[x]

Filofobia Filofobia de una mente destruida

Lo mismo y sin sentido. Buscando sin buscar, apreciando sin apreciar, amando sin poder amar, llorando sin tener lágrimas, anhelando sin poder imaginar, sintiendo sin tener los sentimientos necesarios.
He visto a esta persona ¿Siento algo por él? No, yo sé que siento nada, es solo que…. Me aferro a su presencia porque sé que no surgirá algo más fuerte que una amistad; No, no es amor, ni siquiera sé si es un sentimiento.

¡NO QUIERO! Tengo miedo, estoy asustada de tu piel.
Busco defectos donde no los hay, hurgo en tus poros para encontrar uno solo y cuando al fin lo encuentro no estoy segura si es ve

Six Word Story: GoneI don't want to lose you.

The Artificial FaceThe Artificial Face

Inside the magazine you will see, very young attractive males and females. Each of them telling you, you are not good enough. They stand there and mock you with those eyes, those naked bodies. They tell you the horrible secrets that leak from their marble mouths. You are not hot, you are not thin, you are not muscular, you are not perfect like we are. We are the elite, everyone loves us and you will never be like us because you are so damned ugly.

They’re liars, every one of those people are nothing but liars. Please don’t hate them for what they are. They’re sad enough to stoop so low. So what is the t

Brokeback PewdieCry[This fic is actually too long to upload here, so please go to my FanFiction account, or go straight (hue) to the fic here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/9301339/1/Brokeback-PewdieCry]

Interprequy - Dragon of FleshThere you are: pure, true. You have hatched through a soft crimson egg and rode the red sea through the scarlet gates. You grow and bare your teeth, your crown of hair. You spout your wings and become free.

It is until other dragons with blackened hearts come to you, that you lose your wings. You fall for their deceit. Pressure hones in on your pride, the gift of fire is remorselessly ripped from your heart. Nothing but smoke leaves your lungs. Like broken factory works, your insides breakdown.

Each breath, you unleash the cancerous poison to those who flew by you, laughed and breathed fire. Now, they look down from the limitless sky, eyes

I used to want to die.Take a look at this papers background… It’s blank right?
That’s what your life is every day if you do nothing about it.
The world is your canvas you paint it, not anyone else.
Pick up your paint brush and paint a beautiful sky that you want to see everyday
Or YOU choose to paint a tornado that takes everything from you, and eventually takes your life if you paint it too many times.
Trust me. It isn’t worth it. I know that’s it is hard, you tell me you can’t do it but you can. My God or your God believes you can get through this!
He believes that you are tougher than every person around you.
He believes th

Ignorance Is Bliss Ignorance is bliss. There were never truer words to explain our relationship. I trusted you. I confided in you, and you treated it like it was nothing. Were it not for the fact that I believe in forgiving others despite their deeds, I would never have forgiven you.

I should have known. I should have seen it from the first night I met you, but I wanted someone you as my friend enough I overlooked it. I should have just stopped for five minutes to see who you really were. But I didn’t.

You’re very good at hiding who you are, I’ll give you that. I wonder how long you have been doing that. How many lies did you

Important You see a different side of a people when they sleep. Some people become rolling and boiling oceans, thrashing around in fits of emotional rage. Others become soft trains, riding down a long peaceful track. Even still, some make an unconscious decision to tell you their life story.
For me, my person becomes a beautiful place of serenity. Whilst he's awake, he's comical, vibrant, and alive. But sleeping, all of those wonderful attributes that make him him, they all become much quieter. All stress and anxiety seemingly disappear from under his radar, leaving only peace of mind and calm. While sleeping, he is more than beautiful.
Sleep is important. But for me, it is not for the reasons scientists say it is. It is a chance to find beauty in those around you where you may not commonly see it, Sleep is a chance to hold someone close, when you're too fearful while conscious.
Find your beauty. N

The Standard TwistWhat’s considered Normal
If we're all considered Odd,

Is Normal having no beliefs,
Is Normal loving God?

Is Normal picking up a smoke,
And lying down to rest,

Is Normal being better than you can be,
Is Normal really the best?

Is Normal a thing I can strive for,
Is it something I should be,

Is Normal the word you'd use to describe,
What you see when you see me?

In a world full of questions,
I like to ask myself,

If normal is something we aim for,
Why all those trophies on our shelves?

Because awards come from Oddity,
Where you do things with your heart,

And if you do them Normally,
You're hopeless from the start,

Oddity is what

I reread the note todayHe was so self-conscious that he began to come across as bizarre: a thin young man with gaunt cheekbones who slouched around the edges of conversations waiting for a chance to politely cut in, but to those more extroverted he seemed a creep or a voyeur. I knew him a year in silent passing before we had a conversation on the winding staircase beside the wall of windows.

Paused with intention, he stood above me and, backlit by a pale grey January morning, I could see all the blackened angles of his figure in contrast with his hands which rested bright upon the railing: smooth and golden, sparsely haired. When he smiled, he bared all his teeth,

This ManThis man is different from Pa. He's like a distinct reflection, making my world and understanding different than before.

Ma says that this man once told her that Pa was stupid to drop our family. After that, I always sat in my room--well, a room not MY room--wondering..........what was so special about my family? We're probably one of the worst families there is. A lost woman, now the head of a bunch of lost members, a dazed teenager, an isolated gamer, a quick tempered girl and two pets, who would want to choose us?

His family is more interesting. His wife is one of the religious group leaders at church, his daughter is a high school gradu

NoteI told the voices to shut the fuck up,
but they don listen, they just keep talking on and on,
and the love to argue with me over the stupidest shit.
I didn't know I wasn't the only one in me.

You never know, we could all very well be insane.
delusional and drunk in what we think is real.
who knows, it could all be a dream, or a nightmare
whichever you choose

i thought it was normal to be yourself, not someone else.
if that were the case, why so many sad sacks around.
is everyone this sad? i wouldn't know since
my closest friends are in my head.

i like my ponies, they symbolize the child in me
the child I hope dies when I die
I hope it nev

to everyone who gave me a fav to everyone who gave me a fav thank you very much

The American Nightmare*Caution: This story is not safe for young children. It is very scary.*
A little girl comes skipping into her house. She has a bright, cheery smile upon her face and she's holding dandelions in her hands. But soon, the smile is wiped off her face as she opens the fridge...
To her terror, there is nothing to eat. Sadly, due to her American diet and 1st world problems, the only food she is capable of digesting is soda, potato chips, and hamburgers. Not once in her life has she thought of trying some fruit or vegetables. For she is an American.
"Mother!" she cries, "There is nothing to eat!" The little girl falls to her knees and weeps because she's too blind to see that there is still food in the refrigerator. Her handful of dandelions fall to the floor along with her tears.
But there is no reply, because the hunger has already taken her dear old mother. And there is no reply fr

Big Brother? "Grown up."
"Suck up."
"You are so immature."
"You'll never get better."
"You'll never be better."
"You're a hindrance."
"Stop talking. Close your mouth."
"No one wants to hear you."
"It'd be better for everyone if you'd just stop TALKING."

I smirk. I laugh. I never shut up. I don't give him what he wants. I continuously talk over him as he spews out his insults. I act like it's all a joke. He thinks I'm stupid for it, and I want him to think I'm nothing short of annoying. I want him to give up on me and avoid me. I'll spit out something to anger him at every given opportunity. Continue to greet him every time he walks in the do

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Paralysed By Perfection

by *catelee2u, Jan 18, 2013, 3:32:15 PM
Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Emotional

Paralysed By Perfection

When you visualise the outcome
all you can see is failure.
You can't imagine anything good
being produced.
It seems like a lot of work to start,
an enormous hurdle.
You might not like what you do,
it might be an embarrassment to yourself.
If you don't show it anyone then who will know
so does it matter?
It feels weird to start, forbidden and uncomfortable.
What if ideas don't come? What if it can't be expressed as I like?
I try to remember Bob Ross and his 'happy accidents'.
Does anything excellent come from the first attempt anyway?
Probably sometimes when you're in that flow
but if you've been locked down and blocked
from even starting for years it is kind of unlikely.
Even writing this seems wrong.
I'm not writing it well enough or expressing myself correctly.
What am I really scared of?
After all I can rearrange this and I can change it afterwards.
I can spend as long as I like on it.
I can NEVER show it a damn soul.
Is it that if I make something I don't like I will be ashamed of it?
Is is that I will think I'm not good enough or will finally see how talent free I am?
If I'm not good at it does it matter? Perhaps a little.
Maybe I should listen to Van Gogh and paint anyway.
He made some beautiful pictures. Starry Night.
It's not perfect but I still like it. It's not photorealistic but it still has that something.
Maybe I wont be Van Gogh, probably not, but someone might like it.
Maybe even me.
The thing is I know all this yet it's so deep ingrained.
Don't look at the future or the past they are illusions and still I have had these feelings.
Now I let them go.

Paralysed By Perfectionby *catelee2u

Literature / Prose / Non-Fiction / Emotional

This is how I've been feeling. This is why at the beginning I submitted some rough crayon pieces that I know really were far from great (I'm not claiming my other pieces are perfect) to get this feeling out the way and yet it has been back. I am not continuing to sabotage my own enjoyment and I'm going to make stuff whether the dark me likes it or not and just to spite it. The picture is a fractal I made that 'wasn't good enough'.

$:iconfractalbee:$

*FractalBee Jan 28, 2013

*catelee2u Jan 28, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Thanks!

*Soldeus Jan 24, 2013 Hobbyist Digital Artist

Very nice! I can relate to this. Sometimes creativity seems to have a life of it's own for me, especially with my writing. Sometimes it's there..sometimes it's not..but there is always that self doubt nagging in the background. The key is like you said..be in the now..feel what is real..and let it flow..don't worry if it's perfect or not.

*catelee2u Jan 26, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

*Joe-Maccer Jan 18, 2013

Great words, Cat, they remind me of when it flows...the happy accidents are Nature using me
as it's tool and it's the best feeling one can have on earth.
I don't even know I exist...I am in the Nature-Zone. I guess it's a bit like bliss.

*catelee2u Jan 18, 2013 Hobbyist General Artist

Know what you mean Joe...lovely sentiments

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