nosebleeds

i was at the dinner table the first time
someone told me, “God
does not exist.” I haven’t had a dream
since then.

sometimes, i imagine dying like it’s
a good magic trick—sometimes, i imagine
dying and it feels like
driving home

often, i want to pry open the mouth of a lion
cut out her tongue, and wait for her
to fight back with just teeth

what i mean to say, is i’m nothing to
scream about. nothing to shine a light
on or give a pair of hands to.

what i mean to say, is i’m just
another way out of the ocean.

what i mean to say, is
i drove home from my own baptism
fully believing i had just narrowly
escaped drowning.

—  “girl is asked about herself for the first time” by spencer wollan

obsessive compulsive is an empty animal

and i wish i could
drag it back outside. hold it up
by its little toes. leave it stranded
in my garage. make it pay
for all the nights it forced me
to scream for both of my shoulders.
the compulsion

is to scream for
both of my shoulders. the compulsion

is to stare at
death. the compulsion is to be face to face
with your murderer, and make it feel
like functioning.

for seventeen years my body has
been a circus. all of my parts
in on a secret game, and i
a useless mouth. every night, i

come back to my town. burned alive.
a traumatized civilian. all of
my bones, loudly pulling themselves
out of my skin. i tell everyone of
the tragedy that has happened.
tell everyone about the housefire. tell them

flame is stuck to everything.
i don’t know how
i’ve survived this long.

they stare like birds at seed.
i, a glassless window. a sugarless fruit.
they are too afraid
of the trauma i’ve made of myself.
too afraid of what they’ve heard
to call for any

help.

—  obsessions // spencer wollan
swing sets/sunsets/staying up until 4AM/synth pop/thin shirts and loose shorts/iced coffee/movie marathons but falling asleep halfway to the 4th movie/late night reading/ warm yellow and pastel pink/ the feeling of the wind in your hair/taking up a new hobby/having a journal/chocolate by the 1975/the electric fan on high/wild by troye sivan/feeling empty and alone at 2AM/waking up early to watch the sunrise then going back to sleep/palm trees swaying/melting ice cream/tossing and turning in your bed because of the heat/wondering if they can love you back/keith haring/finding a new series to watch/figuring out what you want to do in the future/worrying that you’re not experiencing your summer to the fullest/always being broke/missing someone who’s thousands of miles away/indie music/all of the songs made by circa waves/sticking your head in the freezer/guitar riffs/upbeat music/sleeping for 10+ hours/going anywhere else but here/that voice in the back of head that saying you’re wasting your time/plants/telling your friends everything you couldn’t say before/childhood innocence/talking to someone for 4 hours/ukuleles/having a summer playlist/looking back at all the things that happened in the past/walking your dog/chasing butterflies/picking flowers/swimming pools full of people/sunflowers/cacti/dyed hair/soda cans/pineapples/sand/waves crashing/polaroid pictures/food stalls/streets bustling with busy people/blurry pictures/temporary tattoos/the suburbs/swimming in a lake/la vie en rose by edith piaf/straw hats/diners/jukeboxes/worn-out sneakers/going to a botanical garden/revelling the peace in a café/being moved by an artwork/a huge pile of books you have yet to read/feeling pressured to do something productive/self-care/organizing your room because you’re bored/finally feeling content and at peace for once
—  summer (this mystery called falling in love) // m.s.
HOW TO STOP A NOSEBLEED THE RIGHT WAY

ATTENTION EVERYONE: DO NOT TILT YOUR HEAD BACKWARD I SWEAR TO GOD IF I SEE ANOTHER PERSON DOING THIS IM GONNA FLIP A MAJOR SHIT

TILT YOUR HEAD FOREWARD

OVER A SINK OR A TOILET

AND PINCH IT SHUT LIKE YOURE GOING UNDERWATER

YOURE GONNA HAVE TO BREATH THROUGH YOUR MOUTH

ONLY TAKE YOUR FINGERS OFF TO CHECK IF ITS STILL BLEEDING WITH A BIT OF TISSUE

WHEN IT STOPS BLEEDING IT MIGHT HAVE A CLOT THAT KEEPS YOU FROM BREATHING THROUGH THAT NOSTRIL

BLOW THIS OUT AND KEEP HOLDING UNTIL IT STOPS AGAIN

IT WILL STOP WITHOUT A GINORMOUS CLOT

THANK YOU THIS HAS BEEN A PSA FROM SOMEONE WHO HAS NOSEBLEEDS LIKE EVERY FUCKING WEEK

Vampire Knight
  • Matsuri Hino: Alright we're ending Vampire Knight guys
  • Fans: NOOOO WHYYYY DON'T DO IT PLEASE
  • Matsuri Hino: Yuki gets both Kaname and Zero lololol
  • Fans: Alright We're happy with that ending, Kaname finally gets to be human how sweet
  • Matsuri Hino: ........
  • Matsuri Hino: Never fucking mind I want to write more get ready bitches
  • Fans: *nosebleeds everywhere* can't....handle.....must....read.....new manga.......hurry....

anonymous asked:

I always tell myself that I can draw well. Yes, I'm a noob-I'm not very skilled at drawing males, hands and body proportions? Hah! And actually drawing both eyes without looking weird is a feat. But when I look at your drawings...I realize that your art is beautiful, your art is SO GREAT. And I realize my drawings are SHIT. YOU HEAR ME, HAKAMII? COMPLETE AND UTTER SHIT. I CAN'T DO ANYTHING COMPARED TO YOU. I JUST FEEL SO, SO BAD BECAUSE I CANNOT DRAW AS GOOD AS YOU, OR ROCHI, OR FURIWO!

Hello anon ! I already read your message few days ago and I really don’t know how to respond back because I’m really out of words ….but when I saw someone who post almost the right answer for your vent, I came up something to go back to ask box and reply back to you.
I’m pretty same when it comes on being jealous on other artist because .. LIKE WOW HOW CAN THEY DO THIS AND THAT I’M SO CURIOUS THEIR ANATOMY LOOKS SO BEAUTIFUL  AND look at my art it’s still shit–

but look what I got here

.. I really didn’t noticed this (I posted it in Fb page btw) 
l still have long way to go but my point is: It’s okay to compare yourself to others. But if you make your jealousy as a habit, you can’t really make anything good to yourself or to your art. But if you make it as a motivator, I know.. for sure you can do it too ! Work hard, Love what you’re doing , find something different , draw what you love, DRAW WHAT YOU REALLY WANT TO DRAW EVEN ITS AN OCTOPUS OR SHARK  – focus to your goals .. It may be “to be a greater artist than hakamii” ,seriously YOU CAN DO IT as long as you believe in yourself !! It really takes time (and also popularity thing, let it not get in your way to your goals) 
I also think that rochi and furiwo draws beautifully because it’s  what they really want to draw
we all artist starts to draw on the same starting line ! and I know we can accomplish something if we practice and work hard for it
sorry for my english ///cries

i met God in a Sunday airport.
my hair braided into snakes.
i ask him to look at me, i say

hello?
remember me?

remember how
i was six years old? a small
and rusted machine?
how i shaped myself into a wooden pew?
took my limbs and turned them
into weaponry? how i shrunk
my target of a body
into suckable candy?
how i retraced my steps through a murder?
how i cracked
under the pressure for you?


how long i waited for this day to come?
to speak to you – to be so
free of sin?
how i rotted from the
inside out?

remember how easy it was to stain
myself into a bulimic lover?
the kind that
eats until they drown, down, Hell –
how i binged
on the rape stained nighttime.
binged on the drunk laughter.


how i always
remembered to purge in the morning?
made sure
i was damp and soapy for you.
how i hung
a cross around my neck
like a noose and
purged myself of sin for you.

remember
how my hands, like glass,
shattered when i prayed? how they
broke into tiny splintered pictures
of my mother with two black eyes?
how i chewed them all like salt?
how i asked you, every time, “God,
why do you live up there
when all the suffering happens
at my feet?”

all of my rose blossoms
have shut themselves
into rocks in the name of your son.

so i say,

God? hello?
remember me?


i can see you. you are
bleeding in granite and stone.
carved out of the marble like
Michaelangelo.
Archangel Michael.

i say, “God,
i am a church for you.”
i say, “God,
i am a flood for you.”
i say, “God,
i am tangerine skin peeled
and hardened in the landfill for you.”
i say, “God,
i am plum pit stuck
in the hem hymn of my intestine
for you: willing
to take off all of my own skin.”

he asks me who i am. tells me
he does not recognize me at all.

—  medusa by spencer wollan