peter pan ink

Do not look up to Peter pan
Do not run after Alice
Do not chase these fantasy ideals you have in your head
Because the lost boys were all dead and Peter Pan was an asshole who killed himself
And just because the world of wonderland is written in rhyme
Does not mean there wasn’t blood shed
That the roses weren’t painted red with the blood of innocence
And just because the world was nice didn’t mean that Alice wasn’t alone or that the white rabbit didn’t have anxiety
Please
Do not forget that ever story has its horrors
Including the magical ones
To Neverland

I was sprayed with some pixie dust,
To escape from these realities.
So I flied to neverland,
And searched for my Peter Pan.
Though he’s nowhere to be found,
Still I took my chance.
If I ever wake up now,
No, that I never want.
Just please, let me dream for awhile,
For the moment I open my eyes,
I might start to cry.

you’re 25 and your home smells like you don’t quite know what you want out of life. you’re 25 and you’re saying, “i’m fine” to no one in particular, because there’s no one around to ask. you’re 25 and you’ve spent half your life listening to your own pulse, making sure you were still alive. you’re 25, but you don’t feel 25, you feel 105, you feel stuck and lost at the same time; you feel trapped, but also petrified, because the thought of freedom scares you. you’re 25 and it feels like the world has moved on five years ago; it feels like you’re arriving at the party that’s been over for a while, everyone’s gone and it’s all stale pizza and leftover cheap wine, and 90s music that you feel like you should know, but you don’t. you’re 25 and everyone’s talking about a quarter-life crisis and you think that maybe, you know how it feels - it tastes like microwaved food past the expiry date, and smells of bleach and mould; it sounds like sunday phone calls and pretending that this is the life you want; it feels like the anxiety of rent that is too high, and a job that feels like a noose around your neck, because you’re becoming the person you hate. you’re 25 and you’re not having fun. you’re 25 and you feel guilty, you feel wrong, you feel like you don’t belong; because this is not what 25 is supposed to feel like - it’s meant to be all sunrises by the ocean and drinking without hangovers and laughing from your belly and kissing boys who don’t make your hands tremble. you’re 25; this is your life and it feels like you’re doing it wrong. you’re 25, you’re scared, and you are lost. you are 25; you’re not alone.
—  marina v., the quarter-life crisis. 
I want to be Wendy, and you to be Peter Pan.
You could visit me in the darkest of nights,
We could whisper our deepest of secrets,
I could give you a kiss,
And you could take me to Neverland.

I now understand why Peter Pan didn’t want to grow up
Why Alice wanted to stay in Wonderland

Because who would want to face reality
When we’re all a little bonkers?

I never understood why Ariel wanted to be a human though
Sebastian knew what he was talking about when he said our world was mad

I never understood how Manny got attached to the little kid he rescued from the lake
The hunters could have killed him in a second

—  How can other creatures enjoy the company of those I would most likely avoid?
//The shattered flower