#k3wl

WHAT is with all dem bitches on facebook who put hashtags on everything?

Am I getting *gasp* old or something? Is this a thang now? 

NEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

.

.

.

just... go away, man. go away.

(I was about to hashtag everything and exit in style, but I can't find the key... how very classy.)

AHA FOUND IT

#i#mean#whut#unnecessary#bullshit#lawlspartyfun# 

yaar kya scene hai yaar auntiyo ka.

You go home after ages and all the aunties have for you is a 


Hayeee kitni kaali ho ke ayi ho! Moo dekho apna!! Khanay ko nahi milta Karachi mai?


Your face:

must... not... turn... axe murderer

abciximab

Oh how I love being home.

I gots issues

I am having serious Punjabi-withdrawal. All these Karachiites with their aaaaraay bhais and their taafreehs and their chourangis are pissing me off.

The other day I was coming back to my room after class and overheard a couple discussing their baby's fever in OH GLORIOUS GLORIOUS PUNJABI and it made me go all warm and fuzzy inside. I kid you not. I felt like going up to them and initiating a conversation just so I could hear them talk for a while longer.

I did slow down and walk behind them like a creep for a while though, listening in. But only till we were walking in the same direction. Okay. >_>

Khair. I am now going to amuse myself by yell-typing out Punjabi shituff.

KHOTAY DE PUTTRA!!

CHA! <3

AALU DE PARAUNTHAY

CHITTRAUL KARANI AA TU?

DUNGAR DA DUNGAR.

Aeda tu BURGUR.

slogging

days are like

three day old snow; dirty and muddied and coming up to your knees

seeping through your shoes

(cold and uncomfortable)

weighing you down.

good times are coming 

soon

soon.

homesickcisemoh

it's always the last few days that are the hardest, the last few days that seem to drag on.
never-ending too long
there is too little time, there is too much.

the dog and the priest talked and came to the conclusion that no one loved them, not really.

that’s her right there, do you see?

awkwardly dancing around, but happy,

in her pajamas, the shirt holey and the bottoms frayed and

worn thin, almost to translucence 

and her feet socked;

the left one has fallen into a purple puddle around her ankle.

she dances (to her own merry tune)

and she laughs, and her red hair twirls around her

a dancing dancing flame.

she laughs, and her eyes laugh too

she laughs, and it makes me happy.

This blog looks like something someone's pet llama threw up
and then ate
and then pooped out.

hissy bitch fit.

You get sick of believing sometimes.

Sometimes, you start wondering what your stubborn faith has gotten you so far. Nothing, that's what. Life's going to screw you over just as bad as it will most other people. You're going to have to suffer and cry and bitch your way through too. Learn your lessons the hard way. 

Sometimes it's too much, hanging on to that last tiny thread of hope; the silver lining on a damp sodden cloud. Just waiting to rain it's tears down on the world.

tell a child santa doesn't exist,
that ducks cannot be pink
the trees never blue.
tell them to stop believing,
that there is no magic
and no faeries and unicorns and dragons
waiting to whisk them off to far off lands.
tell them that they can let go of all hopes
of ever finding neverland
of ever finding the cure for cancer
of bringing world peace
of becoming a wildlife photographer
an astronaut, a chef
a philanthropist, a dinosaur-hunter
all at once.
tell them that eventually
all their dreams will come crashing down
that if they become artists they'll be bums
musicians they'll be looked down on
actresses they'll be whores.
tell them that it's no use;
that all their hopes and intricate plans
will never come into realization
that they will look back someday
and laugh at their own naivety
at their innocence
and at the same time wish
(secretly)
that this world hadn't made them it's own
that their auras were still as fresh as they were the day they came here
that they were still able to conjure up an imaginary friend
if need be.
they'll laugh, and they'll cry, and they'll look back with regret
and they'll soldier on.

-bittersweet

tell them, and save them all the trouble.

moo

daredevil,
stuntsbat.
walking along ledges in the dead of the night
tempting fate, peering down
just waiting for a foot to slip
for the ground to kiss you
for your ribs to crack and tear through your lungs

what is it
you desire

infinite

you and I waited
until the flowers withered
until the rivers ran dry
until I could cry no more.
but you never came.

I never came.

oranges

yes it's true
I keep coming back to you

what could have been.

regret gnaws away at you. eating up your insides.
'if you are cut open
and opened up
you will be moth eaten
and holey.'

cry. cry away all your worries. everything that ever bothered you.

you wish you could.

would you look at that
its elmo
he's all cellophane wrapped.
his yellow nose pressed up
-squashed-
against the plastic
scarlet fur matted
and scarlet
he's stowed into a sock drawer
ready for future use.

stupid, stupid girl.

life lessons from dory.

just keep swimming just keep swimming just keep
swimming swimming swimming

meandering.

onyourbirthdayiwishforyou:

birdshit in your cup of tea
birdshit on your newly washed head
your fresh crisp clothes.

that.
and more.

you wish you
looked like
Cyclops

sad.

just so fucking sad.

medschool