what college do you plan to attend?

Looking towards Mills, San Francisco or San Jose

Documenting how school has torn me apart.

Appetite has gone. Meals went down to one per day. All I do is sleep now. No motivation for art or work. I cry out of frustration often. I feel empty. My memory has deteriorated. I need to take supplements because I don’t eat enough in order to get the nutrients I need.

People at school have really broken me for the past four years. Teachers as well.

Please stop criticizing me. I’m just tired.

yolesoteldo:


Dear Cutie-Pie,
Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on Google. Halfway through entering the question, Google returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Perched at the top of the list was “How to keep him interested.”
It startled me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer versus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.
And I got angry.
Little One, it is not, has never been, and never will be your job to “keep him interested.”
Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul—in that unshakeable place that isn’t rattled by rejection and loss and ego—that you are worthy of interest. (If you can remember that everyone else is worthy of interest also, the battle of your life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)
If you can trust your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will attract a boy who is both capable of interest and who wants to spend his one life investing all of his interest in you.
Little One, I want to tell you about the boy who doesn’t need to be kept interested, because he knows you are interesting:
I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table—as long as he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches when you smile. And then can’t stop looking.
I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me—as long as he can play with the children you give him and revel in all the glorious and frustrating ways they are just like you.
I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet—as long as he follows his heart and it always leads him back to you.
I don’t care if he is strong—as long as he gives you the space to exercise the strength that is in your heart.
I couldn’t care less how he votes—as long as he wakes up every morning and daily elects you to a place of honor in your home and a place of reverence in his heart.
I don’t care about the color of his skin—as long as he paints the canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.
I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or no religion—as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred.
In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:
You.
Because in the end, Little One, the only thing you should have to do to “keep him interested” is to be you.
Your eternally interested guy,
Daddy
Happy International Women’s Day

yolesoteldo:

Dear Cutie-Pie,

Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on Google. Halfway through entering the question, Google returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Perched at the top of the list was “How to keep him interested.”

It startled me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer versus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.

And I got angry.

Little One, it is not, has never been, and never will be your job to “keep him interested.”

Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul—in that unshakeable place that isn’t rattled by rejection and loss and ego—that you are worthy of interest. (If you can remember that everyone else is worthy of interest also, the battle of your life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)

If you can trust your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will attract a boy who is both capable of interest and who wants to spend his one life investing all of his interest in you.

Little One, I want to tell you about the boy who doesn’t need to be kept interested, because he knows you are interesting:

I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table—as long as he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches when you smile. And then can’t stop looking.

I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me—as long as he can play with the children you give him and revel in all the glorious and frustrating ways they are just like you.

I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet—as long as he follows his heart and it always leads him back to you.

I don’t care if he is strong—as long as he gives you the space to exercise the strength that is in your heart.

I couldn’t care less how he votes—as long as he wakes up every morning and daily elects you to a place of honor in your home and a place of reverence in his heart.

I don’t care about the color of his skin—as long as he paints the canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.

I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or no religion—as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred.

In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:

You.

Because in the end, Little One, the only thing you should have to do to “keep him interested” is to be you.

Your eternally interested guy,

Daddy

Happy International Women’s Day

(via caillous)

1112pm:

This whole working-5 days/40 hours-a-week ordeal while somehow finding time to finish my assignments for school and doing laundry before outwearing 98% of my garments has really offered an entirely new perspective for me. It has, for one, definitely shown me just how much I lacked responsibility and grace. I could go on and on through a hundred more traits I’ve learned that I lacked but I don’t have the time since I have to get on that laundry…. 

In all this chaos you taught her that love was breathlessness. You taught her that passion was brief and temporary. And with your lips you taught her the misfortune of lust. You forgot to tell her that love was sugar coated madness. Told her love was good and kind. Forgot to show her the thin line between love and pain.

In no way was she built to withstand the damage brought upon her. Sadness rose up like oceans to embrace her and she let it soak in the depths of her collar bones. Every drop of your rage that dripped from your fingers left burns on her skin. At the age of sixteen she had wrists made of steel. Eyes filled with ebullience and lips traced with innocence. But at eighteen she already knew how to carve apologies onto her skin leaving openings just to feel herself heal. She tangled you in her fingers and you let her. She let words live on her bones—let it wear her down—fracture her. Her lips were now bitter and speckles of resent rested on the rims of her iris. The skin she deemed to be made of steel melted at her feet. She was only sixteen but you already taught her how to break. Busted veins, busted lips you abused her with false kisses.

I hope someday someone hurts you the way you hurt her. Bleed yourself clean and smoke out all the bad parts. I hope someone makes you fall inevitably the way ashes fall from cigarettes. I hope the burnt out taste hurts your tongue. I hope memories of her begging for truth, for words that you could not say replay in your thoughts. And when you finally find silence in this madness, I hope the silence is deep enough it hurts your ears.

westleyy:

i don’t actually hate people it just exhausts me being around them for extended periods of time even my friends it’s nothing personal i just actually like being by myself yo

(via caillous)

I am in a constant state of stress. And it bothers me deeply when my dad calls me lazy and yells at me asking why I didn’t do certain tasks sooner. It’s because I’m tired. I go to school from 7:45 to 3:00. I go to work after school and get off at 9:00. I get home at 9:30. I eat (when I still have the energy and appetite). I shower. I do my homework. I sleep. My dad goes to work from 8:00 to 4:30. He goes home, eats, shower, watches TV and sleeps.

Tell me who has a more stressful schedule.