Happiness With A Pinch Of Sadness
quote-a-lyric:

A Twist In My Story- Secondhand Serenade
Submitted by: http://bluebirdwithoutwings.tumblr.com/

quote-a-lyric:

A Twist In My Story- Secondhand Serenade

Submitted by: http://bluebirdwithoutwings.tumblr.com/

towritepoems:

I kind of hate this but I needed to say something (K.P.K)

towritepoems:

I kind of hate this but I needed to say something (K.P.K)

When I was about nine years old,
I wanted to be a boy.

In my mind, boys had everything.
Boys had it easy. Boys had it made.

I didn’t get along very well with
other girls because I would
rather be covered in mud than
in makeup. I would rather
skin knees than stab backs.
Boys ran their mouths and
ran the school while my
patience ran a little bit thin.
But that’s not what girls did.
Girls kept pretty and girls
kept quiet and girls kept
themselves together.

When I was about nine years old,
I realized the biggest difference
between boys and girls to me
was that boys never seemed
to think before they spoke
and I would watch girls
swallow their words like
they were pills made
for horses.

But to boys, there was more
than just that. There was
something in them that
told them girls were weak,
when all I could see was the
strength seeping out of their
pores as they bit the strongest
muscle in their body until it bled.
There was something in
them that told them
girls were worse, when
all I could see was every girl
in a race to better themselves
before the ideal image
of a perfect girl changed
once again.

Even at nine years old,
there was nothing better to me,
than girls.

But I wanted to be a boy, I think,
only because I wanted, just once,
to be picked first to play ball,
to show them I could run just as fast,
kick just as hard,
win just as fiercely.

I wanted to prove myself,
as a girl, that I could be everything
a boy was,
and then some.

When I was about nine years old,
as I hurriedly tried to tie up
my shoes to race others
to the field,
I heard the phrase:
“You can’t play for our team,
you’re a girl.”

I remember thinking,
“But why does that make a difference?”
Until I turned fifteen years old.

When I was about fifteen years old,
I realized that I did not want to
be a boy any more.
I wanted the freedom and
the power and the worth
every boy I grew up with
felt he had.

I wanted to be an equal.

When I was about fifteen years old,
and heard,
“You can’t play for our team”
as I laced up my heartstrings
like a pair of battered cleats,

I learned to say, with a huge smile,
and a nod, remembering
girls and their strength
and their beauty and their poise
and their ability to keep everything
in and everybody out and
hold together a family or bring
down an army,
“It’s okay. I play for the other team
anyway”.

GIRLS by K.P.K

(via towritepoems)
I often imagine our world as a pottery wheel and people as clay. No matter how the world spins, it makes the soft people hard and the weak people delicate. It’s up to you whether you call that art.

Pottery Wheel World (K.P.K)

towritepoems:

THIRTY WITH YOU (K.P.K)

towritepoems:

THIRTY WITH YOU (K.P.K)

On our first date, I told you I was flighty. Impatient. Easily bored.
I don’t paint my nails because I can never sit still long enough
for even one coat to dry. I don’t fold my laundry because I hate the routine. I would rather buy new cutlery than wash my old ones.
Maybe I’m lazy. Maybe I have no motivation. Maybe I’m just looking for somebody to grab my shoulders and give me a shake and explain what normal is and why I should do it. But sometimes I brush my teeth for seven minutes straight because it just feels right. Some nights
I put my pillow on the opposite end of the bed because I’m still hopeful that I’ll wake up differently if I sleep differently. I never do.
Sometimes I forget that I’m reading in the middle of flipping a page,
instead struck by the thought we would rather make paper than oxygen, would rather have one less life-source than one less novel. I wonder about priorities. I wonder about people who think it’s necessary to match their socks when they leave the house every morning as if that’s what determines their character. I wonder about people who carry around purses that contain nothing but gum. I wonder about people who spend all their hours at a desk and then return to their house to pass the night alone in a cold bed with a frozen dinner. I wonder if they think that money will make them happier than other humans. I don’t like kissing when I have lipstick on, because I’m afraid of leaving a stain on a cheek, as if I’m marking my territory somewhere I don’t belong, as if I’m trespassing on camera. I stay up for twenty hours a day and spend the other fours hours knowing that the longest a person can stay alive without sleep is ten days. I wonder if my nervous system has begun to break down, leaving me nervous and broken along with it. I don’t understand the pills the doctors prescribed me even though they told me I was just upset over being broken up with. I told them I wasn’t upset, I was morose. I was downtrodden. I was a leaky ship; still afloat but getting lower under the weight of the water every second. I didn’t want to sink. I wanted to sail. But they didn’t tell me that the happy little green and white pills would make me plateau. On our first date, I said I felt flat. Not the kind of flat of calm water on a windless day, but the kind of flat that you associate with deflated balloons. All out of air or out of breath or struggling to find any words left. I felt like the kind of flat that musicians hate. That I hate and I can’t play a single instrument. On our first date, I think I told you I would understand if you didn’t stay. Nobody did and I never blamed them. I was too busy wondering about people who believed in numbers and the healing power of yoga on 3 a.m mornings and tying their shoes without kneeling down to notice when they left. I am stuck inside of a world that I don’t quite understand, with people I never seem to connect with.

FIRST DATE CONVERSATION (K.P.K)

towritepoems:

i know this photoset was very long and extremely painful to scroll through but i would like to title this “personal growth” because look how much i have changed since january of this year. look at my e Y ebROWS

It is terrifying to think that one day you will trust somebody enough to let them see you naked. You will undress and remind them that you’ve stretch marks and birth marks and scars from having chicken pox when you were little and scars from all of the other things now. You will blush thousands of shades of red, painting yourself as a rose losing its petals. And that person - that person will take it all in. And I wonder if they will reassure you. But mostly, I wonder if they will even see anything worth reassuring you about. I hope they see each freckle on your back as if it’s a star and you are the whole universe to them.
K.P.K (via towritepoems)
of-wildflowers-and-wings:

5/365
(i think this will be one of my favorites)

of-wildflowers-and-wings:

5/365

(i think this will be one of my favorites)

be-cutfree-and-hope:

Follow a depression blog with a little pinch of happiness.