose in question. “You sure ‘bout that?”
responded, “Yeah, or I’m getting there at least.”
There was a
hint of pain visible on Conor. “I just don’t like seeing you like that. I don’t
like what he made you become. And I really never want to see you like that