You're Not...

You're not...

Everyone believes that I'll be here forever. Living with them. Never leaving their side, as a weight for them to forever carry. When I moan in pain stating my frustrations my parents say nothing to comfort me. They just tell me what they need from me..fill this out for me, check this, get this.

My sister says they don't treat me like i"m sick because I don't act sick I don't complain. So I tried complaining out loud whenever I felt terrible discomfort, which is difficult.  For my survival I need that brave face. But I tried.

Yet the truth is, they don't hear it. I complained whenever I feel pain so they know it and they still don't comfort me, even when I ask them to. And I don't know why I stayed in a place where I am not even sure if they have eyes that can see me. Part of me wonders if I'd be sick at all if I had just left the moment i knew I was invisible...

- Sequoia R.

Being soft is its own brand of brave.

cosmic-hope (via angryasianfeminist)

Far Out Of Reach

I hear music. I hear songs and I make up music, lacking access to any instrument or the ability to read music only feel it. I sing songs that touch me, like Temporal’s Fall Silently.

I see myself in my mind flowing through the movements, but I cannot duplicate the daydream.

I feel as though I am meant to dance in an empty studio and sing at the top of my lungs while standing in a field. Why do I have a yearning for things that are so far out of my reach?

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What's the use in dreaming when no matter how hard you work, everything gets taken away from you?

- Sequoia Red

I’m so fucking sick of saying I’m sorry when I’m the one collapsed on the ground.

mental-slut (via perfect)

It’s all messy: The hair. The bed. The words. The heart. Life…

William Leal (via toxicacidshots)