How The Fuck Do Writers Do What They Do?

Can u guys start putting insanely good books and photoshopping my name on it (hana malik) so together we can create awareness about me as an author (haven't even written my first book)

Help a girl out I'll give u a cookie

And pls gimme more ideas

This so mean why my trauma isn't cool af ugh

I love myself- I love myself so much. But it gets lonely when it just me, just me who loves me.

I hope writers realize that were not here to

Impress anyone

Make people like us

We're not even here to write well

We're here to finish the book

And not be historically accurate or use the correct word for it

I hope we writers know you can overexplain something and then remember the short word that summarises the 3 pages once u publish the book

This is for all teenage, rupi kaur 'cringey' writers as well. (I dont like u but u deserve a place on this earth aswell)

God gave me royalty to be at ease yet it's the thing I hate the most about me. He gave me good things to be grateful for but I hate them all. This is because there is something rotting within me. It was all assigned to the wrong person. I cannot be normal. "I feel scared Yusuf. I'm scared of you. Whenever you kiss my feet I remember how I was treated in the palace. You dont treat me like the servants used to. Why don't you treat me like the servants used to? Why don't you treat me like a slave? I am carrying every bad thing that has ever happened to me on my back like a sack of stones over my shoulder wherever I go. It digs into my neck and causes a rash that burns. Initially, I thought maybe I felt special. After all, I am a princess. I thought that's what separates me from the crowd. But when people flash a smile I feel offended. I hate it, Yusuf. I hate when people smile and compliment me. I hate anything lavish. I desperately need gold that is fake. I need to be clad in simple cotton kurtas. I hate the colour red. This is what I try to explain to you everyday! In the bazaar, you pitied me for the common stones on the rings occupying my fingers. I explained it to you then. After it all, you say I do not deserve the frail mattresses. What is that you mean? Are you trying to take revenge on me?! Though our hatred for my father is mutual, after all I am his daughter. How am I supposed to believe you do not wish to sabotage me when you threaten to put me in the same position I barely crawled out of? Do you even know? I hate the purple silk sheets and the grandiose bed chamber. When I lie on my back, I still do not get adequate rest because the light of the moon is caught by the very real diamonds stuck to the top edges of the chamber. It glints and reflects onto my eyes. It is blinding. I hate them, too. The royal stones remind me of the rotten marrow swimming in my bones. I hate when I look into the mirror and I look pretty."

Tunblr logo so ugly ewq

— Clementine Von Radics, from Courtney Love Prays to Oregon (via lunamonchtuna)

Old poetry is such an unexpected GEM

Darling, how I wish I could tell your gentle soul how light flickers atleast twice before it is eternal.

For the most virulent of snakes would spit off their venom to kiss your name, when it is but etched on a rock;- how when timid dark ravens will curl themselves in vines that reach from behind your tomb, would then flaunt their wings spreading life around like scattered glitter.

And the rain would skip you when souls begin to raise their cupped hands crying for water,

For your stubborn petals bloom with tears that are only now salty in your mouth."

Now someone tell me what was going through my mind at 12 years old because clearly there is plot behind this.

"Will you just tell me what your fucking problem is? You're acting crazy, you know that, but you think you can still pretend everything is fine? Spit it out!"

"I'm— I'm being haunted."

I've said the forbidden thing. And I'm waiting for the ceiling to fall on top of us or for the ground to swallow me whole, but all i see and feel is the horror on their faces. Why isn't Celia, the Celia whom I murdered not doing a single thing? It is only when i lift my head to see their horrified faces once again that I understand.

I understand to such a degree that I break into maniacal laughter as the world spins around me. Both me and the woman haunting me— we share a common goal now.

I want to We want to torture the people who made me murder her. "Maybe Celia's not haunting me. Maybe I'm posessed by her. For I've never understood a person this much before!"

"You watch your mouth, new prince. Before I—"

"Before you strip me off the 'chosen hero' title? Well to hell with your fucking special play, your uniqueness. Curse you and that royal blood— After all, what kind of chosen hero, What kind of God' s favourite hold's a knife to a young woman's innocent throat? All in the name of 'erasing cursed heritage?' In the name of the cause, you ruined me! You all have forgotten yourselves! Even declared yourself king, at the expense of making me a murderer. At the expense of the love of my life— no, the life of my love!" Celia uses her powers now. No, her presence is stronger. She uses it to shut me up, ofcourse. Frightening, how love is enough to shake the souls of the dead, aswell.

After all, I only confessed my love for her once she was incapable of loving me back.

"Lock him up. Cut him until he swears by the blood."

I pray she will use her powers to intervene, and save me from the torture. I hear no objection as I'm dragged away. What a creative manner to reject me, my celia. I will admire you from hell

"Will you just tell me what your fucking problem is? You're acting crazy, you know that, but you think you can still pretend everything is fine? Spit it out!"

"I'm— I'm being haunted."

they invented girlfriends so you have someone who thinks. ur cool as hell when you do something mid as fuck