GummyBearKar

I didn’t know how long it would take, getting over you. I still think about you every once in a while. How could I not? I think about the ugly break up, with harsh words and cruel intentions. The things you said to try and hurt me, the things I told myself to try and ruin you forever in my mind, make you guiltier. The awful bitterness from both sides; the internal struggle between trying to make this as painless as possible and giving into the growing hate. The feeling in my stomach like all those butterflies just died and are drowning me, from the inside. The tension in the air, the replay of your face, your voice, your tears when

“Do you have any tattoos?” A simple question. The tiniest inflection; the smallest sneer on your face to let me know that you will carry judgement if I say yes. I answer anyways. “Yes. I do.” Your eyes change, the sneer comes out of hiding. You ask politely, for the sake of social propriety: “What’s it about?” I pause as I consider this. What is my tattoo about? I know you don’t care for that answer. You don’t realize the significance of that question, the underlying motive, the drive that would make me permanently scar my skin with ink to express what means the world to me. No. You

Thunder crashed as rain fell from the sky. The wind blew gently and coolly, sending a mist of soft rain to caress the girl in the forest. Walking under lamenting branches weighed down by tears, she felt their sorrow fall on her and trace her body. Her hair became darkened by their sadness, her body heavy from the rain. Puddles painted her canvas sneakers, darkening the fabric and chilling her to the bone. The girl shivered, pulled her dripping clothes closer to herself; the rain enveloped her almost tenderly while it stole her warmth. She turned up her music, blocking out the sound of nature. The ground was adorned by pine needles that relea

I stumble into my room gasping for air. I'm choking. I'm choking. I'm choking on anger, choking on hate, choking on this poison that is shoved down my throat every day. I'm choking on tears, choking on grudges, choking on those horrible things they say about me, my own flesh and blood calls me. Blood calls me. I shake my head angrily. They will not make me break. They will not make me hurt myself. I can feel it growing, feeding on the poison. That murderous rage. That feeling of overwhelming red that obscures my vision, fills my lungs, runs through my veins. I've never been an angry person. Always more tearful, more sad…more depres

I remember the first time I felt myself drowning. I was about eight years old. I hadn't quite realized how messed up things were around me. Things like the massive financial issues my family faced, the lie on which my parents had based their marriage, my sister's jealousy of me, the hatred of people around me; I didn't know what it was like to understand those things yet. All I knew was that it was a hot summer day and I was at a lake. The details of where this lake was located were kind of vague. My eight year old self didn't know where she was; only that I was visiting some friend of my mom's, it was somewhere far away and my older sister

Footsteps echo through the hallway The dim lights giving it an eerie glow My Converse sneakers scuff the floors The hallway is empty I trail my hands against empty lockers Feeling the cool metal on my skin I tiptoe down the hall, closing my eyes Breathing in that familiar scent As my footsteps awaken old memories I stop in front of a locker and slide down to the ground Remembering my first day, remembering my first impression Compared to my easy familiarity with this old school now Different memories spark different emotions Embarrassment, happiness, annoyance, fear But overall, I feel glad That this is where I spent my year G