inkskinned:

i’m not writing a poem about you but kissing you made me forget how much the world hurts. i mean it’s okay though right. sometimes girls get like this, like our insides turn fairy white. i’m not writing you a poem but i want to make you flower crowns and talk to you about why grass is so green and spill things on your carpet because i’m too busy laughing. i’m saying i’m keeping busy pretending. i’m not saying i almost always think about you but sometimes i find myself smiling. i’m not saying you’re magic but i get lighter around you. how cheesy is that. i’m not writing you a poem but i want to bury myself in the nights we’re both brave enough. i’m not writing about you but yesterday i saw the sky and she was hungry blue and i really miss being able to hold you.

bubblineismyproblem:

writing-prompt-s:

Everyone has the date of their death tattooed on their arm at birth, however yours just says “TOMORROW” and has said that all your life.

The confusion and anxiety started when I was first born; my parents were both in tears, and all of the doctors offered their condolences.
The next day, I was alive and well, much to the confusion of everyone involved. Maybe it was a mistake? Or I would die the next day instead.
But I kept living.
My parents taught me to hide it, to lie about it. I always covered the tattoo up with long sleeves or ‘bandages’ during the summer. My mother had panic attacks regularly and rarely slept. My father insisted on always knowing where I was going, and constantly checked up on me. I was never left alone.
Eventually, when I was old enough to understand what the tattoo meant, and what death was, the anxiety hit me too. I was constantly worried, sometimes staring at the words late at night when I was alone in bed. It didn’t make any sense to me. It didn’t make sense to anyone. But my family and I had come to the agreement that under no circumstances was anyone to find out what the word on my arm really was.
Throughout the years of my life, the anxiety would come and go – why would I die now? But moments of fear still passed through me whenever I got into a car, or a friend dared me to go on a roller coaster. Some people called me a coward. I wasn’t a coward – I was confused. I was just trying to live.
A part of me knew I should be grateful, grateful for living so long for no justified reason. But I was too confused to care.
That is, until one day in my philosophy class, when we started discussing famous phrases and the meanings behind them. Class was normal – a little dull, a little quiet, but interesting enough.
Phrases entered and exited the discussion, and I occasionally listened to the discussion. About ten minutes before we were suppose to leave, the professor asked for one last phrase. A girl behind me raised her hand.
“Yes? What’s your phrase?”
“My phrase is ‘tomorrow never comes.’”
Those words hit me, consumed me, making me struggle to breath. Class went on as normal as I sat there, making sense of the words. How had I never heard that phrase before? I suppose my parents protected me from it. But how? It seems like a simple phrase that could be thrown around without anyone making much out of it. But then again, I suppose there’s really not many opportunities to use it.
Tomorrow never comes.
Tomorrow never comes.
Tomorrow never comes.
What did that mean for me?
I sat through the rest of my classes, thinking and barely acknowledging my lessons, eventually reaching the end of the school day. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and went to text my dad the news. The statement. But as I typed the words, the realization hit me.

Everyone else had dates written on their arm. Dates like “September 17, 2068.” Or “August 23, 2100.” But tomorrow isn’t a date. Tomorrow isn’t a date.
“Tomorrow never comes.”
I’m immortal.

inkskinned:

i hate it but i want to be back where it was easy. i just mean i used to eat things without worrying. dessert coming first didn’t make me feel guilty, i didn’t have to say “we’re being bad tonight” and mean more than being unhealthy. when someone hurt you by accident they’d just say sorry instead of defending themselves why you deserved to get hit. stuff was easier. if you didn’t like her you just weren’t her friend. if you loved her you got married on the playground and nobody made fun of it. when you said “i’m tired” the teacher suggested naptime, not “get over it”. 

i know i’m an adult. i know it’s silly. i know i have plenty of things like mac and cheese and dino socks and a credit card i can use to buy pizza. but i also just want to sleep and wake up and start over. go back to where it went wrong and tell myself. it’s okay about the dessert and when they call you fat cover your ears. when he hits you, hit back, and get out of there. when she hurts you, stop talking to her, even if you’re worried you won’t have friends after. yeah, you like her, and people will hate you for it. kiss her anyway. be tired. but get out of bed, my love. take advantage of all of it. can i be my own guardian angel? go back in time and untangle all of it?