personal writing

Penso troppe volte a quando mi dicesti che nessuno poteva annullare quello che avevamo creato, messo in piedi dal nulla, facevamo tanto gli stupidi immaginando cosa avremmo fatto da grandi, pensavamo che il tempo, le persone e il mondo non ci avrebbero mai separato. Non è andato tutto secondo i piani, ci siamo tanto sbagliati.
—  Alice Giaquinta, Ricomporsi.
Repeat after me:
I am not my flaws, but how I work on them.
I am not my mistakes, but what I learn from them.
I am not my barriers, but how I overcome them.
—  Journal - February 2nd, 2016
Dwelling

My heart is heavy and here I am again, writing. 

I’m listing down words of affirmation, words of comfort, trying to understand bottled up emotions. trying to make myself feel better, and yet sadness still creeps in like an old forgotten friend. I haven’t felt this way in awhile. I think maybe with all that’s happening in my life, it’s finally taking its toll. The busier I allow myself to be, the more overwhelming the sadness drowns me in my sleep. I don’t know, lately I haven’t been myself and it’s not because things aren’t going great. they are. There’s just so many minute underlying things that have accumulated over the past year I haven’t been able to get out of my system- in fact, I don’t even know what it is or how to explain it. 

I’m happy, and yet there’s a deeper darker side of me that’s wounded and miserable. I wear my smile on like an apology, because a part of me feels like I shouldn’t be this happy. Like I don’t deserve it. 

I want someone to understand me, to console me, to listen to the thoughts that dwell in the cosmos of my mind, and for some reason right when I allow others to take a step inside, I begin to picture myself in an enclosed room cradling myself to sleep, alone. 

There are some battles you can’t win. and most of them is with yourself. 

She was an old soul, waiting for an old love to return to her. The kind that opens doors and causes your cheeks to burn with comfortable warmth.
—  “Original" by Annelies, excerpt from the series Morning Wild Boy Hair. 09/07/2016
Potremmo non arrivare a vederci tutti i giorni, ma sono in grado di tenerti tra le braccia ogni notte, anche se sono lontana, ti ho dato il mio cuore senza sapere se sarebbe tornato.
—  Alice Giaquinta
2017-2020

It is 10:01, November 8th. Donald Trump has a majority. I am sitting in my living room, terrified that millions of people have voted for racism. bigotry. sexism. hatred. People are still laughing. I am not. 

It is 10:30. Donald Trump still has more electoral votes. My stomach drops, as I think about how this man who ostracized Mexico, the man who is a proven repeated liar, the man who has gone bankrupt, could be the most powerful man in the United States of America. 

It is 10:43. I begin to think about good vs bad. When was America great? This isn’t about making America great, This is about keeping wealthy white men in power. This is about white supremacy. This is about preserving the patriarchy. This is about the struggle to contain those who have been trapped for so long. This is about subduing the minorities, those who have been trapped by the oppression of the rule of the majority for so long. 

It is 10:52. Hillary Clinton gains a slight lead. I question a lot about her, but even a questionable candidate provides a form of relief as Donald Trump represents everything America should not stand for. 

It is 11:00. Many polls are closed, and I am questioning who Donald Trump is as a person. This is the man who is projected to win. A man who has cheated on his wife. A man who has degraded women, in every word he speaks, pushes them down. A man who never stops sexualizing women. A man who has already wrecked foreign alliances. A man who’s words mean nothing to him, he spews lies with every word he says. A man many Republicans refuse to endorse. A man who fired a black accountant from his hotel because he didn’t want a black man counting his money. A man who sexualized his own daughter. 

It is 11:18. Hillary is down electoral votes. I am scared. My body feels numb, because it is increasingly terrifying that a rich white man, who is so offensive and hateful and horrible, can gain so much power. I have to remind myself that if the worst is to happen, it will be a setback. There is always bad to counter the good, and as long as the good keep fighting, The fight continues. The struggle continues. I cannot lose hope. We cannot lose hope. In order to combat the hate that Trump represents, we must stand together. United we stand, divided we fall. 

11:22. No one is laughing. Many who believed Clinton had a clear majority are scared. Polls were wrong. This election is a surprise. Donald Trump, the unqualified candidate is winning. Many have forfeited their presidential vote. Many have voted third party. Everyone has someone to blame. 

11:34. ABC News says that 74% of Americans are scared. I am in that percentage. America was based on the ideals of freedom for all, of voting so everyone gets a say, freedom. We pride ourself on freedom. This here, I cannot have pride in. I love the ideals of America, and with those ideals comes freedom of speech. I am hearing reports of men with guns attempting to impede people’s right to vote. Discourse. We are not free. This is not freedom. This is oppression of the majority, of the media coverage, this is the terrifying idea that so many care more about the Brangelina breakup than the future of our country. I am scared. No one is laughing.

11:44. Oddsmakers say Hillary has a 15% chance of winning. My hope is there, but beginning to waver. I am scared. Racism. Sexism. Homophobia. Islamophobia, anti-immigration. These are the bases the most powerful man in America will run on. What will America become? 

11:53 My states electoral votes go to Donald Trump. I am a female. My body may not belong to me. I am not white. My race may deter my future. I am fighting. I will not give up. I will not give up. I am scared.

12:03 AM. This is a horror story. I am living in a time my great great grandchildren will question, “who could let this happen?” and their teacher will have no logical answer. People do what they believe is best. 

No matter what happens, we still need to fight. Fight for beliefs, for rights, for progression.No matter the outcome, the results are horrifying. Change needs to happen. Lets focus on the steps to enact that. Good luck. 

When was the last time you see yourself in the mirror and like what you see? When was the last time you believe that you are pretty? as pretty as those girls you talk about to your friends? When was the last time you face the crowed and have that confidence that you are pretty and beautiful enough?

When we were kids, and when we look at the mirror, we saw our faces and never felt bad about it. What makes us feel ugly?

 It’s us, comparing ourselves to others. ’

—  You’re beautiful no matter what. I promise. // J.D.Gamara

Drunk or sober, it’s always you

-I miss him

Modern day heartbreak is seeing them liking other people’s pictures as they slowly stop liking yours. It’s checking all social media to see if they’re on their phone because they still haven’t answered your text from three hours ago. It’s “read 8:13pm” when it’s already 4am the next day. It’s seeing the blue text bubbles turn to green ones and hearing the phone ring twice before going to voicemail and knowing they blocked your number. It’s unfollowed, blocked, deleted. It’s having your best friend follow them just to know what they’re up to. It’s posting snapchats hoping they’ll see but watching the stories expire before their name pops up on the view count. It’s hoping they’re lurking on your social media but knowing they’re not. It’s hoping they’re hearing about you but knowing they’re not. It’s the subtweets and the pettiness and the who can make who jealous games. It’s having all of your followers know what happened. It’s refollowed and I’m sorry’s. It’s repetitive. It’s letting them come back just to leave again. It’s deleting their pictures, their text thread, and saying you’re done. It’s deleting their number but knowing it by heart. It’s telling them never to call you again but hearing your phone ring and praying it’s them.
—  (via @radical-mess)
- Ti avevo già detto che ti ho scritto una canzone?
- Sì, l'avevi accennato.
- Te l'ho mandata, quando la leggi dimmi che ne pensi.
- Sarà sicuramente bella.
- Io ho dei dubbi.
- Non averne, potrebbe tranquillamente essere anche una poesia.
- Non esagerare, l'ho scritta senza pensarci su.
- E’ meglio di quanto tu pensi.
- Ma non è strana?
- No, mi hai dedicato una cosa meravigliosa.
- Chi ti dice che te l'abbia dedicata?
- Allora è per il tuo amante.
- Amante? Quale amante?
- Adesso che sei lontana chissà quanti bei ragazzi hai incontrato.
- Tanti, ma non sono interessata.
- Sono geloso.
- Lo so, comunque penso che sia troppo malinconica, per questo la trovo strana.
- Senza malinconia non c'è poesia, quindi è perfetta. Vorrei averti tra le mie braccia per convincerti.
- Piacerebbe anche a me.
- Com'è il tempo?
- Oggi si sta benissimo, il cielo è limpido. Da te?
- Piove e c'è il sole, è un po’ come me.
- Come te?
- Indeciso, impaziente di rivederti.
- Così non va.
- Perché?
- Avrei voglia di piangere.
- Non farlo, Luglio è vicino.
- Il tempo passa troppo lentamente.
- E le chiamate non bastano.
- E non posso accarezzarti.
- E non posso vederti impazzire per imparare il Giapponese
- Ti prego non ripeterlo.
- Mi manchi.
- Anche tu, tanto.
- Ti senti come mi sento io?
- Triste?
- No, innamorato.
- Sì, non mi passa mai.
—  Alice Giaquinta, Non mi passi mai.
Sometimes I just want to go back in time, not to change things in my life, but just to relive those little moments you forget. It would be nice to experience those moments twice, to remind you not to take things for granted. Oh to feel some of those emotions twice. Maybe I would be more content with my life if I were able to do that. Maybe we feel more content with our lives when we get older. But right now I long more to be in the past than to continue moving into the future.
—  What if erica-s-diary
Riley (3)

We were at a pool once for her 17th birthday. Lots of girls were there. And she was happy and I was nervous. But I was happy because she was. She waved me over to her a few times. Every time I would just shrug. She laughed at that which made me feel safe. Her mom sat next to me. “She is so happy you came. She knew the pool party wasn’t really your thing” I felt bad when she said that, I knew Riley would have told me that it’s okay for us to like different things. But I didn’t just hear that she was happy I came. I heard that it would have been okay if I didn’t. “I wouldn’t miss it” I guess that makes me insecure. _______________________________________ I looked up when I heard the front door close. I was happy that it was my dad, and not his girlfriend. Not because I hated her. I did not like her. I just missed my dad. He worked A lot. Especially then. “Lil” he reached down and scooped me into his biggest hug. “I love you dad” I wanted to tell him that, incase he hadn’t heard me the last time. “I love you Lily” sometimes he would get emotional. I knew it was because he did still miss my mom. And I hated it, but it was because I reminded him of her. Once I grew up some, I hated that I let these things bother me.

Untiled Villanelle

So for my AP Lit class we had to write poems, so I decided to why not post it on here too. It’s probably not that good, but it is very personal.

We are only strangers now, and we are as different as the moon’s rays and the sunlight.

Your personality eroded away, leaving a grotesque copy of another’s in its place

The memories stay with me, replaying like a broken record in the depths of the night

 

I tried to fix what we had, I tried to mend the shattered glass pieces with all my might

But all hope drifted away like ships at sea when you found someone to new to fill my space

We are only strangers now, and we are as different as the moon’s rays and the sunlight.

 

The clocks and hourglasses know our stories and hide them from other’s sight

Perhaps you’ll apologize for your mistake, though I know that will not be the case

The memories stay with me, replaying like a broken record in the depths of the night

 

Are you satisfied with the torment and grief you caused? Did you feel that it was right?

Are you ecstatic that your lies helped to shape your second face?

We are only strangers now, and we are as different as the moon’s rays and the sunlight.

 

I slit my ties with you, but only after suffering through your crafted façade and the silent fight

If only I could remove the dagger from my back that you left here without a trace

We are only strangers now, and we are as different as the moon’s rays and the sunlight

 

Maybe who you have become was there all along, hiding out in the shadows away from the light

But what I know now is that you can’t hurt me anymore with your disgrace

We are only strangers now, and we are as different as the moon’s rays and the sunlight.

The memories stay with me, replaying like a broken record in the depths of the night

2

“when chanced with greatness, it appears i always take the shadowed spot for a crooked smile. so here i sat in bed thinking about you, wondering if i would be forever resigned to the fact that if life were a poorly trained assassin, you’d be the gun to my head and your lips would be the bullet that would tear me down indefinitely.”
- adam tie. (inspired by peaky blinders)

Sometimes it is all going to become too much. You will think you know where your life is headed, then the next thing you know everything is thrown at you at once. Sometimes you will realize that you’re wrong, and that sometimes you are right. Sometimes you will argue with the people closest to you and then spend so long trying to figure out all the things you want to say to just make it better. Sometimes you can’t make it better because it was meant to happen. Sometimes you will think your happiness isn’t important. You will put everyone else’s before yours. Sometimes you will cut yourself up into tiny, confetti sized pieces just so you feel like you are helping everyone, but you can’t do that. You are meant to be whole, to be one person, and to put yourself first. Sometimes you have to make yourself happy. You have to love yourself and be content with where you’re at before you can help anyone else. Sometimes you have to hold your tongue and keep your loud thoughts to yourself. Sometimes you just have to be on your own and fight your thoughts by yourself, but sometimes you need people and have to accept that you need help. Sometimes life gets so rough that it is hard to breathe. You feel like you are drowning and can’t swim, but you have to keep your head above the waves of life and keep kicking. Sometimes life is amazing. Everything is going right and you could never be happier and you have to hold onto those small memories. Sometimes you meet someone who makes you feel like a thousand stars and you’ll fall in love. Sometimes you will be heartbroken because the one you wanted to text you never did. Sometimes you know exactly what you want to say, but sometimes you don’t and it is just a mess of words and thoughts. Life is full of sometimes, of the unknown, the good, the bad, and we have to accept that.
—  Life is full of sometimes and we have to accept that (visi0n–ary) // This is all from an array of thoughts I’ve had recently. I just sat down today and let my mind take over and this is what happened.

Suck Writer.

If I only let the flow of words burst out
If I only held my pen with every thought I think about
I would have written the book I always wanted by now.
And before that,
I would have got better at writing
And finished every poem and story that I ever started.
But I’m lazy and always have to push myself
I also kill my creativity before it gets too wild
And I get bored easily so I always keep things short.
When I write, I use common simple words
And I never liked to make my poems rhyme
I get inspired more often and produce less.
Not to mention that I give up whenever
Writer’s block hits me up.
I also don’t do much in my life
So I don’t have a lot to write about
And if I turn to my imagination, I stop
At the least realistic idea.
Because I hate fantasy.
At the same time, I don’t have a specific genre
I wrote once an horror story and the other day,
I wrote a love one.
Now I don’t know if this diversity is unique
But it is confusing.
And I know that I approximately suck at writing
Yet, I like to believe that it’s my thing.

Riley

I never liked when people compared me to others. It made me feel small. I knew that at a young age, that I didn’t like it.
Once when my aunt told me she thought I was a lot like her friend from elementary school. Her friend who misbehaved.
I asked her not to, she still did.
My father often told me I reminded him of my mother. I wanted to know if this was true, since I didn’t remember her well. But since I didn’t know if it was, I didn’t like when he did that. He only did because he loved her. And me. But then in high school my teacher told me he liked how similar my art was to an artist he had always loved. I wanted to feel special.
That’s why I liked Her. She told me she liked the way I smiled and the way I played the piano.
“What does it sound like?” I asked her that a lot when I played for her.
“You” she always responded, with a big cheeky smile that made it impossible not to mirror.
I always thought that we would grow apart.
I did not know when which scared me a lot.
I had nightmares about it.
And she always asked me what I was afraid of. When I told her I had nightmares.
“Simple stuff” I shrugged.
She would wrap her pinky around mine.
“That’s okay” if she knew, she would have told me
“That will never happen.” That’s why I never told her.
I didn’t want her to think it wasn’t okay if we ever grew apart.
Because I knew someday we would.

(Excerpt from a story I’ve been writing, if anyone is interested I would love to post more!)

On two
separate
occasions
I had
girls
tell me
that
I have
a
strong heartbeat
Whatever that means
And both times
I asked
How so?

The first girl
was
simple minded
Had a bit of a
one track mind
Her thoughts were
less interesting
than
she looked

I don’t know
she said
You just
have
a
loud
heartbeat
And that
was that

The other girl
had
easily
one of
the
most
beautiful minds
I’ve encountered

Again
I asked
To which
she replied
You just
have
a
strong
heartbeat
I can tell
it will
last
a
long time

And I
wondered
to myself
Would it?
And I
realized
it already had

I thought
of
all the times
I was
almost certain
it would
stop
and I
realized
all the times
it didn’t
And I
thought of
all the times
I thought
it was
broken
and I
realized
all the times
it wasn’t

And I
thought of
life
and
fate
and the
concept of
time
and how
all
of
those things
had
led up to
that moment,
that brief
recognition
of the
battered
metaphor
I had
replaced my
perfectly good
still beating
heart
with

What a shame
to have
ignored
such a
vital organ
that
ticks
with purpose
even
when I
do not