My favorite word in the world is snazzy because I believe it sums up a specific emotion quite well. You know that feeling where you just smile and have this overwhelming sense of pride and happiness? That is because something or yourself is snazzy. Everything I post on here is something I believe to be snazzy. This can range from writings of mine, photos, quotes from my friends, or links. So go ahead, read, enjoy, and be snazzy.

Posts Tagged: cutting

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6 months ago    |   Tags: Happiness Scars Cutting Smile Love EX Poem Poetry Prose Short  

These scars are from the night
I ripped out the stitches
That he sewed into my smile.
There from those moments
When your laughter
Made me grin so much
Happiness could rest on my cheeks.

The One Who Left First

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11 months ago    |   Tags: boyfriend break up cut cutting happiness hurt life love pain prose relationships sex short story suicide Featured Spilled Ink   |   Notes: 3

I sat Indian style on the bed, naked with my mind stripped of thoughts. I stared up at the single light bulb that flickered above the bed and wondered why it just didn’t give into the darkness. I stole a glance at your bare back and watched your eyes in the mirror you were looking in. I whispered that I was sorry, and you gruffly asked what for. I replied for being sad. I looked down at the angry scars on my thighs and stomach and wished I could take back the night. You followed my eyes and scowled at the marks. “I thought you loved me.” “You know I do.” “Then why hurt yourself?” It was a valid question but one I could not answer without the use of a device that projected the vivid thoughts in my mind. I needed to show him the tangled knots inside of me that connected me to the world. The ones that wrapped around my veins and strangled them effortlessly. Why did I hurt myself? The same reason I got up in the morning; I had to. “I don’t know,” I answered. “I don’t know either. Can you stop?” Another reasonable question. It would have been so easy to say yes. I wanted to stop because I hated pain. I had no tolerance for it; paper cuts brought me to tears. But giving it up would have been giving up my control, and I’m sure I would have spiraled to an even darker state of mind. Why can’t I stop? Why can’t the lightbulb give in to the darkness? It’s the same question. “I don’t know,” I answered. I took the next few moments to compose myself. I told myself that I didn’t need him to be happy because I was never happy anyway. I walked out the door and with each step felt the string connecting him to me pull tighter. I listened closely for the sound of footsteps following but there were none. The only thing I can’t remember about that night is who was the first one to leave.