#HelloFromTheOtherSide (INSPR1)
- Reads 90
- Votes 7
- Parts 6
You may also like
Inkheart
Breakfree: Igniting passion, Chasing freedom Simply, one writes to be heard. Whether it be by a person you most dear, people you bear grudge against, by your country or by yourself, one writes to be read. But it has never been a simple obligation to hear out voices in your head, and you try to talk to them like good old friends and convince them to strike a pose in paper by means of words. Some of them mutter then slip away, not agreeing the way you dress them in letters; while a few choose to stay, flaunting confidently with poise. So when rhythm of literature plays upon your writer's hand will then they harmonize and start to dance. There's a sense of euphoria like that of a launching eagle, gliding through space of freedom, when you bury seeds of your thoughts with a quill. You plant your idea with your passion being the light and you pour your soul into it, so when it starts to grow, and you let it be, you'll feel from above how lovely it is to be free. To write is to make love with liberty. Either you want it gentle, or you prefer choking, you'll eventually end up freeing something.Complete
When Did My Skin Start To Burn? (Stray #1)
Former Title: Fault Beneath the Stars Stray Boys Series #1 | 🍉 They told me I wasn't in the Book. That in the grand design of the Divine, there was no ink wasted on people like me. It is hard to live as a gay man in a society that is blind, or worse, a society that chooses blindness in the name of faith. They preach love while teaching us to hate ourselves. Because of them, your skin burns even while you are still far from hell. To be gay is to be mocked, bruised, prayed over like a disease, and treated as something less than human. They hurt us for one simple reason: we are not written in their "Holy Book" the way they are. We were never named. Never claimed. Not even spared a footnote. And perhaps that is why it is so easy for them to erase us. I grew up in a house heavy with rosaries and sacred texts, a home that echoed with novenas every Thursday morning. I learned early how to kneel, how to bow my head, and -- most of all -- how to hide. I buried my truth so deep that even I forgot what it sounded like to speak it aloud. It is hard to be gay. Harder when you fall in love with someone just like you. "That's wrong." "That's a sin." "You're going to hell." They say it like a prayer. But can they really blame me? Because in that so-called "sin," I finally found myself. In that love they condemn, I learned how to breathe without fear. With him, my wings grew where shame once lived. With him, my skin finally stopped burning. Book Cover By: Souriah Arts
Meanderella's One shots compilation.
WARNING! Poorly written story! [/hands up; I only write to make sense of the thoughts in my head and most specially creating new world within the real world is quite fascinating. So if you are one of those perfectionists out there, then you can leave. Go find anything else or make your own that can truly satisfy you. Thanks! ••••• Meanderella's One shots compilation.Complete![Midnight Lover [RATED SPG / COMPLETED]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/26399912-256-k472721.jpg)
Midnight Lover [RATED SPG / COMPLETED]
WARNING: This story is not suitable for young readers. If you are below 18 years old, please don't proceed with the Prologue because this story contains explicit words that are not suitable for you guys. Thank you.Complete
Sorry! Napindot!
COMPLETED Napein Dhot Conversaton... LigayaInLongTerm All Rights Reserved Started: January 5 2019 Ended: Febuary 9 2019Complete
Poetries (Pieces Of Words #1)
As her pen bleeds, the pain in her heart vanished. _ COMPLETED. Cover : @hoexlut Banner : @aavocados Criticized : @thisisnxcxlx #StarAwards18kComplete
Breakfree: Igniting passion, Chasing freedom Simply, one writes to be heard. Whether it be by a person you most dear, people you bear grudge against, by your country or by yourself, one writes to be read. But it has never been a simple obligation to hear out voices in your head, and you try to talk to them like good old friends and convince them to strike a pose in paper by means of words. Some of them mutter then slip away, not agreeing the way you dress them in letters; while a few choose to stay, flaunting confidently with poise. So when rhythm of literature plays upon your writer's hand will then they harmonize and start to dance. There's a sense of euphoria like that of a launching eagle, gliding through space of freedom, when you bury seeds of your thoughts with a quill. You plant your idea with your passion being the light and you pour your soul into it, so when it starts to grow, and you let it be, you'll feel from above how lovely it is to be free. To write is to make love with liberty. Either you want it gentle, or you prefer choking, you'll eventually end up freeing something.
More details