CINCO DE MAJICA
- Leituras 32
- Votos 0
- Capítulos 11
Em andamento1h 12m
Última atualização ter, fev 11, 2025
I hate love, I hate affection, I hate everything that involves being attach.
I hate being weak, I hate getting take advantage, and I hate being genuinely kind to people around me.
But I'm not that heartless a year ago.
I used to be the kindess, understanding, one call a way person. I don't care if people keep treating me horrible, I'm letting them do horrible shits to me. As long as they don't leave me...
Now I don't know who I am, I don't know how to show affections, I don't know how to love genuinely.
All I know is I need to build a wall, that no one can climb up and reach it.
Pero isang araw nawala ang mga pinag hirapan ko,
nagising ako sa sitwasyong dahilan kung bakit naging matigas ako...
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Young Justice Oc x ?
When I think about the past I know that things happen for a reason, but sometimes these thing make you feel alone, worthless, like you are alone even if you are surrounded by people who say they will be there for you no matter what. Then when you reach for them you find that they are too far away to reach out for. You are left alone, stranded, drowning, without anyone wanting to get to you. So you grow used to being alone, not relying on anyone. Then someone comes by that you wish you could trust, but you can't. You hold onto the past and guard yourself when it isn't needed. You become a shadow of your past self. Smiling without feeling it becomes a pattern, soon the people who claim to know you no longer tell the difference between the mask and the true broken self. So when they try to get to you, they fail, unable to understand why, they leave. Saying that you are acting funny, not yourself. If only they knew the self that they see now is the broken part that remains left. That's who I am now. A shadow of who I used to be.Concluída
The world is ending and I have unlimited supplies
They said the world was ending, but it didn't start with fire or war. It began with a storm-just like any other. But this time, it didn't stop. The rain fell for days, then weeks, and then came the flood that drowned everything. When the sun finally broke through the clouds, people thought it was over. They thought it was hope. But that hope was a lie. The sun scorched the land. Insects bred in the rotting water. Plague spread like wildfire. Water became scarce, food even scarcer. They said Mother Earth was angry, and I believed them. I did everything to survive. Even if it meant relying on a filthy, twisted man for bread. He preyed on girls like me-young, desperate, orphaned. He fed us, clothed us, and in return, demanded we sell our bodies. He called it "the price of protection." Men came to us like vultures. They stripped away our innocence and left us hollow. And then, one winter night, starving people stormed our hideout. They came with knives and desperation. I threw myself in front of the youngest girl when one lunged to stab her. I took the blade meant for her. As my body went cold, I felt no fear. Just peace. Finally, I thought. This nightmare is over. But when I opened my eyes again... I was in my bed. Warm. Dry. Dressed in pajamas. It hadn't been a nightmare. It had been real. And now, it's happening all over again. But this time, I won't be weak. This time, I won't be used. This time... I'll survive. No matter the cost.
Blood in the Margins: a collection of different poems, unfinished potential
FINISHED AND COMPLEATED. Just poems, I suppose. Or maybe a scrapbook of scars. A chaotic collage of half-born stories, abandoned plots, and feelings too loud to ignore. This isn't a novel. It's a graveyard of unwritten books- stitched together with ink and impulse. A little trauma here, a little heartbreak there. Addiction. Bad parents. Dangerous love. The usual mess. I never claimed to be a poet, but pain has a way of teaching rhythm. And when the stories in my head refused to become chapters, they became verses instead. My father? A ghost in flesh. A man who cradled needles more tenderly than he ever held me. He is an addict. A lover of oblivion. And I, the daughter left behind in the smoke of his escape. Does that make me a girl with "daddy issues"? Or just a girl still learning how not to bleed from wounds she didn't choose? This book is for the overthinkers, the almost-authors, the ones who feel too much and write too little- until the words finally spill out like blood on the page. Welcome to the ride. There's no exit. But there's poetry in the wreckage. Author's Note I didn't set out to write a book. I set out to survive my own mind. This is what happens when you have too many stories, too many ghosts, and not enough discipline to finish a single novel. So instead, I wrote poems- or something like them. Fragments. Feelings. Flashbacks. A scrapbook of the soul. Some of these pieces are fiction. Some are memory. Some are just what happens when you stare at the ceiling too long and let your thoughts rot into poetry. If you've ever had a thousand ideas and no idea where to start- if you've ever felt too broken to write but too full not to- this is for you. Thanks for riding with me. There's no map. No neat ending. Just the wreckage, and the words we make from it.Concluída
The fixed marriage
Pano kung ikasal ka sa taong di mo mahal? Pano kung mapalapit ka sa taong mo? ayaw mo? Pero ipinaglalapit talaga kayo ng tadhana! At hindi mo alam na nahuhulog kana sa taong yun. Well... the more u hate the more u love ☺️🤘🏻Concluída
Unknown
I Was 6 When I Found Out I Was Adopted, And I Found Out The Hard Way Too. All These Lies And Unpredictable People Are Worthless. In This World You Have To Learn How To Live Alone. How To Be Genuine..But Also How To Acknowledged The Fact That When You Want Something..Get It. Even If It Means Lives Have To Be Taken Away.The Unknown Will Bite Hard Cause In This Life Theirs Only A "Hard Way". My Way.Concluída
Tales Of A Broken Home
I'm so afraid of endings. Before he died, my father used to say that life is a long hallway and people come and go as they pass by our doors. Some stay for a while, some just peek in, and some never enter at all. But they all leave their mark on us, and we on them. And when our own door finally opens, we'll look back and see a trail of people we've loved and lost along the way. I used to think that was just his way of coping with his own mortality, but now I understand. Every time someone leaves my life, I feel like I'm losing a part of myself. I've always had a hard time saying goodbye, holding onto moments and memories like they're fragile pieces of glass. But no matter how tightly I hold on, eventually they slip from my grasp and shatter into a million pieces. Maybe it's because of how I was born, in the midst of a storm that tore my family apart. Maybe it's because my father left too soon, and I'm scared that everyone else will too. All I know is that I'm so afraid of endings that I cling to beginnings like they're my lifeline, hoping that they'll stretch out forever. But they never do. And every time I'm faced with another goodbye, I feel like I'm losing a little piece of myself. I try to hold onto the memories, the feelings, the moments I never want to forget. But they always fade, leaving me with a bittersweet ache in my chest. I know that life is a constant cycle of beginnings and endings. And every ending is just a new beginning waiting to happen. But it doesn't make it any easier to let go, to say goodbye, to watch someone I love walk away from my life. So I'll hold onto the beginnings for as long as I can. I'll savor every moment, every feeling, every memory. And when the time comes to say goodbye, I'll hold on a little tighter, and I'll try to remember that endings are just a part of the journey.Concluída
" Convenient Love Intentions "( gxg)
A simple girl like me wants to be loved unconditionally I'm believing na may Isa tao darating sa Buhay mo na Hindi mo kailangan hilingin at ipilit Ang love na gusto mo maranasan in a different kind of people in the different kind of love you wants to receive just be patient . . . . . so what if one day your feelings to someone can't reciprocate it..but this is the story tells about in a convient love intentions magagawa mo kaya mag stay para I try at sumagal kahit alam mo in the end it might hurt you ,but don't lose hope cuz you believe being a person we have our own way to feel our love in someone sa ibat iba paraan at sa sarili mo paraan . . . . . . . . . . . at ito Ang story ni yang na Isang part na lgbt na 31 yrs old naniniwala sa pagmamahal na matutuwid kahit di mo ipilit kahit gaano pa kabaluktot Wala impossible when it comes to love ... .![He's The One [unedited]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/5668496-256-k36583.jpg)
He's The One [unedited]
Why is it so hard to be happy? Paano ang pinakamadaling paraan para maging masaya? Sabi nila, mararamdaman mo ang tunay na kaligayahan sa piling ng taong mahal mo. Paano kung dumating ang sandali na makasama mo nga sya...ngunit pansamantala lamang? Makakaya mo bang mawala sya gayong sa kanya mo lang naramdaman ang kasiyahang noon pang hinahanap-hanap ng puso mo? Paano kung ang taong hulog ng langit para sa'yo...ay literal na galing sa langit?Concluída
When I think about the past I know that things happen for a reason, but sometimes these thing make you feel alone, worthless, like you are alone even if you are surrounded by people who say they will be there for you no matter what. Then when you reach for them you find that they are too far away to reach out for. You are left alone, stranded, drowning, without anyone wanting to get to you. So you grow used to being alone, not relying on anyone. Then someone comes by that you wish you could trust, but you can't. You hold onto the past and guard yourself when it isn't needed. You become a shadow of your past self. Smiling without feeling it becomes a pattern, soon the people who claim to know you no longer tell the difference between the mask and the true broken self. So when they try to get to you, they fail, unable to understand why, they leave. Saying that you are acting funny, not yourself. If only they knew the self that they see now is the broken part that remains left. That's who I am now. A shadow of who I used to be.
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