If you know too much, you'll get old too soon. Maybe that's what happened here

I don't think you have to display your scars and all your wounds to be called 'a good poet'

So many tender and painful, sweet and bitter, emotions crowd in my soul.

How can I describe my life to you? I think a lot, listen to music. I'm fond of old ppl, the cool air playing with my unruly hair and ofc rain 🌧

people are full of pretty words with empty meaning.

I'm picky with my words cuz my tounge is a way to my heart. And I fear one day someone will hear the vile whispers of my heart

I have more conversations in my head than I do in real life.

Im such a "but why" girl.

Its like im trying my best but i just keep making silly mistakes

I love you? Be specific which layer of 'me' do you love

Forced to say "it's okay" and be considerate instead of throwing the chair

For one minute please,
Stand here in silence and look at the sky,and contemplate how awesome life is(I lost my airpods. All I hear are the bells. I am in my deathbed
writing my will
please craft a cat statue over my grave.)

Make space in your ribs for me
I would like to reside eternally in my home country

Long story short. I am super lazy to explain why I'm being like this

My God, my God, whose performance am I wat-ching? How many people am I ? Who am I ? What is this space between myself and myself?

I am still so naive. I know pretty much what I like and dislike but please don't ask me who I am. A passionate fragmentary girl maybe?

Do i believe in love? I believe in suffocating obsession and sudden disinterest.

Itswhatitis

I wish math didn't exist. I never needed it for any specific situation, so why should I spend 3 hours finding x when I don't need it in my life? I'm only seventeen. Shouldn't I be wrestling with the big questions, the ones that actually matter? Why are we here? How do we make sense of it all? Instead, I'm drowning in formulas, memorizing equations that feel utterly meaningless. What about the real equation, the one that solves the mystery of my own existence? When, how, will I ever shake this feeling that being here, being me, is some kind of cosmic joke?