xv.

“My soul is from elsewhere, I'm sure of that, and I intend to end up there.”
― Rumi

deucebasket:

I saw a bunch of ants carrying around a potato chip this morning and it made me wish I had a bunch of friends and a really huge potato chip

i’d rather wish to have super strength so i could pick it up alone and eat the whole thing alone 

(via lets-paint-this-city)

IDK.

If you’ve been diligent in reading my posts previously, not that I’m saying you have to, you must have read the poem I had written on our imperfections. When writing something with a motive and a necessity to get a point across to your reader, your flow of writing is stronger than ever. With me, I don’t know why, I find it an obligation to end everything I write with a positive ending. 
I ended said poem with a happy note too, much too intense for my liking. 
But what I feel these days, is exact opposite of what I’d written. 
I feel insecure. 
There, I said it. I know I shouldn’t be, because everyone is beautiful in their own way and blah blah blah. BUT NO. I HATE THE FACT THAT I BELIEVE I AM NOT BEAUTIFUL. If someone I know comes across this and tries to comfort me the next day, telling me repeatedly, that ‘No, Sukriti. You are beautiful.” 
BUT IT WILL NOT HELP UNTIL I MYSELF REALISE I AM BEAUTIFUL. AND BELIEVE ME, I’E BEEN TRYING HARD.
(I’m talking about external appearance, because I like to think that I have a good personality)
I look at all the other girls my age, their hair, their eyes, their entire face. I don’t like acne. I feel like that is the root of my negative beliefs. Everyday I wake up with a positive note, that maybe one day my face won’t have a spot that’ll be visible. WHERE IS THAT DAY? 
I’ll admit once again, that I hate the fact that I’m acting like this. But that’s what it is. Though what I can hope is that my next post (whenever that will be) will end with a happy note. 
Thanks for reading my rant. 

kisslng:

this one time a girl told me we had the same name and I asked her what hers was

(via crnge)

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