inked generation

If it’s true that we photograph the things that we are afraid to lose, then it’s saddening to think that maybe this generation, the so-called selfie generation, aren’t really just a bunch of narcissitic fools and attention seeking people, but rather a bunch of individuals afraid to lose themselves. Isn’t it disheartening? That in this age of technology and fast communication gateways, there are more and more individuals that capture their own photos to preserve and have memories of who they are.
—  cynthia go // The things we are afraid to lose
We just mindlessly follow the rules until we grow up enough to understand that they are wrong.
For some it might be too late, others might never really grow up, but we, the people of this generation will kick society to its knees and bend it to our will.
Teenagers are not lazy.
Teenagers. Are. Not. Lazy.
Teenagers wake up before the sun every day, often much earlier than their parents do for work. They go through 6 ½ hours of school every day, often taking difficult and rigorous classes in order to qualify for college scholarships. While doing this, they must simultaneously balance the social and emotional pressures of high school- trying desperately to figure out who they are and what they stand for in a world where they are judged so harshly.
After classes and extracurricular activities, which sometimes run late into the night, they go home and do homework. This can take hours, and be both physically and mentally draining, but they do it anyway because they have been taught grades are more important than self care.
After finishing, they go to sleep and do it all over again the next day.
So I beg of you, stop with the notion that teenagers are lazy. Stop stereotyping the group of people - yes, people - who were thrust into this system of your design. Being a teenager is hard, a lot harder than it was thirty years ago.
We wake up before the sun every day for two reasons: because it was forced upon us, and because it is the only foreseeable path towards a future worth having.
—  an open letter to the forty-somethings I hear this from constantly // c.r.h.

“it took me long enough to realise that summary of human behaviour is one of the most ridiculous things to attempt to do. we are larger. we contain multitudes, goddamn it. don’t you dare try to fit me into a sentence.”
- adam tie. (inspired by kill your darlings)

I am terrified of failing.
At the same time I’ve survived it before.
I am terrified of failing.
I am terrified of disappointing myself.
I am terrified of disappointing my parents, even though they tell me they’ll always be proud.
I am terrified to fail in this country I’ve called home, and made their voyage in this foreign land seem for nothing.
I am afraid of being called out by the calluses on my father’s hands.
And I am afraid that if I fall to my knees, my mother’s unfailing ones will mock me.
I am afraid that I’ll fall between the cracks of my brown heritage and pseudo white privilege.
I am afraid of falling from the pedestal my parents have honored me with.
I try to tell myself that I am worth the sacrifice. Worth their sleepless nights and worried strain. A beacon of pride and hope, in a neighborhood too often overlooked.
A beacon of anguished esperanza in a city of suburban white success.
I know regardless of what happens.
My parents have and always will love me.
My parents- both mountain and humility.
Success and failure.
Both hurricane, and gentle rain.
Have loved me.
Have been proud of me.
When I’ve been none of these things.
I know this.
But at the end of the day.
I want this legacy to be worth something.
—  Legacy
Someone once asked me what it was like losing someone you love. All I could tell that naive, little girl was that, “It will hurt a bit, but you’ll grow strong and forget.” I wish I was brutally honest with her because no one else had the heart to. I wish I had warned her that losing him will feel like one ignoramus storm of pain and emotions. That when he goes it will be like forgetting how to breathe, and you’ll have to learn how to all over again. You will have to forget the way he touched your skin and the way he kissed you lips. You will have to forget it all, even if it kills you to. Remember to trust people when they say you need to get out, because when you go into that party and he see’s your face while he’s dancing with another girl. You will want him to see your face glowing, and smiling. He may have taking your heart but don’t you dare let him take your smile. Then there will come a time where you’ll eventually become your own storm and it won’t be pain anymore. It will be power and glory, and you won’t flinch when you hear his name. You will only feel a sweet, distant memory, one that will have you wondering, “Why did I waste so much time.”
—  A letter to my dearest, oh so beautiful cousin. Don’t let these boys take everything from you. Leave some for you and you only.- I’ll read you this when the time is right. // 7:02 pm
Am I upset? Oh boy you bet I am. I’m upset because I live in a world where everyone’s told they’re a snowflake. Everyone’s told they’re special and different and one of a kind. I’m upset because I live in a world where I’m lied to, you know? When I was younger I thought I was special, I thought I was going to change the world. I thought I was better than average. I’m not. I’m a special snowflake all right, but I’m a special snowflake that’s lost in a drift with a million other snowflakes who are as, if not more, special than I am.
You know what makes it worse? Nobody will tell me that. Whenever I say I’m not going to make a difference or that I’m not special, a soccer mom comes running in screaming that I am. If the participation medal I got when I was seven or the paper honor roll certificate I got in eighth grade is what makes me special, boy do I have a reason to be upset. That’s not special. Maybe compared to someone else it is, but they’ve probably got something special of their own that suburban moms are gushing over.
I’m upset that kids are told they’re special. You’re not born special. You played on a sports team? Well good for you kid, that doesn’t mean you’re the next Babe Ruth. You won a debate round? Great, let me know when you become president. It’s harsh I know, but maybe if we stopped telling kids they were amazing, talent, wonderful flowers from God’s own garden, they’d stop believing it their entire lives. Maybe they’d get their heads out of the clouds and work towards being something special.  
You know what believing I was special got me? A whole lot of anxiety and an inferiority complex, that’s what it got me. Because my mom told me I was special my entire life, I believed her. So when I saw some kid do better than me, I thought, gee I wish I was that good. Instead, I was constantly living short of my so-called potential. Maybe if I was raised to think, you’re okay, but you’re never going to be better than average if you don’t try and work for it, I might actually have worked for something and not assumed it would be handed to me because I was a special perfect snowflake that was gracing everyone’s life by simply drifting through.
So yah, I’m a little upset. Worst of all, my parents’ generation and their parents’ generation sit around complaining that people my age are entitled, prissy, lazy, narcissistic, broke, stressed for absolutely no reason, underachieving punks with no work ethic. Well guess who raised us to be entitled, prissy, lazy, narcissistic, broke, stressed for absolutely no reason, underachieving punks with no work ethic? I can promise you it wasn’t the special little snowflakes and God’s personally grown flowers that feel like they don’t live up to their parents expectations because they were raised in a world where they have a little special something that other kids don’t have and yet if anyone else asked, they’re all equal because you don’t want a kid to feel bad about themselves. Don’t let other kids know that they might be less by giving them participation trophy when they suck. Don’t let other kids know that they might not make it far in life by giving them a bogus award that doesn’t mean anything so that they don’t feel bad that some kid got a four point oh by studying non-stop while they sat around and did nothing and scraped by with a two point.  
OF COURSE I’M UPSET. Even now, I have some much stress and anxiety in my life I can barely keep my sanity for a semester. I cry when break comes because it’s over, but I know it’s going to start again in a month. I was raised with a sense of entitlement that lead me to think everyone wants to give the special snowflake everything I wanted. So now that scholarships are harder to get and there’s fewer jobs and everything costs more and there’s downright awful social conditions for me to live in, don’t think for one second that I wouldn’t be upset.
I’m upset because I’m working so hard to be special and make a difference, but so is everyone else. Maybe if someone didn’t destroy everything for us before we got there and then say that it was our fault that the world was going to hell because we’re a bunch of entitled, prissy, lazy, narcissistic, broke, stressed for absolutely no reason, underachieving punks with no work ethic, we’d stand a chance. Maybe if we didn’t think we were special snowflakes in a world where we’re nothing but average, we’d try and be something more instead of falling short to outrageous expectations. If we were raised to believe we were average, we’d set our goals to be above that.
I’m upset because kids are raised to believe that they are above average. You know where goals are set when you think your above average? They’re set at perfect. I’m upset because an average kid can’t ever reach perfect, yet they were raised to believe that that is the only place they can go. So, yes, I’m upset.
—  KJS // Excerpt from the book I’ll never write #15
5

Gen 8: This is ALL ORIGINAL! Don’t steal. Lol

This is a suggestion by from a follower. Thank you for the suggestion. I also made a pokedex too.

Normal/ Poison
This pokemon is smug and gets triggered when it’s trainer is doing stupid things. It’s common phase is “Drink me” and is deemed as the troll pokemon.

Normal/ Steel
It spins forever and floats. Can’t stop spinning because of it’s only source of pumping blood to the heart is spinning- if stop, the heart stop.

Normal/ Rock
It’s a rare legendary pokemon. It’s normally called “Charlie” and gives happiness to it’s trainers. It’s cost value is a small loan.

Ghost/ Rock
It’s an dead evolve of “Charlie”. It have a hollow body, and mostly famous for being in ghost tv shows. It also steals the soul from others who see it’s back.

Normal/ Ghost
It’s floats and listens to Siiva Gunners great rips. It also gets really lonely and starts making tapes.

Ice/ Ground
It’s a cake. When released out of it’s pokeball, it’s thrown in the ground and melts. It’s also good friends with Vanilluxe because both are delicious but yet hated pokemon.

Normal/ Bug
It’s fat, and small. It crawls in tight areas and wants to evolve into a butterfly but ends up like Farfetch’d and  Delibird.

Normal/ Ice
Legends say that this pokemon was in space and was in cased in ice. It also doesn’t like to be on it’s face on the floor.

Electric/ Dark
It’s an edgy guitar that rocks out with rock n’ roll music. You mostly see it playing Linkin Park and if the trainer disturbed the pokemon, It cries “ It’s not a phase”.

Dark/ Fairy
Mostly known by its twitter account and mostly post “Wake me up” lyrics. It’s also good friends with the Electric/ Dark Guitar Pokemon.

Fire/ Fairy
Some legends state that the reason is on fire is that everyone dislikes it because of its annoying voice. It also bugs the player by saying “Hey! Listen!”, when poisoned.

Fire/ Ice
The pokemon is blue and runs fast, but can never replace the old version of the pokemon. It have been called a disgrace of a pokemon, but at least have a tv show.

Fire/ Grass
It’s claimed to be a tree stump and is totally not taken from a different series. It also have pea shooters on its head.

Ground/ Fighting
It hides in the ground. It mostly goes to the gym everyday to grow its muscles. It can also do a million punches in one minute.

Electric/ Poison
It’s dark and scary. It’s told that people get extreme nightmares and poison their minds.

Bug/ Dark
It’s fairly small and can’t be seen without a magnifying glass. It creates a rainbow when the magnifying glass is on it, and likes to break walls.

Poison/ Steel
It creates dark pokemon and have many secrets and hidden messages. Theories and only information states that it created a friend that starts with a B.  

Electric/ Fighting
This pokemon is very powerful and when going mega, it’s hair becomes pinks and gets in a huge rage. Also some trainers realize the tail of the pokemon.

Psychic/ Bug
This pokemon can bend spoons. What? Alakazam can bend spoons too. Why you saying its not original? Fricking Genwunners. JK.

Ice/ Bug
This pokemon isn’t similar to it’s other pokemon. It’s a bug type, and can’t be touched by its trainer or else the trainer freeze.    

Poison/ Psychic
This pokemon can control things with it’s mind, but mostly controls uranium. It’s poisonous and with one drip, it will turn the ocean green.

Poison/ Fairy
It likes to lie to trainers. It lies that it’s the best drink yet it taste awful. So awful, that when drinking, the trainer insides bursts and wish to never own the pokemon.

Bug/ Dragon
This pokemon can fight and fly too. It’s mostly known for its crazy wings and also not an evolve of the normal/ bug type pokemon. It’s the same as Luvdisc and Alomomola. 

If you love this funny and stupid post, please share this. Thank you for reading this pokedex and the picture. Love you guys, and see you next time. :D
                                                                   

for girls too scared to say, ‘I do,’ a love letter


My fidelity isn’t tied to my affection.  You know that I adore you, maybe even love you—my shoulder still smells like your shampoo, my favorite mug still bears your lipstick, my desk drawer still holds all of the post-it notes that became love notes sealed with your kiss—and that is why I am not faithful.  I’m scared.


You’re going to say I’m a horrible person, and I am.  I probably am. But you make my heart beat so fast that even when I bury it, it quakes the earth.  You make my palms so sweaty that I can’t hold on to anything, especially my sanity.


No one else is as good as you.  No one feels as right, smells as sweet, laughs as loudly, but when I’m busy pouring drinks for another girl, I can forget about your hold on me.  I can remind myself that you’re not divine and I’m not your slave.  (Because if you asked me to, I would probably become your slave.)


You tell me I’m beautiful, but it helps to find compliments between another girl’s lips—somehow the word tastes sweeter coming form someone else.  It makes me feel like I really am beautiful.


You tell me I’m sweet, but I feel strongest when I’m draping my coat over another girl’s shoulders and letting her lean into me while I hold the umbrella.  She says, ‘I feel so safe with you’ as water seeps into our shoes.  Even though my house is two miles in the opposite direction, I walk her home and kiss her on the front porch until she asks if she will see me again the next day.


You and I haven’t defined our relationship, but we’ve tried, technically. Those technical conversations end in forced laughter, embarrassed blushes and inconclusions—but if we’re really so in love, then shouldn’t this be easy?


To you, committing to a label is somehow more difficult than committing to me; the day you accidentally called me your girlfriend in public, you ran to my house in tears.  ‘Shh, don’t worry.  We don’t have to decide what we are yet.’  I kissed your forehead until you remembered to breathe.


Maybe we’re waiting for something.  You’re waiting to feel safe around me, and I’m waiting to feel secure in you.  You’re waiting for me to say I’m committed, and I keep waiting for you to leave me.


Not that I want you to.  I want to wake up beside you every morning. But I keep waiting for the day you’re not there.


So I stall, and we stall, waiting for each other to push this murky I-want-you-You-want-me-We-are-in-love ball of physicality and feelings into a relationship.  So you stall, and I stall, waiting for something to click while I’m telling myself it won’t.  And in the meantime, I find security in other women.  Because as much as I love you, I love myself more, and I need to know that on the day that you finally leave me, I will find love again, and I will be okay.

—  for girls too scared to say, ‘I do.’
(you, too, deserve a love letter)
Never apologise (for being human).

I was once hugged,
by a strangers child,
in a super market.
She apologised profusely for her son,
explaining that he was “disabled”,
and “a little different”.
The way he interacted with me,
may have been abnormal for some,
but his heart,
and his love,
we’re like that of any other.
Beautiful.

Never apologise for your differences.


Lying in a hospital bed,
my companion beside me,
spluttering and choking,
on vomit caused by the same medication I too was fed,
sat upright, turned to me,
and apologised for the sounds of his distress.
I felt I should shake my head,
and instead beg his forgiveness,
for I had no help to offer him but silence,
and a waved dismissal,
of his shame.

Never apologise for your condition.


As a child in school,
I watched a boy scolded,
and prostrated before the class,
for disturbing the rest of the students with raucous laughter.
Apologising to the teacher through fits,
and hiccoughs,
of amusement.
To this day I don’t know what he found so funny,
but I remember chuckling to myself,
as the Straight A pupil was sentenced to detention,
tears of laughter rolling over his cheeks.
Must’ve been a good one,
I thought to myself.

Never apologise for your spirit.


Sat in a coffee shop recently,
I overheard a young boy,
confessing his love,
for the girl sat opposite him.
The next time I looked,
the girl was in tears,
and the boy was apologising,
promising her,
that his feelings,
wouldn’t ruin their friendship.
Clearly,
she felt differently.
Clearly,
he was devastated.

Never apologise for your love.


N A Ferguson, Copyright 2016.

what if i was accidentally born in the wrong time? as if I should’ve been born 2 centuries ago, or 4 centuries in the future. are we all put in a certain time period, to either change the world in a certain way whether for better or worse? that would explain why certain people want to leave the world; they were just accidentally placed in a certain time period that wasn’t meant for them.


aspect on suicide// where the flowers might grow

-23:13

#DrawDaily #503: Dip pen octopus. Ink on watercolor paper, 8 x 8".

I found the pictured nib in my grandparent’s old house when we were cleaning it out a few years back. It was in a Meggezones tin with several other similar nibs. My Dad couldn’t quite remember, they were either his or my grandfather’s. I’d never really used dip pens before and I was amazed that the nibs fit my cheap Speedball holder and worked perfectly. These are the oldest art tools I own and I’m trying to be careful with them; I’d love to pass them on to the next generation.

Our Generation

SO I got into a really stupid argument with my parents today and I was really worked up and pissed off and this just kinda happened but I like it so why the hell not post it? *thumbs up*

Our Generation 

Our generation is afraid to love

Because we’ve seen the bad side of it

41% of American couples face divorce in the first marriage

 60% in the second marriage

73% in the third

Our generation is afraid to speak our minds

We were raised with values

And it takes time to realize we may have different values than our parents

Nobody speaks up against the norm

Those that do speak their mind are loud and obnoxious

We were taught to not be loud and obnoxious

Our generation is afraid to disagree

We were taught to be respectful

Yet to our parents, disagreeing is the same thing as disrespecting

Our opinions are wrong

And expressing them will only make us look ridiculous

Our generation is afraid of what others will think

We were taught to express ourselves

Yet we are taught that boys will love girls and girls will love boys

Children know love to be love

Just love

When I was younger, my best friend and I kissed

Many times, but in secret

We were taught that girls do not love girls in that way

But we kissed anyway, and one of us pretended to be the boy

We got in trouble for kissing

Two girls, young and innocent

Not knowing any right or wrong in love

Because love isn’t assigned a gender until you give it one

And it makes me think, if my mother hadn’t told me it was wrong

Would I love girls instead of boys?

I am easily impressed upon by people

I was always an obedient child

That hasn’t changed

But if I have different values than my parents

What does that mean for the rest of my life?

I was not allowed to try out for the local performing arts high school

Because I shouldn’t “waste my brains” on music or acting or dancing

I wonder why they ask us what we want to be when we grow up

Because what many of us really, really want

Isn’t the right answer

Our generation is afraid to follow our dreams

We’re always, always told about failure

How we should be realistic

But in my eyes, realistic can be the same thing as pessimistic

If you really want something, you shouldn’t be afraid to go for it

But if I want to go to college for something non-academic

It won’t be the right answer

Our generation is afraid to love

Our generation is afraid to speak our minds

Our generation is afraid to disagree

Our generation is afraid of what others will think

Our generation is afraid to follow our dreams

We were raised by hypocrites

We are still growing up

We are still finding ourselves

And our generation is “all screwed up” 

-ēma
The new generation of immigrants.
Our heads up high,
Our names harder to pronounce than ever.
Say it right, or don’t approach us.
We are the grandchildren of the guest workers.
Our parents worked hard to get us here.
We are the new generation.
And we are better than ever.
We do not fear the coloniser.
Our language is stronger than ever.

As are we.

We are bold.
We are different.
Our time has come.

—  Delafil