Posted in Poetry


Unbroken Reverie

And if today,

All you did was

hold yourself together,

I’m proud of you

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Posted in Poetry

If I Had A Daughter

If I had a daughter

I would teach her

To love herself

For sometimes

The world won’t

Love you



I would teach her

To make music

Out of nothing

And to sing songs

Of joy.


I would teach her

That it’s okay to

Not want to sing

Songs of joy



I would teach her

To give and give

But to know to

Stop before giving

Herself up.


I would teach her

To know her body

Belongs to no one

But her and no one

Can take it without

Her permission.


I would teach her

To create landslides

And earthquakes

And floods just so

She can be heard.


I would teach her

To know the power

Of her voice and to

Take advantage of it

To help those



I would teach her

To know that in

This patriarchal

Society, women

Need the support

Of other women

Going through the

Same troubles.


I would teach her

To know what

Exactly she is worth

And to never bargain

That for someone

Else’s gain.


I would teach her

That sometimes,

There are people

Like Hitler, but there

Are also people

Like Malala.


I would teach her

To cross her fingers

And knock on wood,

Because sometimes

Hope is enough.


I would teach her

That nothing is

Worth more than

Love but when

That love is

Weighing you

Down more than

Making you fly,

You must set it



I would teach her

Stories of Hercules

And Athena and

Zeus and Aphrodite

And hope one day,

She creates her

Own myth.


I would teach her

To take a pen

And write her

Own story, for

Nobody else

Should have

The right.


I would teach her

To paint the skies

With colours of

Her imagination,

The sky is the limit,

But not even that


I would teach her 

That nothing is

More important

Than following

Your dreams and

Finding that pot

Of gold.


I would teach her

To kick this

Unfair, greedy

World in the

Ass and make

It her own.

Posted in Things I Loved Reading/Listening To

do what you love.

Can I say ‘Preach’?

dear someone.

Do what you love…bake burnt-ish cookies, write fragmented poetry and unfinished stories, sing a little off-key, play the guitar slowly and clumsily, and braid your hair (forgetting a few strands.)

Because, life is for enjoying, not perfecting.

Wear what you want. Graphic tees or long skirts. Blazers or high heels. Dresses or jeans or sweat pants. That shade of red lipstick that makes you feel empowered. That headband you’ve had since you can remember.

Because, life isn’t about fashion trends all the time.

Learn about what interests you. Famous celebrities, the capitals of the world, economic growth, or the Guinness world records. Learn about Joan of Arc, or Mayan civilization. Learn how to dance the waltz, or how to make a arrangement of flowers. Learn how to file paperwork, or how some stars are farther away.

Because, the unconventional things are worth your time.

Be yourself, heavenly and devilish.

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Posted in Things I Loved Reading/Listening To

When Love Arrives by Sarah Kay & Phil Kaye 

I knew exactly what love looked like – in 7th grade.

Even though I hadn’t met love yet, if love had wandered into my homeroom, I would have recognized him at first glance. Love wore a hemp necklace.
I would have recognized her at first glance, love wore a tight French braid.
Love played acoustic guitar and knew all my favorite Beatles songs.
Love wasn’t afraid to ride the bus with me.
And I knew, I just must be searching the wrong classrooms, just must be checking the wrong hallways, she was there, I was sure of it.
If only I could find him.

But when love finally showed up, she had a bowl cut.
He wore the same clothes everyday for a week.
Love hated the bus.
Love didn’t know anything about the Beatles.

Instead, every time I tried to kiss love, our teeth got in the way.

Love became the reason I lied to my parents: I’m going to –Ben’s house.
Love had terrible rhythm on the dance floor but made sure we never missed a slow song.

Love waited by the phone because she knew if her father picked up it would be:





“I guess they hung up.”

And love grew, stretched like a trampoline.

Love changed. Love disappeared, slowly, like baby teeth, losing parts of me I thought I needed.

Love vanished like an amateur magician and everyone could see the trapdoor but me.
Like a flat tire – there were other places I had planned on going, but my plans didn’t matter.

Love stayed away for years and when love finally reappeared, I barely recognized him.

Love smelt different now, had darker eyes, a broader back, love came with freckles that I didn’t recognize.
New birthmarks, a softer voice.
Now there were new sleeping patterns, new favorite books.
Love had songs that reminded him of someone else and songs love didn’t like to listen to. So did I.

But we found a park bench that fit us perfectly.
We found jokes that make us laugh.
And now love makes me fresh homemade chocolate chip cookies.
But love will probably finish most of them for a midnight snack.

Love looks great in lingerie but still likes to wear her retainer.
Love is a terrible driver, but a great navigator.
Love knows where she’s going, it just might take her two hours longer than she planned.
Love is messier now, not as simple.
Love uses the word “boobs” in front of my parents.
Love chews too loud.
Love leaves the cap off the toothpaste.
Love uses a smiley face in her text messages.
And turns out, love shits!

But love also cries.
And love will tell you you are beautiful and mean it, over and over again. “You are beautiful.”

When you first wake up, “You are beautiful.”

When you’ve just been crying, “You are beautiful.”

When you don’t wanna hear it, “You are beautiful.”

When you don’t believe it, “You are beautiful.”

When nobody else will tell you, “You are beautiful.”

Love still thinks you are beautiful.

But love is not perfect and will sometimes forget, when you need to hear it most, you are beautiful, do not forget this.

Love is not who you were expecting, love is not who you can predict.
Maybe love is in New York City, already asleep;

You are in California, Australia, wide awake.

Maybe love is always in the wrong timezone.
Maybe love is not ready for you.
Maybe you are not ready for love.

Maybe love just isn’t the marrying type.
Maybe the next time you see love is 20 years after the divorce, love is older now but just as beautiful as you remembered.
Maybe love is only there for a month.
Maybe love is there for every firework, every birthday party, every hospital visit.
Maybe love stays– maybe love can’t.

Maybe love shouldn’t.

Love arrives exactly when love is supposed to,

And love leaves exactly when love must.
When love arrives, say, “Welcome. Make yourself comfortable.

If love leaves, ask her to leave the door open behind her.
Turn off the music. Listen to the quiet, whisper,

“Thank you for stopping by.”

Posted in Poetry

back to being plastic 

She hated living

In the dollhouse.

A veneer of normal

And just, perfect. But

If you looked a little

Longer, if you tried 

To pay attention, 

You could see

Their dimpled smiles

Straining and their eyes

Blank. Faking it till

They make it (how much


They didn’t talk, no,

For what would they

Talk about? Remember

How once upon a time

We were happy? Ha.

Me neither.

What would they

Talk about? Hey,

Remember when we

Didn’t bruise so easily?

 She didn’t talk, but

She watched. She could

See more than what they

Were showing.

Red eyes, closed doors,

Unpaid bills, beer bellies,

The stench of bad decisions,

Rotting apple pies and 

Quiet infidelities.

She hides everything she

Really wants to say in

Her writing. Poison

In a cupcake. Peekaboo,

I see you. 

Shh, they’re looking,

Smile, laugh, we’re a

Happy family. (Who’re

We trying to kid?)

She wonders if the 

Walls could talk.

Oh, they’d sing songs

Of fake love and 

Whispered shouts, 

Of bruises of the 

Skin and wounds of  

The heart, of empty

Bottles and empty

Eyes. A choir of

Get up, you can

Make it, you’ll be

Able to leave one 


She’s never ever

Going to be able

To leave the 

Dollhouse, but 

Hope counts for 

Something and 

Maybe one day,

She’ll be able to

Turn her back on 

The hatred and 

Let her wings

Heal and take her

Far far away to a 

Place where hands

Didn’t always mean 

Violence, where mothers

Did more than just stare 

And where love could 

Be handed out with some

To spare for yourself. 

Posted in Poetry

flowers are overrated anyway 

The day the flowers 

In the vase died was

The day everything 

Felt okay for the first 

Time in so long.
He’d gotten her a 

Bouquet of tulips, 

Oh, her favourite flower 

A smile on his face and 

Lies on his lips.
The day the flowers 

In the vase died was

The first time a

Smile graced her 

Face after weeks. 
He said he loved her;

He apologised for 

Everything and then

He left. Needless to say, 

She didn’t like tulips anymore.
The day the flowers 

In the vase died 

Was the day she 

Felt good for the first

Time in so long. 
She was at work and 

That coward, he 

Packed his bag and 

Just left. She came 

Back to an empty house.
The day the flowers 

In the vase died 

Was the day her 

Heart wasn’t as 

Broken as before.
She was so angry, 

He said he loved her, 

He said he needed her, 

And he left. She burnt

His face out of her pics.
The day the flowers 

In the vase died 

Was the day she 

Was whole again 

For the first time in ages.
She could still smell

Him and she rubbed 

Him out for he 

Left. She left a tulip 

At his new girl’s door.
Hey! I hope you liked this! Also, I’d just like to say, thanks so much for a hundred followers?! I love you guys! 

Posted in Awards

The Liebster Award 

Hey! How y’all doing?

I’d like to thank The Girl With Iron Wings for nominating me, she’s an absolutely amazing human being, whose posts are brilliant, and you guys need to check her out. She’s so nice and so good, aah.

So, the rules are as follows:

  1. Thank the person who nominated you, and post a link to their blog on your blog. Try to include a little promotion for the person who nominated you. They will thank you for it and those who you nominate will also help you out as well.
  2. Display the award on your blog — by including it in your post and/or displaying it using a “widget” or a “gadget”. (Note that the best way to do this is to save the image to your own computer and then upload it to your blog post.)
  3. Provide 10 random facts about yourself. (Optional but highly recommended!)
  4. Nominate 5 – 11 blogs that you feel deserve the award, who have a less than 200 followers. (Note that you can always ask the blog owner this since not all blogs display a widget that lets the readers know this information!)
  5. List these rules in your post (You can copy and paste from here or simply put a link to this post on your blog.) Once you have written and published it, you then have to:
  6. Inform the people/blogs that you nominated that they have been nominated for the Liebster award and provide a link for them to your post or mine if you don’t have all the information so that they can learn about it (they might not have ever heard of it)!


Okay, now’s the hard part. Ten facts! Let’s do this. Here goes Facts About Me:

  1. I think I’m a little dehydrated, I barely ever drink water.
  2. I’m currently reading Six Of Crows by Leigh Bardugo and I kinda love it a lot. Kaz and Inej are so frikin’ cute, my heart. JESPER IS MY BABY AND I LOVE WYLAN AND NINA AND MATTHIAS and I don’t want anyone to die, I don’t think anyone will die? No mourners, no funerals, amirite?
  3. I’m hella obsessed with the BuzzFeed Tasty videos. They’re just so good and deceivingly easy-looking.
  4. I have this drawer full of random things and I love it. It has mementos from trips and small cards my friends gave me and marbles I’ve collected.
  5.  So, I”m in eleventh grade and how it works here is, there’s three streams: Science, Commerce and Arts, and you choose one of these streams for eleventh and twelfth. I took Arts. But Arts is sort of looked down upon, it’s thought to be for the dumb people and I get so much shit from the Science kids. Ugh.
  6. I always have a black hair tie with me wherever I go, my life essential.
  7. I watched the most recent Brooklyn Nine-Nine episode today and I? Died? The best episode ever, guys watch this show, it’s the best.
  8. I watched this movie, ‘Harold & Kumar Go To White Castle‘ like a month or so ago, and ever since, I’ve been craving burgers so badly, oh my God.
  9. I’m trying to be more organised but it’s not really working. Oh well, effort counts for something, right?
  10. I very much love Matthew Daddario’s face.


Ay, that wasn’t that hard, good job me. I nominate:

I hope you guys have fun doing this!

Bye, guys!

Posted in Poetry, Rant

She’s Such A Slut (oh my god)

Today, a boy came

Up to me and told me

One of my best friends

Was a slut.

I don’t think I’ll ever

Talk to him again.

She’s a smart, funny,

Amazing, sociable person;

But the one thing he notices,

The one thing he brings to

My attention as if I care:

She’s a slut.

It makes me wonder,

It truly does, how just about

Everyone thinks it’s okay to

Make other’s private matters,

Their business. No, you don’t

Have the right to create an

Opinion on something that

Doesn’t affect you and hurts

Someone else in the process.

No one realizes how much it

Hurts someone when their

Friends, the people they thought

They could trust, whisper

Behind their back, and sometimes

In front of their face: she’s such a

Slut, oh my god.

And it’s funny, it truly is,

How when a guy dates a lot of

Girls: he’s such a player, woah,

Mad, how’s he do that, shit,


But hey, when a girl just even

Talks to a lot of guys, it’s all:

She’s such a slut, what the fuck,

She’s banged three guys this

Week, can you believe it?

No, you don’t have the right

To label someone without

Knowing anything about them,

And what if she banged three guys

In a week, how’s that affecting you?

Maybe it was one, maybe five,

Why is it any of your business to

Poke your nose into?

Don’t look at someone and only

See their sexual matters. They’re

More than make out sessions

And blow jobs. You’re more than

Bitching and nosiness. Aren’t you?




I’m not allowed to wish you; to talk to you, really but I’d just like to say happy birthday and I love you. I’m sorry everything’s so shitty; you were one of my closest and oldest friends. I’ll miss you more than you’ll ever know. 

Posted in Poetry

Great Love Story 

I want you

To be my

Great Love Story

(And all the other clichés.)

I want you to be

My One that could’ve,

Should’ve left but didn’t.

(Thank you for staying.)

People will say,

“Fifty years? And

They’re still in love?”

(You’ve got me thinking about the future.)(I didn’t think I could.)

Love me now,

Love me then,

Love me forever.

(Just love me.)

If we broke up?

I’d miss your kisses

And your laugh.

(And the both of them together.)

Please don’t go away.

I’d be sad and I don’t

want to be sad anymore.

(You make me happy.)

You promised you wouldn’t

Let me fall and yet,

I managed to do just that.

(And I’m still falling.)(Please catch me.)

Love used to feel

Complicated, I was


(I’m not scared anymore.)(I love you.)

When I listen to

Love songs, I see

Your hands.

(Your face. Your smile. Your eyes. You.)

If I said that I

Want to marry you,

What would you say?

(Are you saying you want to marry me?)

We’re not gonna last,

You know it and so do I;

We’ll go our own ways.

(I hope our paths will cross again.)

And sure, I’ll be sad when

There’s no other

Alternative than goodbye.

(Ha, sad. Understatement of the year.)

You aren’t going to be

My forever but at least

You’ll be my something.

(And that’s more than I can ask for.)

I want you

To be my

Great Love Story.

(One day, I’m gonna have a life without you.)(I hope that day never comes.)

(Credits to Rev for being head over heels in love.)