my name is fatima. not a senior in highschool. i eat kids for breakfast. and i made an account to pour my fucking heart out. if for some reason you want to know more just ask. (not the nicest person)
Bunch of Clutter
I just feel very much frustrated and i’m very confused and and and… i don’t want to be here dear reader, i don’t want to step on their ground, i don’t want them to see me wearing glasses in class cos of my poor vision, i don’t want them to know that i hate wednesdays, i don’t want them to think i’m a liar, i don’t want them to hear me joke and think i’m very un-amusing, i don’t want to give them a piece of me, i don’t want to be chained and gay about it, i don’t want to hear the girls giggle on the boys’ jokes because that’s what girls do, i don’t want to be as spoiled as they all are and i don’t want to be in my position right now.
Feeling nauseous cos you’ve managed to suck your soul from your body? Tired of being accused of stuff you haven’t done? Hollowness reached a place (which might be your heart) that it shouldn’t reach? Is it your friends’ misery? Is it your misery? Well then, you’re reading the wrong article/text/vent/advice giving/fuck off.
I’m not good at giving advice nor do I intend to be, I’m a self-centered freak that had it with people. I didn’t really “have” anything from people, I mostly had it with people who had it with people. You hate someone, avoid them. They don’t speak or enjoy the shindig you say, don’t start a conversation with them. They hate you, who the fuck cares? They said some hurtful stuff, don’t take it from them. You love them but they don’t love you back, there are other fish in the sea. You’re too afraid to be honest, don’t be afraid.
I know, you’re probably thinking that’s easier typed than done, well how about you start working on it? How about you stop complaining and do something useful for a change? I don’t know about you but my life isn’t infinite so might as well do what you do best and don’t do what you don’t want to do.
YES, WE CAN.
What the fuck am I saying… I’ll lurk out of this scene now.
Good-nightie, little freaks.
Something I wrote at the hospital..
Sniff, sniff, sniff.
I’m not really sick but my nose wants to sniff.
Sniff what, you ask?
Sniff the hospital’s rubber floors, sniff the fluorescent light that shows my weaknesses, sniff the i.v. that keeps passing by, sniff the metal chairs, heck might as well sniff the doctor, sniff my blood being sucked out, sniff the coffee from the vending machine, sniff the scrubs for information, sniffing the life I anticipated.
Sniff, sniff, sniff.