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Dear J, I know you have your insecurities, but there's this candid photo of you and I that I just adore. You've pointed out everything you felt was flawed about you, but you didn't understand what this photo actually meant to me. I don't care ab
Remember the timeRemember thenThat instance,When, oh when Our youth, when we did what we didDidn’t care, didn’t giveInto the pressures, of parents or peersMan, those timesRemember?
“I’m sorry.” Muttered softly. Keep your head down child, Don’t you dare cry. Showing weakness is not an option, Not if we want to get out of here intact. We stand side by side,
Click goes the shutter, Flash goes the light, She tells you, "Don't blink!" But you just might.
Morning I wake up covered in dust Lying in bed all night makes my bones feel like rust What I can do to make myself look "right"
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Hah.
Take the picture. Too high. Too low. Just right. But what's wrong? Your nose is too big, Your smile looks weird, And your hair looks bad. Take it again. And again.
Click, snap, image captured Edit, draw, redirected Delete, delete Photo recaptured Upload now, photo posted This is me #nomakeup Eyes of slivers, wrinkles, dried tears This is I #nofilter
My vanity has become an army Pictures purporting to show unparalleled perfection
Ask me who I am in the raw, I'll tell you. I wake up like everyone else. I get dressed, brush my teeth. Most people assume that is me. 5'2", brown hair, brown eyes.
Photo’s capturing a moment in time in which you can save Forever, they say you can never get back time but when you take a picture
If you can't read the photo it goes- Here I sit in this rut once more, waiting, longing. I wish I could stop but it only goes just, beat, beat, beat. And the raging thump continues just
Will it be Instagrammed, 50 likes buttons pressed to show approval instapopularity, we can accept ourselves now filtering out sincerity in acid blue Will it be framed on the wall
In life we will all experience death. For some it will be easy…others not so much. Wrinkled skin, shaking hands, the eyes of a fighter. Even though on the outside they look defeated, Their soul burns on.
I’ve been in constant contradiction since I was 17 years old, do I run away from everything? or do just what I’m told?
We gather. We wait. We silently anticipate. The sun dips down, The waves dance up. The crashing touch Of Mother Earth And the King of the Sea Produce a sight of beauty.
I watched you watch that photo, the boy with dirt and muddy hands, as you told me that you were going to start the shower, leaving the dishes in the sink, a particular weariness in your look.