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Literature Text
Through pen and paper I find my escape. Just as one can read or play to run from reality, so can you write. You can write about fantasy, or science, or studies, or maybe even reality, the thing you seek to escape from. Through pen and paper stories unfold, even if we don't want to read them. Pen and paper let one walk in the shoes of another, though there are some shoes we aren't meant to be in or simply can not fit in.
I wonder if someone can fit in the shoes of my pen and paper's story? Would anyone want to?
Don't presume to know something about a person until their story is clearly written. Everyone has their own struggles to deal with, even if you can't readily see them. And sometimes pen and paper simply isn't enough.
I think my life's stationary would be ripped paper, marred and filthy, ripped and frayed on all edges, with a pen that's barely functioning. Maybe the button would stick and the ink would be low. What would yours look like, I wonder? And the person's next to you, and the person's down the street, in the next city, next state, next country. What would their pen and paper look like? What parts of their lives have they recorded down?
You know what the sad thing about paper is? Once it's crumpled, it can never be truly un-crumpled. The creases stay forever, even if they're faint. And even if the paper is damaged, the ink of a pen still keeps coming. It doesn't care. Life does not wait for you to heal and fix whatever damage someone has done to you.
It just doesn't care...
I wonder if someone can fit in the shoes of my pen and paper's story? Would anyone want to?
Don't presume to know something about a person until their story is clearly written. Everyone has their own struggles to deal with, even if you can't readily see them. And sometimes pen and paper simply isn't enough.
I think my life's stationary would be ripped paper, marred and filthy, ripped and frayed on all edges, with a pen that's barely functioning. Maybe the button would stick and the ink would be low. What would yours look like, I wonder? And the person's next to you, and the person's down the street, in the next city, next state, next country. What would their pen and paper look like? What parts of their lives have they recorded down?
You know what the sad thing about paper is? Once it's crumpled, it can never be truly un-crumpled. The creases stay forever, even if they're faint. And even if the paper is damaged, the ink of a pen still keeps coming. It doesn't care. Life does not wait for you to heal and fix whatever damage someone has done to you.
It just doesn't care...
Bowser Jr
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I'm upset. Can you notice? I seem to write a lot when I'm upset. Suppose that's a better outlet than other pastimes I can think of.
So I know I say it a lot, but I really just can't deal with life right now. I haven't been able to sleep properly in years, I've become such a nervous and anxious mess that I wouldn't be surprised if I get a heart attack by the age of 20, and I've become apathetic to so many things I shouldn't. I'm just so done with the world and the horrible people in it. I swear, for everyone decent person there's a thousand terrible.
While vent-writing this evening, I remembered an old activity one of my old teachers did with my class once. It was years ago, still elementary. Everyone took out a piece of paper and a pen (not a pencil, a pen. you can't erase pen. it's marks stay forever) and for every insult that's ever been thrown your way, you write it down and crumple a part of your paper. You were only to write things that had happened in the past month, so as not to go too overboard. I remember my paper was the worst looking one in the class. Stepped on, torn at the edges, covered in ink from how much I'd been told off, holes pierced through from the pen, and even a bit wet from where I cried on it during the activity. When my teacher asked us to share and she saw mine, she asked who said and did all those things and I simply looked at everyone in the classroom without saying a word before putting my head down. I think if I were to do that again, it would be eons worse and every insult would come from one person.
Well, now that I've made the description longer than the deviation, I'll shut up now. I've got drawing to do after all.
100 themes list here: dragoonzia.deviantart.com/jour…
So I know I say it a lot, but I really just can't deal with life right now. I haven't been able to sleep properly in years, I've become such a nervous and anxious mess that I wouldn't be surprised if I get a heart attack by the age of 20, and I've become apathetic to so many things I shouldn't. I'm just so done with the world and the horrible people in it. I swear, for everyone decent person there's a thousand terrible.
While vent-writing this evening, I remembered an old activity one of my old teachers did with my class once. It was years ago, still elementary. Everyone took out a piece of paper and a pen (not a pencil, a pen. you can't erase pen. it's marks stay forever) and for every insult that's ever been thrown your way, you write it down and crumple a part of your paper. You were only to write things that had happened in the past month, so as not to go too overboard. I remember my paper was the worst looking one in the class. Stepped on, torn at the edges, covered in ink from how much I'd been told off, holes pierced through from the pen, and even a bit wet from where I cried on it during the activity. When my teacher asked us to share and she saw mine, she asked who said and did all those things and I simply looked at everyone in the classroom without saying a word before putting my head down. I think if I were to do that again, it would be eons worse and every insult would come from one person.
Well, now that I've made the description longer than the deviation, I'll shut up now. I've got drawing to do after all.
100 themes list here: dragoonzia.deviantart.com/jour…
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Comments1
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*hugs* I'm so sorry for what you've been through, love. I can only imagine what some of that feels like, but I want to understand what you felt and maybe make you feel a bit better. :'c
And for a thousand of those terrible people, they will be a million little things in life that can make you happy, please know this.
And for a thousand of those terrible people, they will be a million little things in life that can make you happy, please know this.