All Alone - Blog Posts

Mommy Sal and Padre McQueen with their baby.

Man I wished Cruz had called Sally Mrs. McQueen so I could know if they are MARRIED OR NOT! Or Hell Mater calling her Mrs. Sally when he passed by.

Hmm… I’m starting to get into Chick and Natalie, but I’m kind of leaning towards Cruz and Natalie now since Jackson hit Cruz and Natalie did a rather gay look upon admiring Cruz.

Mommy Sal and Padre McQueen do not approve of Jackson,  not after hitting their girl.

Here are some good Cars 3 (het…ish) pairings

∞

Thank you for doing this! 💜

All Alone by Fun

"..And she sits on my shelf

It makes me think of you

The way she carries the things that remind me of who

We used to be before we became antiques.."

just gonna lounge around in a white ribbed tank top and black briefs that hug my ass and package and hips like a gender-swapped ripley in alien with my windows open, smoking and watching horror movies

come play. i need to get filthy, the cool air feels good but not as good as your fingers in my mouth

My Turn

It's so confusing

Today was my day of refusing

But that person took my turn

It feels like burn

I always used to think

Why me getting angry or depressed used to bring my mother to brink

Now it seems so obvious

She must have been holding a lot of stuff that's serious

Because that's what is happening with me each day

I am going through a lot but keeping my emotions at bay

It's easier to tackle things around

If only the people near you are not pulling you to ground

I wake up and try to smile

But even a single person being sad and angry makes me think a mile

It feels like cheating to me

I have so much to feel, how are they even beating me

Someone said your coping mechanisms' great

But I need to express is what I felt

Faking my emotions so others don't feel depressed

Is too much of a burden as I read

Sometimes I am on the verge of breakdown

But someone else grabs the sad crown

I feel so betrayed

I even dread

I know it's attention seeking clearly

But it was my time to show my problems dearly

You took that away

Now I have no idea how to get my way

I don't know if it's wrong

But when one person is sad I think I don't have the right to sing my sad song

So I keep on storing

And it's easy enduring

But again one day someone is at dismay

I start feeling the angst because even though I wasn't planning to say

That person seems to have taken my turn

And I have got the burn

So I get angry and depressed

I don't try to show it but it gets expressed

No I am not copying anyone

It just me feeling that I didn't get a chance to express to someone

Sometimes you had planned so much about a life with a certain person in it, that even a picture or a memory of them today can make you feel completely empty from inside. Although you were happily living your life on your own till yesterday and its been years of not being in touch with them.

The deep painful introspective looks in the mirror at myself, have the same weight as someone's judgmental take on me, as they pass by with their first impressions as they judge either how I look, or how they chose to see me.

Either way it's as soothing to my soul as standing in one spot, barefoot on hot blacktop as the sun beats down upon it.

Maybe I never get to put away the knife, or better yet forget where I laid it. I'd settle for wiping it off on my sleeve and putting it in its sheath.

The untrusting darkness in me, combined with the auras that decide to pass by instead create the need to clench it so hard in my hand my knuckles turn white.

Fractured thoughts converge, tinting my field of vision around me.

It's not fear, but weariness.

I rather would choose the darkness or at least the shadows than to be laid bare in the unforgiving sun.

To bathe in the moonlight is to heal, to weather my skin to handle the torment of my waiting demons.

I see the silence in their touch, I hear the cold embrace against my skin.

At least their companionship is steady, the cuts, bruises, the crimson trail of thoughts they plant is expected.

I don't embrace them, but I've learned to depend on them for at least a normalicy in my life.

Without my anxiety, my demons that remind me in my sleep not to ware dream of a fairy tale life, I'd be tempted to trust those around me.

Instead I live looking for patterns... What do they want?what do they seek from me? What can I do for them?

Once they take a look at my face, or my intense soul the majority show themselves as weak, selective, callus in how they change, turn, ignore, block, or disappear.

Trust....

What the fuck is that anyway?

Unconditional acceptance... Yeah ok.. Now that's a beautiful fantasy.

I would rather be labeled too intense, or untrusting, I would rather always hold my knife and count on one hand those that may actually give a fuck about me, then to live like the lemmings that think popularity in numbers is love, or that kind words aren't laced with dark intentions.

Ver • ti • go

(noun)

1. Standing on a rooftop with you and your

daredevil smirk and unfaltering gaze; the

warmth of your hand as you took mine,

joy turning my world to a dizzying

kaleidoscope of scents and colours

2. Standing in an empty flat with pieces of you

and me scattered on the floor; feeling that

chasm opening inside me and knowing your

wouldn’t be here to catch me, not this time

(—Yushan C.)