#thingsidid

Third and final drawing I did last year for the @mischievousscampzine

Here comes some art I created last year for the @mischievousscampzine (more to come in the next days)

Upside down image under the cut 🙃

Spring is here at last

The wind kissing my bare legs:

It inspires me

So I decided

To be an actress today

And I joined a play

Spring rejuvenates

And, oh, it’s just what I need  

I will be hard on myself - I expect to be disciplined and successful, but not rigid and materialistic. I will be confident and outgoing, kind and forgiving, hard-working and fearless. I will be thin and beautiful and always happy. I expect absolute perfection and will always put mind over matter. I will set high expectations for myself, but never for others. In fact, I will let my co-workers take advantage of me; I won’t expect loyalty from my friends; I will never require support from my family; and I will never demand respect from my lovers. People will use me, manipulate me, disregard my feelings, forget me, and I will never let it phase me. I refuse to disillusion myself with expectations of being treated better.

I will care about other people, but I will never trust them. I will love other people, but never with all of my heart. The bad ones are liars, cheaters, thieves, manipulators, sexual predators, and selfish fools. The good ones will surely die or fade away into the cruelty that is this world. I understand that some may have truly good intentions, but the end of the day, death and darkness will stop any such intention in it’s tracks without hesitation. I will never forget this.

I will develop a thick skin.

I will be self-sufficient.

I will be invincible.

I will always be alone, but it will never matter.

kiss me but not date me and when I would 

write poetry for my stupid tenth grade 

english class, my teachers would always 

give me and A because I always had a way with 

making them feel what it was like

to be fifteen with a broken heart,

but with the whole world ahead of me. 

now, I write poetry about how life won’t

love me back, or take me on a real date.  

I do it because I’m sad and I want the whole 

damn world to know what it’s like to be twenty,

waiting for my life to call, while my fake friends

constantly, condescendingly whisper in my ear:

“Why wait up, little girl?”

I haven’t written a poem I’m proud of 

since my prom date left the after-party with

my best friend Kate when we were seventeen;

I think I need a boy to fuck and forget me because

I want to go back 

to worrying about 

the more trifling