81 posts
  • beautiful_deathx 3d

    did you ever hold a conversation with your parents to tell them you're straight?
    or that you wanted to continue being a woman/man for the rest of your life?

    if homosexuality is a disease, I guess I'll call in sick at school tomorrow.
    tell them, 'I feel gay.'
    cause if it's a disease, then mine is a valid reason.
    as simple as that.

    being a woman when you were born as a man or vice versa is not a sin.
    it's just that your chromosomes messed up
    and you're correcting that mistake.

    to all the 'phobics' * cough * 'assholes',
    I can't correct you.
    trust me,
    I would
    but I don't want to end up in jail.

    #lgbtq #lgbt #homosexuality #transgender #equal #equality #rant #rainbow

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    Oh, so you're homophobic?
    Or a transphobic?
    let me enlighten you with all the other things you quite possibly are:
    an asshole
    a bigger asshole
    a judgemental prick
    an even bigger asshole
    the reason for the derogation of every one else's assholes.
    Thank you for knowing your true self.


  • perfectprotagonist 1w

    All writers are lovers
    Yet all lovers aren't writers

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    Writers vs Lovers

    "Now that you've gone
    I am devoid of words
    Because without you
    I am devoid of my soul"
    Said the lover

    "They come and go
    They fess and fetch
    Said the lover's soul
    Yet a writer's soul
    Being empty yet filled with a mess
    Gives birth to words"
    Said the writer


  • aknownunknown 1w

    I can't be helped.

    It just won't stop hitting,
    everytime I live a similar day,
    which makes me go in that state again.

    Where I dream,
    with my eyes wide open,
    with no one's name etched to it.

    Where every sensation seems
    drastically familiar,
    yet unbelievably suffocating.

    Where I yell
    "Please help me,
    I'm dying."
    inside my head,
    refusing to get up while I die,
    every minute.

  • pickedapen 2w


    No. .
    I am soon going to loose one more year of my life. I will be closer to getting out. It's easier to understand a lot of things now than it was earlier.
    I am more aware of myself. I am an Ambivert, someone who hates liars, who doesn't loose it very easily with people but when I do it usually doesn't repair.
    I know I am okay in solitude and I can't hold my own in loud places. Small gatherings are my things. I am irritable and annoying.
    Life for me is synonymous to:-
    : One day at a time.
    : Let's see where this goes.
    I am all of these things and more.
    What I am not is restrainable.
    Can't be bound and chained.
    At this point in my life, I am both happy and sad and I am okay with this. .

  • aknownunknown 2w

    #dokidokiliteratureclub #writer #writeup #writing #poem #RAGE #RANT #HORROR #suicidenote

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  • paragdevkar 2w


    Dear departed 2017,
    You were like that bitter drug I refuse to take, but I must, because you are the worst thing that has ever happened to me, but in a way, you are the best thing in shaping me. You made me realize that not all the things that seem perfect for you are meant to be that way, that every persona that we meet is an illusion of what we perceive it to be. Everything is hideous, that beauty is just a camouflage for demons lurking in this world. You made me realize that not everyone is supposed to stay in your life. You think that you cannot live without that one person, you cannot imagine a life without them, and suddenly life throws in an unexpected curve and everything you ever believed has shattered to the ground. Your whole life comes crashing down. It takes time to deal with the reality but when it stays in a repertoire like an eternal loop, nothing heals. The pain doesn’t go away, it stays there like a shard of glass buried deep in the flesh. You just get used to it, but never so used that you don’t feel it anymore.
    You taught me that nothing stays completely good in this world. Nothing is the way it seems to be. Those we trust to never hurt us too can stab a dagger in our gut and sometimes, those with the dagger too just need help to live. There will always be a few things that you can never be peaceful with. In fact, let us be honest, there is no peace in this world. There will always be this nagging agenda in our life that we can never be comfortable with, so we wear a mask and pretend it is okay even when it is not and somehow, that’s how we decide to live thereafter. So, you know, those who tell you that they have made peace with something are blatantly telling a lie, to themselves and even to the rest of the world. And that’s okay, because life goes on and most of the times, we just ought to live.
    There are a million ways in which I can tell you what an inferno you were, like a boiling vomitus of endless torture. Now that you are done with, that 2018 is here, they say to let things of yesteryear go and begin afresh, but the torn and crinkled pages still bear their marks. How do I erase them? Some things leave a mark forever, you were one of them. You forever broke me, you forever changed me.

  • _halfcookedthoughts 3w


    You are the perfect symmetry in this asymmetrical world.

  • leahcar_cheeto16 4w


    Working nine hours; no break in sight.
    Always on your feet the moment you clock in.
    Never sitting down until you're in your car.
    Breaking your back by lifting pounds of food.
    8pm is sammich time because you're hungry.
    There are no salads; they left prep empty.
    Nuggets flung around because we hire children.
    Screen's full and red, but take your time doing buns.
    How long on strips? Um, 3 episodes of Seinfeld.
    A mountain of dishes; a GoFundMe for a wetsuit
    Maybe you should do your job. Nah, I'll sit in the office
    Assholes and idiots galore; only a few hardworking people
    The morale is low, sarge!
    Send me home fam!
    Can I get a Cobb no Cobb?
    A spicy filet on the wrap jawn!
    I love my job! Can I get a heard?


  • dr_mcdreamy 4w

    There was no chance to ask reason
    They were just changing the tone
    And we were becoming stranger

  • paragdevkar 4w

    Dear love

    Dear Love,
    The poison in my screams seem like ripple in breeze of wind; it passes by the silent wayfarers, the vagabonds, the ones that breathe in the aroma of life. It still goes unheard, muffled in the vastness of the oblivion.
    I wonder how you turned to the very hatred I once despised, the one that burned my flesh black, but you still kissed it. But do you know, the thing about Hate? It doesn’t stab you in the back, it doesn’t wear a mask, it doesn’t pretend, it doesn’t lie. It is simply honest, it is directed to simply someone, maybe that’s why nowadays I prefer her over you.
    I walk down the road, I see couples holding hands, hugging each other, maybe even kissing each other. I see her in every girl I see. I see her beauty dispensed like fractioned components of medicine in the people around me. I see them mesmerizing the tiny moments of love. I see you blossom in their lives, the way once you blossomed in mine. I see them happy, contended, maybe they are just oblivious of the storm you are.
    I remember her beautiful face, I remember her skin like the softness of a dove, I remember her warm hands like a comfortable glove in winter, I remember her hair like the grains of sand falling from you fist. I remember her simply amazing. And now, I hate everything about her. I hate her face, her skin, her hair, her beauty.
    The memories in the back of my mind seem like an attic for hoarded feelings, something that I cannot throw away yet cannot visit. I am not afraid of the pain, I don’t want to hide from it, but feeling the same pain for so long now, I have grown tired of it. I cannot feel good anymore. And this, I hate beyond love.
    Bleeding hearts into rants, verbose soliloquies, seem to alleviate this pain, but still love, you are the root of this whole evil, you are the one holding strings and hate and pain are mere puppets of your job.
    The next time you want to walk through the door in my life, simply don’t, because maybe you can walk in, but eventually I will learn to walk out, just the way she did.
    Dear Love, I hate you.

  • versesofxyz 4w


    What do you live for?
    That piece of green paper?

    Do you find a sense of reason?
    In that office all four seasons?

    Or that yearly appraisal
    Isn't being a slave awful?

    All your passions
    Now called distractions

    Moulded by society
    To die with no individuality

    Go live like a robot each day
    There is no life in you anyway


  • self_love_is_important 4w


    breathe in deep and feel the warmth of the sun fill your lungs,

    imagine that warmth lighting up even the darkest parts of you,

    And pls follow.

  • anonymous_dreamer 5w


    A sleepless night is like a battlefield of thoughts going wrong as emotions explode out. Whether it is tears or screams that I forcibly silence, it takes a toll as I wonder about with puffy eyes and a vacant voice. When times get hard the impact is greater because no longer can I escape by sleeping unless the tears run dry, only then will I collapse from exhaustion.

  • mrb2u71 5w

    🤪🤗 #random #rant when one can't sleep... #readwriteunite #writersnetwork #mirakee

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    I don't like to use the word hate, but busybody worker bees who micro-analyze what other people do or don't do, piss me off.
    We're all different and have our own quirky personalities. I see those who single people out in so-called social circles. They don't fool me with their classic misdirection. Trying to hide and mask their own insecurities and weirdness. All to ensure that they fit in with the so-called norm.
    I'm weird and I wear it like a three-piece suit, and you know what? I'm looking good! Circles, clicks, and groups? I'll keep being me, so I'm out.

    My names Mr. B and I approve this message.

  • brooklyneyre 6w

    - just a rant about who I am -

    My tongue is all twisted up
    with words unspoken
    By thoughts so jumbled
    Somedays I feel like a crumbled mess
    Always feeling out of place

    I'm expected to be one way
    By most
    And another way by everyone else
    I'm expected to be
    Split in two perfectly
    I'm expected to fit this stereotype
    When people find out my truth
    They either think I'm lying
    Or they tell me I'm greedy
    I need to choose
    I must be a cheater or confused
    Not really accepted by either side
    I feel so out of place
    I feel so isolated

    Being a bisexual black woman
    A bisexual black woman
    Who is into art, psychology, and reading
    According to other black people
    I'm trying to be white
    For all the things I'm interested in
    I'm just trying to be me
    I can't do things that make me unhappy
    To fit in
    I'm not trying to be
    This or that
    I'm not choosing to be bisexual
    Although I'm happy with it
    I didn't choose to be black
    although I'm proud of it
    I do however choose
    My art,music,yoga, my love of the mind,
    and to be a bibliophile

    I accept not having a place
    I won't accept people telling me
    Who I am
    How to be
    Why can't I live in peace
    Nothing I do affects any of you
    I don't live my life negatively
    Some days I'm clear and calm
    Like the moment after a storm
    Passes and I can get all my words
    Out plain and precisely
    If only people would listen

    I'm no longer twisting
    Around unspoken words
    All my thoughts are explicit and to the point
    I am who I am
    And f**K what you want
    I found my place with me
    Somedays I feel whole again
    On days I'm fed up
    Of everyone's unwanted opinions

    My rant has just started....

  • pratiksha_b 6w


    Sometimes I wonder if all of this is worth living for.
    Sometimes I think giving up would be the best option..ok that's a lie
    More often than not I think about giving up,giving up on life,giving up on me.
    The constant comparisons,the constant back biting,the constant he or she is better than you gets to me.
    I know I am not the best .. at anything in your eyes. But maybe just maybe look out of your supposed image of how a women should be and look at how hard I am trying.
    How hard I am trying to be a perfect daughter that you will be proud of and show the world. But I guess that will only happen in my dreams,if they are left that is.
    In being the perfect daughter,the perfect sister ,the perfect woman for that matter I have lost myself. I don't know anymore about who I am. I feel like a puppet whose strings you handle every moment of the day. How hard is it for you to realize that how much ever you manipulate me or the circumstances just so you can tell the world that you love your child . It won't ever change the fact that maybe love is not the only thing I require, it's freedom that I crave for. Freedom to enjoy the things I love, freedom to think that I can change the world, freedom to be me. The real me.

  • paragdevkar 7w

    A letter to the world

    To, All those who judge.
    Dear all,
    It was just yesterday that I saw him sieved through the marrows of life, lost in the epoch of a destiny never even partly revealed. It seeped through my mind like a shot of tequila burning down the throat, it stunned me with a tinnitus like a bomb exploding in your ears with every ounce of his strength saying, “I wanted to live; I just wanted to live.”. He was just thirteen, opening the door to adolescence when it hit him. I remember the way people walked away from him, the way his arrival in the class was frowned upon because of the fungating lesion eating away half his face. I don’t think cancer gave him as much pain as those judgemental eyes did. I don’t think he hated the sessions of chemotherapy that burned his flesh as much as the way the girl his age called him a monster. I don’t think he ever minded the loss of his hair like the naked tree in the season of fall as much as the loss of all tiny pleasures of life people take for granted. I don’t think he was ever treated as a human, let alone being kissed ever once; so, when death finally kissed him, he must have finally felt the cold gushing through him ironically relieving every inch of his troubled, wretched soul. I don’t think it was a suicide; I think it was a murder.
    I saw her the other day jumping from over the terrace of a forty-storey building. It must have been seven seconds before she finally hit the ground. Seven seconds free from the tyranny of this world; seven seconds of maybe her first and the last glimpse of joy; seven seconds of absolute peace; seven seconds when she encountered again every moment of her infinitesimal existence in the world and how much it didn’t matter at all; seven seconds when she saw through the cuts on her wrists were just empty slits through which the pain was just trying to break free and now it finally did; seven seconds of actual life. Her poems lie down beckoning the reader to peek into her mind, a portal of words that she wished she could rant before those pointing fingers calling her a lunatic, asking her to get a life, screaming at her that she didn’t deserve to live. It was her birthday, that day and before she jumped, she told me that it was the same time on the clock when she was born. She was waiting for it. She considered this poetic. She completed her poetry. I don’t think it was a suicide; I think it was a murder.
    We are the ugly, the sad misfits, the cursed, the synecdoche of misery, the graveyard of happiness, the sewage of hell. But, within ourselves, we are also the only ringed planet in this solar system, the light through the crack in the wall, the early morning dew, the harmless mockingbirds in a genus of all flying species. So, next time when you judge us, think twice before committing murder.
    Yours lovingly,
    The judged.

  • sni_pan 7w

    Really!!!! who cares which car you drive, how much weight you lost, and the endless pictures of what you
    be done with glorifying your lifestyle already, damn!
    How much #Validation you need 🙄, do you NOT know your self worth minus the trappings, that you need constant attention n approval from others.
    #Rant over the #mindless #herd style #Zombies around us. 🙄
    #GROWUP Zombies!!!!

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    Narcissism, Self obsession
    is so passé
    what catches my attention is
    Kindness, the real kind
    not what you do to
    feed that, which is passé..
    as said someone wise once ;)


  • paragdevkar 35w

    We are alive

    People say that humans are nothing but stardust. Stardust trapped in the most intricate of all forms, given shape to, molded into the most beautiful ways known, the brilliance working on us being the most marvelous of a beauty. The creation kisses us its gifts, bestows upon us the life, making us who we are. It runs through our blood while we are alive and then when we die, it bursts into a million melodies of pain, happiness, sorrow, euphoria, every moment we lived being trapped in this stardust, so when we die it sets itself free back to the stars, echoing through eternity, 'We are alive'.

    When someone dear to us dies, we feel the sudden angst of bereavement take over us. It is not just the pain of losing someone that haunts our memories and throws us into pain, it is the loss of social bonding with that person that makes us feel being eaten away, the loss of their warm touch, the loss of their voice like a phantom limb stays with us rotting us to the core.

    Pain hits us at times we least expect it, but it hits us harder when we are recovering from it. It creeps into us, shakes us to the marrows, grips us at our most vulnerable places and destroys us from within. It dissolves us into the darkness, into the oblivion, our voices dying into the chaos of wandering multitudes of tortured, muffled screams. Dying is not the ultimate punishment, it is being in pain.

    The greatest mistake of our lives is loving someone, and yet it is the most beautiful thing we can ever do. So, when they leave, dont look at the loss of their presence, look at the memories they leave behind, dont look at the emptiness of their hollow in your life, hear them breathing right to us through open doors, embracing us into a far distant tranquility, the calmness, the peace of it, thats where we will find them alive once again beckoning to us, 'We are alive'.

    Death is not the most ultimate phase of our lives, what we call death is merely the cessation of physical existence, life goes on, far beyond it, stretching its wings to the twisted senses of infinity or maybe even beyond. It lingers into the horizons gazing at the differences we make in the paths of the people we meet, it lives in the art, poetry, stories, paintings and portraits we compose to the musings of our friends, our families, our well-wishers and even our enemies.

    Visit your departed beloved and you can hear them saying right through the tombstones, pointing into the infinity of the stars telling you to look at them, asking you to acknowledge their presence and then peek into your mind, you can see all the memories flash by in a single streak of an impulse, you can hear even the faintest of their whisper, asking you to hear closely at the melody of their life saying, 'We are alive'.

    So, when one dies, dont cry, dont feel lost, embrace the pain and accept it saying, its alright, learn to live with it but more importantly, feel their presence as they echo deep into you, 'We are alive'.