supernatural and glee


We wear the mask

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile
And mouth with myriad subtleties,

Why should the world be over-wise,
In counting all our tears and sighs?
Nay, let them only see us, while
We wear the mask.

We smile, but oh great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile,
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the mask.

Richard Cory

by Edwin Arlington Robinson

Whenever Richard Cory went down town,
We people on the pavement looked at him:
He was a gentleman from sole to crown,
Clean favored, and imperially slim.

And he was always quietly arrayed,
And he was always human when he talked;
But still he fluttered pulses when he said,
‘Good-morning,’ and he glittered when he walked.

And he was rich – yes, richer than a king –
And admirably schooled in every grace:
In fine, we thought that he was everything
To make us wish that we were in his place.

So on we worked, and waited for the light,
And went without the meat, and cursed the bread;
And Richard Cory, one calm summer night,
Went home and put a bullet through his head.

Fairy Tales For 20-Somethings: Beauty And The Beast Have A Romantic Dinner

Borrowed from Thought Catalog

Fairy Tales For 20-Somethings: Beauty And The Beast Have A Romantic Dinner

The Beast made Beauty a romantic dinner for two.

“I feel so lucky to know you,” he said. “You’re the thing that makes me happy to be alive.”

Beauty’s heart swelled. “That’s exactly how I feel about you.”

Then that candlestick guy raised the volume on his episode of Downton Abbey.

You do you

No, seriously, do you. Be yo-self.

Go ahead. Be average. Who cares? And why should they care? And why should you care that they care? It’s ok to be average. Some will tell you that by being average you’re already better than 50%. This is a terrible reason to be average. Shun the people who say that.  You shouldn’t care about the 50% that’s worse than you. Forget the 50% above you. They don’t matter. Go ahead. Get C’s. Be on the JV team. Be in the chorus. Like the color blue. It ain’t nothing but a thang. Because when I look at you, I don’t see average. I see you. And you are perfect.

Go ahead. Be grumpy. Yell at people, have a bad hair day every once in a while. Here’s the thing: not everybody has to like you. Don’t live your life for other people. If you don’t want to be perfect for just one day, then don’t be. Those guys, they’ll get over it. Just for once don’t study, don’t shave, don’t warm up, don’t wear makeup, don’t post on your blog day. Disappoint some people, just for once. Trust me, its ok. They’ll get over it. Put yourself first. PMS for a while. I mean, come on, you’re a girl… I think. Snap at others, lose they I’m perfect act and be real. You deserve it. You owe it to yourself. Go ahead. Cry. Let that mascara run. The rest of us will move on, and you’ll feel so much better. You need to take care of yourself before anyone else. You’re worth it. Its ok to disappoint us. Just don’t disappoint yourself.

You’re scaring me

You’re scaring me. The way you talk, about your sadness, about your hardships, about your crippling hurt. It scares me.

I’ve heard some of this before, from you and for others. I’m no stranger to it. But never for this long.

I had something to do with it. You mean, I caused some of this pain? Oh please no. Seeing you like this, it makes me panic. You’re a part of me, a bigger part than you know. Seeing this, hearing this, reading this, makes me go crazy. Don’t let it be my fault. Please no.

I want to help. I need to help. Let me?

Texting doesn’t work, calling doesn’t work, will a facebook message? How do I reach out? How can I form that connection. Because I need that connection. I need you. And I think you need me to.

I’m not sure I can give the right advice. I don’t know if what I say will make everything ok again. But I won’t stop talking until it is ok again. I will be here, holding, stroking, comforting. I won’t let you fall any farther. I’ll try my best.

Are you reading this? Can you hear me?

It will get better. I swear. It will. I don’t know when, I don’t know why, but all of the sudden everything will fall into place. I’ll be here until it does, though. That is, if you want me.

I don’t know if you want me. But I want you.

You mean so much to me. There have been so many moments in my life when only you could have helped me. For a very long time now, you’ve been the person I call. You’re right there, I see you on my favorites list. You’ve been a pillar, a foundation, something for me to lean on when I’ve lost all the strength to carry myself.

I want to be the same for you.

Will you answer me?

Humiliated, volume two: Pacman

All my brothers and I have gone to the same school all our lives. I was already quite used to my high school by the time I began classes. However, my oldest brother and I are nine years apart. Things can change a lot in nine years. Sometime before I came here, the school day switched from seven periods to eight. Study halls became almost expected of all students. And, the requirements to graduate changed. This is where my brothers lucked out.

Beginning with my grade, all student are required to take a one semester course of (please read the following in a snobby British accent) Financial Literacy.

Ugh. What a load of bologna.

Why in the world is bologna spelled like that? It should be spelled bolony.

Ugh. What a load of bolony.

It’s such a pointless class. No one gets anything out of it.

I took it last semester. Thank God it’s over with. All anyone ever did was sleep. Or play games. Like cash cow. You know that game? It’s on webkinz. Oh, classic.

This one time, I found pacman on the internet. That was awesome. It became my usual fin. lit. game. I got so good at it. I was a pro. This one time, I went to pull up the game on my laptop. I looked around. I knew the teacher couldn’t see me playing it. He was in the front of the classroom, droning on and on.

The page loaded. *Enter coin* I clicked the button, ready to begin. Crack crack when my fingers.

All the sudden the shrill, piercing music of arcade pacman blasted throughout the room.  Panicking, I switched off the noise. My stupid, dang mute button was DYSFUNCTIONAL! DYSFUNCTIONAL I TELL YOU!!

The room went silent, and I could feel all the eyes boring into my head. The unstoppable rush of blood to my face gave me the appearance of a ripe tomato. I sank into my chair. I never played pacman in that class again. Humiliated.


there is a girl

a girl of big hair, but with no face

her chocolate curls are soft and shiny

her ringlets bounce joyfully

others envy

but look between the locks

there is nothing

the blank, smooth surface you can’t hold on to

nothing can be revealed.

there is nothing

there is a girl

a girl of skin, but with no muscle

her fair skin is obvious and dictate

a beauty to whom others can’t relate

they appreciate

but look underneath the skin

there is nothing

no power, no drive, no will

she can offer you

nothing. for

there is nothing

there is a girl

a girl of body, but with no heart

her presence is striking

a voice of satin

others take her in

they don’t realize

they could never know.

her identity and determination left

after so much time in her own, personal hell

her heart tried

until her demons gathered together inside.

they crushed it

the little heart that couldn’t

and now

there is nothing

this is so true… great post

Chanche Catalog

Cliché Highschool Problem– The guy you like is super popular, and he doesn’t like you back because you’re not.

Real Highschool Problem– The guy you (may or may not) like doesn’t like you because you only have one class together and you have never talked to him. Also because during that class, you’re annoying as hell.

Cliché Highschool Problem– Everybody is pressuring you to drink and do drugs, but you don’t want to! What do you do?

Real Highschool Problem– Some of your friends drink and do drugs, and if you say you don’t want to they say okay and basically don’t care. Wait, this isn’t even a problem. I mean, unless your friends get caught. Then it’s a problem… for them.

Cliché Highschool Problem– Your life is so stressful because of all this boy/friend drama!

Real Highschool Problem- Your life is so stressful because…

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On land or sea of foam

When I was younger I was always dragged around. I had three older brothers who were each very active in the community, and only one car. I was present at each swimming meet, each soccer game, and every single gosh-darn band competition. I would start to complain, and beg to go home.  I was a whiney little girl. Actually, I’m still quite whiny. My mother was and is impatient when it comes to whining. To combat my complaining, she often used sarcastic comments and smart aleck remarks. Whenever I said “I wanna go home! “she would break out into song, and the same song every time. I heard this song so often it’s now bittersweet. This sassy comeback became a lullaby. It reminds me of simpler times. Of when the only thing I could complain about was having to sit though my brother’s band competition. Of when my mother still sang to me. Of when my life was full of blessings, whether I was on land or sea or foam, but I was too young and care-free to see them…

Show me the way to go home

I’m tired and I wanna go to bed

I had a little drink about an hour ago and it went straight to my head

Oh wherever you may go

On land or sea or foam

You can always hear me singing these words

Show me the way to go home