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Writings and shit

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Anything and Everything

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Lady Darkling

Disquietude Before the Storm

Disquietude Before the Storm

Regret of the spilled words washes over in waves; choking; suffocating. The thoughts I can never retract from my pen and the unease dipping into my soul. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the halcyon to crash and descend into nothingness.

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Always is a Fleeting Statement

    Like wind it came, enveloped, blew away. Tightening arms around the vanishing love, shivering from fervency. Plead and wail whilst the world hails down, down, down. Down to the earth that takes all, yet gives none.
    Like wind it came, brought leaves: love, life, appeasement; it blew away, so did the leaves. Grasping at the rueful void, endeavoring to hold on. Scream and scratch whilst the latch traps, traps, traps. Trapped in the obsidian that kills all, and leaves none.
    You never know, constantly left in agony, wondering when happiness will return to you, and some days, it arrives like the wind, euphorically rushing through before it abandons and you fall, feeble and fragile.

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

What is Death?

 

Is this death?

My bones melt,
I drop away from myself,
choking air sticks to my soul,
my life dissolves in oxygen,
and my thoughts off and empty.

Is dreaming death?

I hide myself in clouds,
body still visible and cold,
my entire being vibrates,
the excitement of one answer
makes me restless and breathless.

Is hiding death?

The door sings for me,
slow and sweet,
I cannot go back anymore,
nor do I want to, to a life
meaningless and full of phantom pain.
Is heaven death?

It is standing in front,
on the other side of the door, smile
upon its lips. First friend,
then grandfather, and last
mother.

Is she death?

She does not open the door for me,
staring at the body I have no longer,
at the thoughts that fell from my pockets,
but she has not words for me,
emitting only hatred.

Is pain death?

She whispers something that does not reach
me, I near the glass
of the door, hand moves on its own and on this
door it sits, and in that second her words
come: “You are not welcome here.”

I fall from the sky and die,
then arise and in an abandoned road
I walk.

I think life is death.

 

Moods: suffering from a migraine since like 4 AM and now it's like 12 AM and I have to read a thing for AP Lit what is life

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

How is this Happy

Kind, smiling eyes, bestowing happiness on blackness
of soul and mind. Basking in your light once more, just
as if you were never gone; here now, here forever.
Hold my hand and I am home, free from the evil
of the void; the emptiness that grows and grows.
Eyes burn and I do not know why; why
do I cry? Why do you cry?
How is this happy, for I was once
positive it would never arrive. Yet here you
stand with me, playing of flowers
of flowerpots and dew that glistens
upon them.

Trembling, trembling, trembling. Shaking
awake in despair, distraught and disheveled,
wailing into the empty night sky that pours
from inside the void you have left me. Nothing
to hold in comfort but the memory of
the dead I dream of at night.

How is this happy, for I was once
positively so, and then I lost
you.

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

I, a lone drop

I, a lone drop, amongst other lone drops.
Together, without each other, without self, without color.
Without speech and without happy, just water.

I, a lone drop, abandon other drops.
Abandon an empty house, without home,
without wall and without road, just air.

I, a lone drop, fall towards other drops.
Together, drops that are not drops,
loneliness that isn't alone, just sea.

I, a lone drop, no longer alone and no longer a drop.

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

NANOWRIMO is Kicking My Ass

Not counting today, and I am not, there is exactly four days left of November and NANOWRIMO. For those who don't know, which is apparently most people, NANOWRIMO is the abbreviation of National Novel Writing Month, AKA November. There's a site that basically organizes this whole thing where you write a 50,000 words (min) novel in a month. The point is to just write everyday and get it out of the way, even if it's crap. Editing and all that magic can happen later.

It's also something we do for our creative writing class. Now thankfully, my creative writing teacher is not evil, so she doesn't require us to hit the full word count, she just wants weekly progress. That's it. But for me, this isn't about the class, not really. It's about something I started about six years ago, when I was a wee lass of 11 years. I am currently still technically a wee lass, but less, I should hope. Not the point.

I started this novel when I was eleven, and I wrote like 8000 words for it before I realized my writing was shit and I liked the idea too much to ruin it with my crap writing skills. So what I did was put it aside, with the intention to get back to it after I upped my writing skillz. That didn't really happen. So when last year, the first year I took creative writing, Mrs. Cutter -aka my writing teacher aka the love of my life she's amazing- told us about NANOWRIMO I thought that was the perfect opportunity to pick this story back up. Trouble was, I wasn't, and am not, a fast writer. I was still in the beginning stages of letting go of my borderline obsessive need for perfection before moving on. A big problem for writing, as it made me edit while I was writing and slowed me down a ton.

So I started it back up, didn't finish. I wrote about 18,000 words, and five thousand of it was crossed out because I realized it contradicted either something that had happened or was going to happen. Now this year, I've picked it back up again, and my personal goal for NANOWRIMO was to finish this story. And I have, almost. Now, however, the problem lies in the fact that about 13,000 of my word count is in another document from last year. Yikes.

I'm trying to add more stuff into the story, but there's only so much I can do after the plot has taken it's course. I've added more description and extra scenes here and there, but ultimately, I know what I have to do. Start the sequel. And fuck, motherfucker, I am not ready for that. I have nothing planned out for how that's going to go, vs the first one which I spent six years working and developing in terms of plot. This is going to be completely new territory, and that's pretty scary.

I should really stop now, as this is really just my way of procrastinating from writing. Like that dance break and food break and drawing break that I took over the past three hours that I was supposed to be writing. Also, I've been listening to the same six fucking songs from Queen since like three days ago on repeat. Halp.

 

Moods: THAT'S WHY THEY CALL ME MISTER FAHRENHEIT I'M TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT I WANNA MAKE A SUPERSONIC MAN OUTTA OF YOU + crying on the inside because my dad just left for Iran and he's gonna be there for three weeks for business stuff and that means no parents for three weeks which is kind of nice but also NO + is it obvious I'm high af on caffeine

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

PSA I guess

Literally everyday something tells me to go register to vote. A teacher, a school announcement, a classmate, an ad on the internet, etc.

When it's a person I can explain, tedious it may be. It gets frustrating after a while. No, I can't register to vote. No I can't register to vote when I turn 18. I won't be able to vote in this election, or the next one. Oh why you ask? Simple. I'm not a US Citizen.

I mean, I live here, but apparently some people don't realize living somewhere and being a citizen of that country are different things. I only recently got a green card man, I can't vote for like another five years minimum, and that's if I don't go on any out of country vacations.

It's really scary to know you have zero control over what happens to the place you live in. And not just because of your age. It's scary that my dad can't vote, my sister can't vote. So excuse me if I get angry when someone says "Oh I don't care". Right, sure. You were born here, you belong here. It's your country, and you don't give a crap what happens? Not even that, you fail to recognize that people like me depend on people like you. We can't vote man, but we have to bear the consequences of your votes. For fucks sake, if you can vote, go do it. Exercise that goddamn right because I can't, my family can't. And I wouldn't expect you to understand. You, every single person that has said they won't vote because they don't care. I fault you for your selfishness, but if it were me in your shoes, I don't know for sure that I would care. So here's a PSA I guess. There's people like me and my family. We're here, we're gonna stay here. But we have no voting rights, not yet. If you do, go take advantage of it.

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Home is Where the Heart Was

It seems like my random sharing might be becoming a trend on this blog. So this here is a creative non-fiction piece I wrote last year for creative writing class, so everything in here is completely true and real and from personal experience. People's names have been changed, even though it wouldn't really matter if they hadn't been. The only name that hasn't been changed is my sister's, because she knew I was writing this and I got consent from her so there's that. Places and events mentioned are also unaltered.

 

 

 

Home is Where the Heart Was

 

I’ve been thinking about something, thinking that maybe I should go home. I miss home. My mind leaves, trying to create new memories, to get something out of nothing. As I reach my imaginary street intersection, I start to notice differences. Everyone looks different. Did they…?

A young man with an orange backpack, always running. Everyday as I wait for my bus, I see him. I know he’s not late. I saw him in Alizade’s, the convenience store a street over from mine, once. It was the same time, I had gone there to get some lead. In he walked; tall, dark hair, dark clothes; no color on him besides the blinding neon orange of his backpack. He stood there for a moment as if he couldn’t remember why he was there before he bought a notebook and promptly walked out. He’s not late to where he’s going, he wouldn’t have time to spare for a convenience store that way. No, he just likes to run.

Two busses pass me by as I wait. The first one is a faded blue, almost the same color as my own bus. It used to be a red herring, before I learned to differentiate the blues. The second bus is usually an ugly brown, but sometimes it shows up as a red one. Those are the days the driver has to take care of his mother; she’s sick. A friend of mine rides that bus and speaks to the driver occasionally; she waves at me everyday as the bus passes by, her face leaned against the window, her voice trying to break through the glass to reach me.

Sometimes I go to the other bus stop near me. It’s just a street over, after all. Right in front of Alizade’s. I remember the girl who would stand there. She was a grade below me, quiet until her sharp wit cut you off; that was when you noticed the slight mischievous glance in her pistachio eyes, the hazel in the inner region of her irises expanding as she laughed at you. I can’t remember her name, but it meant something close to ‘mercy giver’.

None of them are there anymore.

No. These are not the same people I used to see everyday. These people are all the same, unknown to me. There are new buildings, and a missing one. Alizade’s is gone, in its place lies a grocery store.

No. This is not the home I wanted to go to. But that’s not a home I can go back to. That home stopped existing, one change after I left. I can’t go to this home, it isn’t there anymore.

Another home then.

Anna holds my hand in the car, and we dodge MZ’s bites. He is five, and a wild troublemaker. Sometime’s we throw him to the passenger seat, shaking our head at Pearl. “We’re too tired today,” we yawn together. She holds my hand and we joke about bumps in the road, talk about nothing and everything. A bad driver passes by. We look at each other and simultaneously say it: “If only we were in the pickup truck,” then we burst out into laughter, and her honey brown eyes glint. A joke, courtesy of my dad. His work car is a pickup truck, which was our family car, once upon a time. It’s white, still gleaming even though it’s old and beaten up. When we’re driving in our new car and a reckless driver passes by, my dad narrows his eyes slightly, then mutters: “if only I was driving the pickup truck.” That is to say, if he was in the pickup truck he would hit the car. Yeah right.

We pass another bump. That’s the last bump in the road to school. The air is visibly brown; it’s one of those days. One of those days where there is so much dust you can barely breathe. Anna takes two masks out of her school bag; she knows I always forget. A car passes us, coming from the direction of the school. “Let’s go back, school’s obviously out today.” Anna jokes, flashing me her wide grin, a slight dimple forming on the left corner of her mouth, and I give her the look. We do this everyday, even when the air is clear. Well, as clear as it can get in Ahvaz. No matter how good she is at school, she doesn’t want to go. Neither do I, the difference is, if it was optional I would still go. I’m that kind of person, unfortunately.

We glance at LP’s empty spot in the car. She changed schools a few weeks into the school year, finally convincing her parents to let her go to art school. I’m happy for her, but I miss her so much. She moved recently too, so I can’t walk to her place anymore. I barely see her, and it saddens me. Last year, in 8th grade, was when we became friends. I had known her for a while, friend of a friend sort of thing, but we weren’t anything more than acquaintances. I can’t remember the exact day, but it was either the Day of Tasu’a or Ashura. Those are the ninth and tenth days of Muharram, and Iran, being an Islamic country, forces the students to take some time out of their class to sit outside and grieve. Stupid, I know.

It was raining that day, and everyone was sitting on the stands in front of the classes, as they were shielded from the rain, columns holding up extra pieces of roof that were the second floor. I came out of class late, trying to cut the experience as short as possible. I sat in the first empty spot I found, which was next to LP. Both of us were pissed about this, and I could see her rage, fighting to break out. I spoke to her about it, and pretty soon, we were ignoring the ceremony and discussing politics, religion, and how they tied into our school system. I have detailed accounts of that day in my journals. I remember the exact moment I realized how special she was; she spoke with such passion, putting feelings into words that I hadn’t even realized I had felt until she described them.

It was the Day of Tasu’a, I remember now. We sat together for Ashura as well, and repeated the day before. Before a week had passed, she was one of my closest friends. She was fiery passion, full of thoughts and ideas, but she could also be a soft flame. The days when we bought Falafel sandwiches and shared a bottle of coke, softly speaking until we realized we shared music opinions and got excited. She would go red very fast, her tanned skin gaining a pink hue as soon as she started to laugh; impossibly big almond eyes squinted half shut as a stray tear escaped.

Angel never liked LP, and LP didn’t like Angel either. In fact, not many people did. I was probably her only actual friend in 8th grade. She was soft and lovely, but insensitive. Her wings were sharp, and always open. She felt her parents didn’t love her, and I could see why she thought that, at least of her father. He doted on her younger brother, sometimes even completely ignoring Angel. She was so hurt, always looking for someone to love her, never knowing how to seek. She didn’t like herself as well as she should have, complaining that she was too skinny, her nose too big. It seemed like superficial whining, but I knew better. I knew how insecure she was about those things; how insecure she was about a lot of things. She didn’t like my other friends, she felt they would take me away from her.

Oh, sweet Angel. Sweet Angel with your dimples as deep as the grand canyon and lashes that framed your black eyes, as thick as could be. Sweet Angel, crying on my shoulder then trying to laugh it off, as if your feelings aren’t valid and it’s ridiculous that you even have any.

They made it work for me. The three of them would play nice, even though LP and Anna didn’t like Angel; they wouldn’t show it in front of me. That was home, sitting on a desk holding Anna’s hand, as LP and I fangirled about music and Angel copied my math homework.

That’s lost; can never be regained, not in this way. Home will never be that again, but it will be them; my friends.

Another home then.

I’m seven and crying. Dad just yelled at me, and I feel as small as I could ever be. I curl in on myself, wrapping myself between the several blankets that lie in the closet next to me. I don’t close the closet door; there’s no need. The room’s door is closed, and it’s not like anyone cares enough to check what’s going on anyway.

She did though.

She opens the door, helps me out of the closet and onto my bed; holds me until I’ve cried all the tears my feeble body could produce. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t need to. All I need, all I will ever need is her arms. I don’t need to tell her what happened, dad already spoke to her about it. I mumble some incoherent words in the middle of my sobs, words I don’t understand but she does. I bathe in the warmth she emits, and her perpetual scent of comfort wraps around me like a blanket. Mother; loving and caring, the only one to hold me as I cry.

I’m twelve and in class. The teacher hasn’t showed up yet, and Angel is moaning about how her crush doesn’t like her. I look at the clock. It’s ten-thirty; it should be any minute now. Nervousness and anger bubble inside me. I want to turn around and scream at Angel. Scream at her that while she goes on and on and on about her stupid crush my mother is in Tehran, about to have her head opened up.

I don’t say anything. I just sit, staring blankly at the clock. I know she’s scared. She had told me, a few days before she left. She was scared of head surgeries, scared that someone would mess up and she wouldn’t be right in the head ever again, scared that she would die.

I would try to reassure her, but what did I know? They tried to hide it from me when it first started, before it was a brain tumor. They tried to hide it from me that she had cancer, but once she started the chemo, I knew. I would stay up so many nights waiting for her to come back from her chemo sessions, even though she would be upset at me because it was a school night. I would hug her when I saw her look down at her chest in slight distaste, as if her battle scars made her less of a woman. I couldn’t do anything besides hug her, as she would hug me; nothing between us but love. But love wouldn’t keep her alive.

I’m fifteen. We’ve moved from Iran; left behind a home, a life. But she is with me, and so I endure. She is here and therefore I am still at home. But she’s in the hospital, and I get a call from Anahid in chorus. It’s bad, she tells me softly. I didn’t know what this new development was, how would I? I look up brain lesions after the phone call ends, and put it into context. I stifle sobs in the bathroom until lunch ends, then I go back into class and pretend nothing happened.

It’s March 5th, 2015. I’m looking at my health notes in preparation for the midterm that is next week. Mom is in bed, as she always is these days. The lesions did their work fast. At first she had trouble moving, and then she was bedridden. After that came the slowed speech, and now she barely knows what’s going on. Her eyes open from time to time, and it’s similar to a disinterested child; she can’t understand what’s going on or put it into context. I suppose this is what they call a vegetative state. It burns, to see her fall apart like that. To have to hear the sound of her impairment everyday with every breath. The oxygen mask makes a loud noise when she breaths, and it hurts because I know she hurts. I know that it pains her to breathe, that she is uncomfortable and in agony. I know that dad wants to transfer her back to the hospital soon because he doesn’t want her to die here.

Too late.

I’m looking at my notes and I freeze. I hear it; or rather, don’t. The sound of her breathing mask stops, and it’s like the world does as well. Then my aunt’s crying and screaming and dad’s frozen as I call 911, and Anahid and I push down on her chest as the lady on the phone instructs us to. Then there are more people and everything is hectic and I want to be with her but the ambulance takes her body away from me, shuts it behind metal gates and drives away. The cops ask me questions : our names, social security numbers, phone numbers, etc. I can barely breathe; my legs are shaking. I forget my answers as I’m giving them, and the cop speaking to me says it’s ok.

It’s ok. It’s not.

I can’t cry, I’m suffocating. There’s so many people around me; family members that show up and cry, or hug me and tell me they’re sorry. I’m shivering.

I can’t breathe.

Not this home. I can’t have this home, in any way ever again. My first home is dead, gone.

I don’t want to think anymore.

 

 

Moods: semi-permanent state of having no clue about anything

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Random Thingy

This is a snippet of one of the many random ass things I'm working on. I felt like sharing this, so here it is. Enjoy, I guess.

 

She had not seen the sun, the real sun, for years. Her eyes hurt from the sudden burst of light, but she embraced the pain. She basked in the sunlight, coughing from the ash and dust and effort of it all. A shot fired.

Lexi turned to the source of the sound, whipping out her gun. She had three bullets left, that was more than enough to deal with whoever had lost their mind. An old man stood alone, pointing a gun at the rest of the prisoners. “Drop the gun,” she commanded. There was no time for playing nice, not anymore. “Drop the gun or I will shoot you in the head.” The old man turned to look at her slightly. His hands shook with the weight of the metal. “I understand that any person you’ve seen for however many years has been hurting you, but they’ve been hurting us too. Now, if you want to live, then drop the gun.” He didn’t respond, and Lexi pulled the safety on her gun back. Another shot rang out across the desert.

The old man fell to the ground, blood pouring out of the gaping hole in his head and pooling in the sand. His brain matter was splashed underneath him, and one of the prisoners began retching at the sight. Lexi contemplated making a snarky comment, but the day had taken a more tiring turn than she had expected and her mind just wasn’t up to the task.

 

Moods: tired because it's like 1 AM on a school night and I'm dumb because I won't sleep but also I have insomnia so it's not my fault and dear fucking god someone just kill me what is life

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

The People You Love

There are things we don't like about the people we love, things we have always known. Things that aren't on the forefront and therefore, we can pretend that they're not an issue when in fact, they're pretty big issues. I love my father. He is amazing, he works so hard for me and my sister, and he's given up so much for us. There are things I hate about him.

Like how he said 'insane', made weird googly faces and laughed like it was a joke, like it was funny. Like how he refused to listen to me afterwards because I was being disrespectful to him and suddenly it's my fault that I am angry at him for basically making fun of me. He doesn't understand, of course. Every time I've tried to tell him it's been dismissed under my age, and I think he doesn't want to understand, because then it would mean I'm hurting. But I am hurting, and this doesn't help.

It's moments like these where I wonder, how would he differ if he could understand? Would he say these things if he knew his own daughter hallucinates sometimes? That she wants to cut her skin until there's no skin left, and sometimes she does? That she has panic attacks and bangs herself against the closet wall until she bruises? Would he still look in me in the eye and laugh?

There are things I hate about the people I love, and my father's inability to listen is one of them.

 

Moods: crying and stressed because I have my pre calculus final tomorrow and this just happened

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Sleeping

 

Sleeping

 

i dream of her Smile

                                             He tries to fill the gap

                                        shE tries to fill the gap

 

             it will never be the Same

                                                    i Lack something

                            in my hEart

      i think something achEs

                                                          Please come back

                                                         she Should never have left

 

hanging unto her wordS

                                  she shIelds me

        she tells me when it’s oXen free

 

                                Fire in my veins

                      i liE to myself

                                i liE to everyone else

                                       They can never know

 

                    torn asUnder

 i write her in my liNes

                                             Dreaming of her

        thinking of hEr

       and she’s theRe

 

Moods: Panic! At The Disco AF

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Cold Sea

 

Cold Sea

 

Blue of the light

Light of my life

Life of the weak

The weak of the damned

Damned I will be

Be the one to cry

Cry for lost hope

Hope I would die

Die in your arms

In you arms I can fly

Fly away to a dream

A dream of being happy

Happy like a bird

A bird of prey

Prey off the lost

Lost all day

All day I fantasize

Fantasize a scene

A scene where you're here

Here with me

With me you belong

Belong to the lost

Lost in the deep

The deep, dark, cold sea

 

Moods : Dreamfall and Dreamfall Chapters OST

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Blackbird

 

Blackbird

 

Eyes focused like a laser

Sun drips down your back,

Stale air rushed through your lungs

And you sing of the life you lack

 

Maybe the sky loved you

With the distance of the world

Maybe you've just lost all hope

Of finding a real hold

 

You run through cracked pavement

Wood splinters in your feet

You run away from the life

That made you toss and turn in your sheet

 

Are you running from someone, Blackbird?

Or are they running from you?

I know how sad you are,

But you scare me too.

 

PS: I just took a quick look through my old entries and wow was I cringe worthy. Not gonna delete the posts though, character development IS important.

Moods: Tired AF cuz it's near the end of the school, when teachers decide to slowly drive you insane via lack of sleep. Shout out to my Physics teacher who goes out of his way to not give us work because everyone else does.

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Inactive

It is again that time when I look at the last time I posted something and think 'holy shit I should post something.'

I mean, it's not like I have to, or if I don't people will think I died or something. Loads of people become inactive.

But I don't want to be one of those people. Not on this site anyway. I've never been super active on social media and stuff like that, but my activity rate has gone down dramatically since my mom passed away. It just made everything seem trivial.

And they are, even this site. But this site stands by it's name. It's a community, and I remember the fun I used to have here. The people I talked to, the friends I had. I don't want to lose that, even though I already kind of have.

I try to be more active. I come on the site everyday, but everytime I go to post something I just freeze. I got nothing. It's frustrating, but I want to try to work through it. I was never that active to begin with, but I don't want to be forgotten,  or forget, if that makes any sense.

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

I'm at My Friend's House

I wandered through the scorching desert, wondering where the hell I was going. I had been with a small group of people. Our goal was to get across the desert with what we had in our packs, but one by one they died off. The heat had been too much for them. It was picking out the weak. The heat was a strong thing, feeding on the weak. It consumes you, leaving your corpse to the creatures. I had somehow survived, living off of the little water I had left. I knew I was going to die, but the question was when?  At night there was nowhere to go except run from the beasts. I slept during the day with clothes lain over me so my body wouldn't burn. I trekked through the hot sand. Even during the middle of the night, the sand scorched my feet. A low growl erupted from behind me and my body froze. I turned slightly, only seeing part of the black creature and took off running. There was no way I was going to be able to outrun the the beast this time. It  had sneaked up on me this time. Usually I'm careful enough to listen, not this time. I ran, my bloody feet pounding into the hot sand. I could hear the creature gaining on me and I knew it was over. It plunged its claws deep into my back and I screamed, falling face-first into the sand as the creature dragged me back.

Gotta Zayn - Kaylyn/Chris

Lady Darkling

Skinny Pretty

When I hit puberty, I hated life.

 

My body went from awkward to chubby. Breasts that were too big, legs that were too fat, stomach rolls that I wanted to cut with a knife. You see, no one ever told me I could be pretty because if you’re not skinny then you’re fat and if you’re fat then you’re worthless.

 

I felt worthless.

 

I go to a friend’s house; she says that I look round.
Cut.
A guy comments on my ass, and I lose my appetite.
Cut.
My dad says he’s worried about me becoming obese at the rate I’m going.
Cut.

 

There was always too much blood.

 

They put me in a cage since I can remember, made my body the only safe place, then made me hate it. My skin is my home but now it feels as grotesque as I look and I need to get out so I cut, but when I cut I’m an attention seeking whore.

 

I wanted to die.

 

I had a friend, she was skinny. Every once in a while, she would look at me and say she wanted her figure to be more like mine. I didn’t understand. She was skinny, and skinny was pretty. She didn’t agree. She thought she was bony, her breasts too small, her thigh gap too big.

 

I didn’t understand.

 

No matter how you are, no matter how I am, they will always find flaw. You must be skinny to be loved but not you, you’re too skinny. Not you, your boobs are too small. Not you, we can’t see your ribs yet. Not you, you have stretch marks. Not you, your ass is too big. Not you, not you, not you, never you.

 

The world and their opinions.

 

My guy friends are awesome. I never had guy friends before, well, I wasn’t allowed to. It’s so interesting to talk to guys who treat me as person, as an equal. They aren’t robots, nor are they scum. I tell them that I like their honesty, that I like that they’re just normal guys with normal personalities and normal bodies. They don’t like that.

 

I didn’t understand.

 

They’re so different around others. It’s like they shut down, or shut me out. They say different things, hold themselves different ways. For them, skinny isn’t pretty. Skinny is weak. Women are weak and they must be superior because if they aren’t superior then they are a pansy, then they aren’t a real man, then they’re worthless.

 

The world and their opinions.

 

From the moment you’re born, you’re fed something. You learn things you don’t realize, have teachers you don’t know. You learn the world view, the popular opinion. Boys, buff, control, desensitized. Girls, skinny, submissive, emotional.
You’re taught to hate yourself, to feel uncomfortable in your own skin, to be ashamed of who you are. You try so desperately to fit into the frame that they have made for you, to be that picture of perfection, but you can’t. You’re too big, your personality so much more than they make it out to be. They want you to be one thing, while you are made up of all the things that they can’t even dream of.
Your body is beautiful no matter what, because in the end, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It is a privilege to witness your grace, and I promise you that even if you can’t believe it, at least one person will see that; why not let that be you?
Skinny, thin, chubby, fat, too little, too big, they’re all just words. It doesn’t matter if you’re skinny or not, it doesn’t matter how muscular you are. Skinny and buff may mean pretty to them but you, who you are, that is what means pretty to us. The beauty that they look for is temporary, the one you have is permanent; never let that go.

 

I’m almost done with puberty, and for now, I think I understand life.

 

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Eh

So I'm alive. Shocker, right?

I've barely visited this site in the past year, I've been quite busy with life and all that shit. I'm actually in class right now. Creative writing to be exact. I've finished writing the assignmebt we were doing so I am currently free. Weeeeee

I am so unbelievably tired. The day after a concert is never fun. But the concert went really well. I was so nervous because we hadn't had much time to learn our music, and it was such a big production. We sang Händel's Messiah, and we sounded pretty good. The orchestra sounded completely fabulous. There's this part in obe of the Messiah choruses, For Unto Us a Child Is Born, that sounded so majestic. So I'm really happy about how the concert went. So, so tired though.

My friend got accepted into her dream college! Fuck yeah, you go Linda! I can't believe she's almost 18. She's so tiny and cute , how the hell is she older than me?

Ok, bell's about to ring. Toodles.

 

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

I don't know what to name this

Been busy as fuck. SOl's and finals are coming up, and yesterday was mother's day, and shit's just been shit I guess.

I don't write much these days. If I do it's to, for, or about my mom. Seems my mind just can't help but go back to that. I think that's normal.

I've been feeling off lately. Especially if I'm not doing something that takes over my mind completely. I can't let myself think, 'cause when I think I go places I don't want to go.

I've been trying to slowly ease into writing again. It's going well, I haven't hit any major problems yet. I thought I'd do this post to help, with all that.

Goddamnit I can't stop coughing blech. I think I'm catching a cold. Or my allergies have just started up. Yay :dry:

So I think that may be it for now. I have a lot of fun in English, Chorus, History and Chemistry; which is to a large part due to the teachers which I really like. I'm actually glad I switched schools now. This place suits me better, and the teachers I have are fantastic so....

I think that's it for now. I'm pretty sure I can't write anymore at the moment.

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Mom

You will be in my heart 'till the day I die, and even then I'll find you; be sure of that.

The world was better off for knowing you, bye mummy

rihm6r.jpg

Lady Darkling

I Will Bleed

I Will Bleed

How funny it is when you tell me I'm good enough

Though I'm not good enough for you

How funny it is this black hole that I'm trapped in

An endless cycle of can't and will for you

Oh, don't you look at me again

My sanity's faded away with all you've done

Oh, don't you help me ever again

I'm curled in on my heart with your smile

And I will bleed

And I will bleed

And I will bleed

So you can remain for me

I will bleed

I will bleed

Yeah I will bleed

So you can remain for me

How sad it is when I cry all alone and I can't share

You're the new reason why

How sad it is when you tell me about your love

I can' tell you I know how it feels

Oh, don't you talk to me again

My sanity's faded away with all you've done

Oh, don't you leave me ever again

I'm curled in on my heart with your smile

And I will bleed

And I will bleed

And I will bleed

So you can remain for me

I will bleed

I will bleed

Yeah I will bleed

So you can remain for me, for me

Don't you show to me your scars

I don't wanna be another one who left you

Can't you feel my love's alive?

I don't wanna go on lying to you

And can't you see I'm always here?

Can't you see my self's bent?

Don't you see how I'm losing it?

Can't you feel how I'm insane?

Don't you see how my heart is cut up into tiny pieces

And I will bleed

And I will bleed

And I will bleed

So you can remain for me

I will bleed

I will bleed

Yeah I will bleed

So you can remain for me, for me

So you can remain for me

Lady Darkling

Life and All Things Boring

So I have started school in the US.

.

.

.

.

.

It is so different than school in Iran.

The entire system is different. And the school is so damn big. I'm gonna be lost for the first three months. Definitely.

It has been nice so far. I took Women's Chorus and Psychology as electives. Sweet. We didn't have electives in Iran. It's so weird to choose your classes but at the same time it's so great. Psychology is awesome as hell. I'm loving it.

So this is what life is like eh?

That's generally what's going on. Life and all the things that come along with it. I wouldn't say I've made friends, 'cause I've only been going to school for a few days. But I've made.... acquaintances shall we say.

There has been a really nice person who helped me from the first day so a thanks to them; even though they're not reading this lol.

Oh and also, it's so weird that we get two days off here. What the hell?

In Iran, Friday is the weekend. You start school on Saturday and the last day of school is Thursday. I couldn't sleep yesterday. 'Cause Saturday is the day the week starts for me. So I woke up at like 6 AM with the urgent feeling of gotta go to school, before realizing that I didn't have school.

.

.

.

.

Freaking weird.

And I think that's it from me. I have a lot of catching up to do, but I know like some of the materials. I'm gonna be horrible with History. I know nothing about history. Yikes.

Moods : Neutral as it gets

Stay Dirty

-Pari

Lady Darkling

Let Her Go

Why am I feeling this song so much right now?

Thinking of everything I left behind. I'm not entirely sure it was worth it. Is freedom worth crying everynight? Is it worth losing people and a life?

Lady Darkling

Not to Blame

Not to Blame

There he is again

Staring at another boy as he passes by

There you are again

Shoving him back into the house

He tells you he's sorry

He cries as you take out your belt

You tell him men don't cry and you strike him for the first time, again

And even in tears he says

"I don't like the way it feels

I don't like the scars it leaves

But I, I understand

You're beating the sickness out of me"

There she is again

Touching that girl too closely

There you are again

Staring at her disgustedly

She tells you she's in a hurry

She kicks you as you raise your hand

You tell her girls don't fight and you strike her for the last time, you swear

And even in pain she says

"I don't like the way it feels

I don't the bruises it leaves

But I, I understand

You think you're fixing me"

Well they can't be fixed

They can't be healed

They can't be changed

And they're not to blame

Lady Darkling

Whenever I Feel Down

A song dedicated to a friend I'm leaving behind.

Whenever I Feel Down

A warm embrace, a loving heart

Don't sell me out, don't fight your heart

I figure it was harder to say I love you than you let on

Broken glass, shattered image

Don't walk out, we can fix this

I figure it was harder to let me go than you let on

Now I'm at the airport, with a promise ring

It hurts to look at you like you're a frail thing

I will remember you, for all my years

I will love you, for all my tears

I will hold your memory tight and think of your smile

Whenever I feel down

Walls built high, trust no one

Wouldn't let me in, wouldn't show your scars

You figured it was better not to take a chance at all

Always walked alone in the park

Didn't want friends, didn't have anyone

You figured everyone was gonna end up the same after all

Now you trust me, now you're believing

It hurts to look at me, when I'm leaving

I will remember you, for all my years

I will love you, for all my tears

I will hold your memory tight and think of your smile

Whenever I feel down

I found true love in a smile, not a kiss

Happiness is your embrace, a bliss; a bliss

If I never see you again, know that I won't forget

I will remember you, for all my years

I will love you, for all my tears

I will hold your memory tight and think of your smile

I will remember you, for you're my heart

I will love you, though we're apart

I will hold your memory tight and think of your laugh

Whenever I feel down

Whenever I feel down

Whenever I feel down

Lady Darkling

Leaving

Leaving is weird. It's scary. It makes you want to crawl in a hole and never come out. It makes you wanna run as fast as you can. It makes you depressed. You look around the house that you grew up in and know that in a month it will belong to someone else, and you will never be here again. You look at your friends and know that in exactly one week you will be leaving them; not certain if you will ever see them in person again.

You look around town, knowing these days are your last days in this city; country; continent.

It's hard to try to enjoy your last days. You don't know how life is gonna be like after you leave. It'll be better in some aspects, not so much in others.

Leaving your life behind is so hard. I can hardly pull my mind together. The only times I feel concrete are with Shid and Asma. And even then I wanna cry because my time with them has gotten so short; so limited.

We've sold our car already, they're picking it up on Saturday. Jesus christ. People keep coming to look at our house and furniture; and part of me just wants to scream at them that these will never be theirs.

But another part of me knows that someone's gonna buy them, and they will change them so much that it won't be ours anymore.

"You can't go home, because it isn't there anymore" -The Man From Earth (Todd, I am eternally grateful for that movie)

It's scary that that's what's gonna happen. We will leave, and someday home won't be here anymore. This was our first house that felt like a home. This is where I really grew up. Where I learned to be myself, where I started reading, where I met my friends, where I got into music....

All of my good memories are here; and I think a part of me fears that once we leave, both this house and the memories will fade, until they are no more.

Stay Dirty

-Pari