Hkmonsta

What October Means to Me

October is gray skies and early afternoons. Walls of fog that roll past my window early in the morning. Walking outside in the early evening and looking at the different colors of leaves on the trees, the scattered red and orange leaves that mark driveways and sidewalks. Seeing scarecrows and pumpkins out on porches that grin at me when I pass them by. Driving out to the pumpkin patch for apple cider donuts and a hayride that leads to golden apples that grow on trees and pumpkins looking for a new home. It means coming home after school to a Halloween movie marathon when the house smells like pumpkin bread and cinnamon and all things safe. Lighting an orange candle that smells like apple pie and drinking hot cbocolate as I sit on the couch wearing my favorite sweater. It means that smell in the air that drifts through my open windows that smells crisp and how autumn should smell. Listening to Bon Iver on my record player as the rain falls softly outside and journaling and making collages. Drinking endless cups of tea and watching Hocus Pocus nearly every night. Rereading my favorite books about vampires and werewolves and witches. It means feeling contented and happy and hopeful that my favorite month and my favorite season have officially arrived.

Why she dug up a grave

Poison like letters in one hand, wiping off her defeat from the other,

With every hiccup she tries to suffocate her shrieking a little further,

Her heart aches like someone’s digging it with broken pieces of glass,

Trying to steal whatever is left of her, and bury her six feet under the grass,

Her mother doesn’t know what she does when she locks up her room,

Mommy thinks she’s brewing spells of success to fly away on her broom,

But all she does is pick on the lints on her bedsheet, staring at the ceiling,

Feeling the sting of memories as they roll down her cheeks, taking with them everything but one feeling,

That she wants to keep with herself so that she can put on a play,

A play she’s becoming good at now, she’ll trick all the characters in saying what she wants them to say,

But she sobs at night, holding on to a pillow like it’s her only best friend,

Trying to soak all that she has to say in stanzas that don’t seem to end,

Eyes that are tired, her skin is telling stories only she knows the beginning of,

Stories where she flew too high to be in love with a star shining above,

And sleep doesn’t come to her anymore, dreams aren’t a luxury she can afford,

Walking with her eyes closed thinking it’s a daydream she going toward,

Every conversation leads to more chaos, she should’ve known the hill’s way too steep,

In her days she’s a merry tune, at night her sobs try to sing her to sleep,

Yet they fail, to make her fall to her knees; to succumb to her pain,

But she’s way to good at faking the truth for herself; she’ll do it again and again,

Avoiding conflict just so she can hear herself laugh, to find hope in her eyes so deep,

And if you see her and she’ll laugh like nothings wrong; know that she’s become too good at the secrets she keeps.

-afreen

“Can you remember who you were, before the world told you who you should be?”

— Charles Bukowski

Lonely eyes

This made me laugh for a couple of minutes it is so hilarious and cute!

“You deserve more. You deserve to be a priority and not just a convenience. You deserve to be listened to and appreciated. You deserved to be loved by someone who sees your integrity, passion and drive and not just your body. You deserve to be taken on dates and not simply invited over to watch movies because we all know that never ends well. You deserve to be called beautiful or handsome whether you look your best or whether you haven't showered in three days. You deserve someone who will answer the phone when you call at noon during your lunch break and not just someone who will call you in the middle of the night looking for attention. You deserve someone who is accepting of who you are, who doesn't try to change you and who loves you just the way you came.”