August Lenor, an emotionless perfectionist who strives to make other people proud. An overthinker who believed that their loved ones no longer love them. All August ever wanted to do was to make their parents proud.

They stayed up underneath the midnight sky to study, knowing damn well it wasn't just because they wanted to get full marks on tests all the time. It was all a distraction to escape reality. Organized notes. Pens. Papers. Everywhere. They were going to make their parents proud, and they know it. They were going to be the valedictorian of their graduation year, and they know it. They will do everything within their power to make them proud.

"You're so smart," they all say. And August truly believed them.

And then one day, they get a test back from Mrs. Blaine. They got 89%. They wanted to shed tears. They wanted to cry. They wanted to sob, even, because they thought they weren't going to be loved because of a singular test score. Because of that, they were afraid to show their test scores to their friends. They were afraid to admit that they didn't get full marks that time. They stayed silent. They stayed soundless. Until they arrived at their room to silently cry on their pillow.

They thought the world was going to fall because of one little mistake. They thought their friends would stop talking to them because they had flaws, just like everyone else. And it reached the point where they fully convinced themselves that it was true. They wouldn't feel loved anymore. They would have to earn it in order to feel loved again.

Back then, their parents always made them believe that in order for their parents to be happy, they must try their hardest, even pushing their limits to the ceiling, and all of that, in order to make everyone happy. So that was what August did. For nearly five years.

That lie only harmed others around them. That only made their parents more disappointed. August continued to set higher expectations, all for the sake of love. Up until the point where they weren't able to do anything anymore.

August was tired. Stressed. Angry. Depressed. They wanted something to stab themselves with. They wanted a shoulder to cry onto, yet they didn't have any because they've lost all their friends by then. It wasn't because of their scores, but rather because of their attitude.

Which left them exhausted. Drained. Done. With everything.

And that... quickly led them to want to...

disappear. From this universe.

life is strange.

some days you are smiling until your cheeks hurt and laughing until your stomach aches.

yet some day you can't even move.

some days it feels like when you put your head down, you will instantly fall asleep.

i convinced myself this was normal. that highs and lows are a part of life.

i convinced myself that happiness was just out of reach. that if i stayed a little longer, happiness would be obtained. that it would come and cradle me and hold me close.

it would be the answer to all of my problems.

i smiled empty smiles, and laughed hollow laughs. i thought about living. i put work into school, work into dance, work into life.

but lies won't always save you.

sometimes lies are your downfall.

sometimes happiness isn't as close as you think.

You wouldn’t stand around and watch me tear up the carpet and paint the ceiling and rip out my hair and scratch my arms. You will leave if I quit taking my pills, or if I take them all at once. If I scream and whisper or walk down the street in the middle of the night or sit in my cold bath too long, you will say, “To hell with this,” you will stop praying to God for me and you will go pray to an institution. You will stop picturing me smiling in the sun and you will leave. If I can push you away hard enough. “I hate you,” I say, “and your dog and your dad and your friends and your job.” You wouldn’t stay and listen, because that would be too much. Far too much for you to bear. And finally, when you are gone, my antics will never ever be able to hurt you again. You will be free.

But you’re still here, on the other end of the tin can phone. You still knock on the door frame, 2 knocks for “sweet dreams,” and you trudge up the stairs to bed. You sound so tired. You had a sandwich for supper, and you made me one too. Your best friend’s getting married tomorrow. We were meant to go. But then there was me. You cancelled your trip and your plans and your future. And you’re still here, at the top of the stairs. Tomorrow and the next day and the next. And I realize with horror that you really will love me no matter what.

I convinced myself that my everyone hates me. That my parents only see me as someone taking up space because I'm an unmotivated and tired teen. That my friends only tolerate me out of some bullshit moral obligation.

I didn't show it, of course. I kept my mouth shut, I smiled and laughed along. I hung out with them just enough they couldn't see anything was wrong.

I understand this is not true. My friends do care about me, and my parents have no true malicious intent behind their words.

But somedays, some moments, I still believe the lie.

Were the colors faded back then?

I'm looking at the photograph. It's a Polaroid taken in a bar. He's standing there in his olive drab, with two of his best friends. They're all raising their glasses, amber liquid dark against the shine of the mugs. The mirror behind them is mostly lost to the camera's flash, but two small Asian women can be seen leaning into the shot. One is wearing what looks like a maroon tube top, the other is in a seafoam green dress. Both are fit, almost pretty. Certainly, by the standards of soldiers, they're pretty enough.

I know that this was taken sometime in the seventies. After these men, smiling, toasting, relaxing, had seen their fill of jungles and hell.

"Honolulu," is written in smudged sharpie, long-since gone from black to brown.

No names are listed, or dates. But I know which one is my father. I know which one is his best friend, Spence. Even without seeing the name embroidered above the pockets of their uniform shirts, I'd recognize them anywhere.

What I recognize even more, though, are their eyes. The faraway look that denies the smile. The lies they tell themselves that everything will be fine. They put Saigon in the rearview, and it's all good if they can just make it through these last couple of hitches to hit the magic twenty year goal.

The truth is, they're still staring at 1968, when there was no rank on those collars. Shadows of days when the only important job was to survive loom even in the flash of a Polaroid. All they wanted to do was make it home.

But the better parts of them stayed.

The browns and greens, the flesh of those men and women in the photograph, the mahogany of the bar top--it's all colorized-going-sepia.

Like so much memory.

The colors don't really fade.

We do.

I'm a good person

I'm a strong person

I deserve to have things that I want

I want to be loved and respected

because I am a good strong person.

Good strong people forgive everything

Good strong people are patient

Good strong people love unconditionally

Good strong people need to be uncomfortable all the time

Good strong people get what they want

Kindness is a hallmark of a good strong person

only good kind strong people deserve love

good thing that's what I am

Kindness and forgiveness require setting aside your feelings

setting aside your feelings is a form of strength

strength is the most important thing a man can have

anger is toxic and does not contribute to success

anger is a false strength

set aside your anger to be strong

do not be angry, good people are not angry

let it all go and allow yourself to float and forgive

I do not exist and nothing that happens to me matters

let it all go and become strong against the lies of the ego

don't believe that what you feel has anything to do with truth

believe in nothing and become successful within yourself

I'm doing great at this, just need to keep it up for 40 more years

I need to ignore what other people are saying about how I look

I need to keep bearing this and ignore myself

I am too important to worry about other people's opinions

I need to back up and stick with every decision I make

to change my mind would be weak and cowardly

I deserved to be hurt and humiliated

I deserve to maintain this situation

I cannot let anybody down

because I am strong and if I let someone down

it would make me weak

I do not need to rely on anything but myself

I am allowed to do whatever I want

I can hurt people and it doesn't matter because nothing matters

I can drink and steal and lie and if I believe it is okay then it is okay

I am not wrong for continuing to ignore the reality

I am strong for putting my hands in hot oil

I am strong for being okay with everything

I am allowed to chase down every desire, because it serves me well.

There is no I, only experience

there is no experience, only feeling

there is no feeling, only existence

there is no existence, only truth

there is no truth, only observation

I was woefully confused.

TW: Nxdes

When Willow was in the seventh grade, her best friend, Abby, had gotten her first boyfriend. By default, Abby had told Willow everything that happened between her and her boyfriend. How he was sweet, held the door for her, gave her the best compliments, and loved her dearly.

After some years went by, Willow realized that boys only asked her out cause of her looked. They wanted to hookup with her and the next day, move on and date a girl who can accomadate their needs. A fun girl. Not Willow. Willow apparently wasnt fun. She only had the body and face. That is enough for one week.

Tenth grade gave hope for Willow. She had a couple of boyfriends before. They never lasted more than a few weeks. They´d always say how she was boring and compared her to Abby who was partying like there was no tomorrow. She hated those stuff.

But Marco was different. He was nice, sweet, cute, dreamy, respectful, loyal and so on. Willow thought he was the love of her life. Marco never insulted her and always would say how he's so lucky to have a girlfriend like her. It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to her. Ever.

But these past few weeks were strange. Marco had more basketball practice, more club meetings, more chores, more family dinners, and so on. It has been eating Willow alive. She started having her doubts.

What if he doesn't like me anymore? Is he meeting up with another girl?

These thoughts had been devouring her. She no longer could pay attention in class because she would be thinking about the fact that Marco skipped the class, or is laughing while "texting his mom"

She was so determined to do whatever he asked.

However one day, after studying for a test the day before, she lays down on her bed and watches some TV. After a while, she gets the first text from Marco that she has gotten this month. Willow eagerly opens it, expecting a "hi" or a "how are you" but when she reads it, she freezes.

Marco: Can you send sum

She paused. Maybe she will play innocent and he'll drop it?

Willow: Wdym?

Marco: You know what I mean babe

Caught. Willow stares at her screen. She slowly stands up and goes in the bathroom and locks it. Quickly, she takes the photos that Marco wants, feeling very uncomfortable. She knew this wasn't right but she was too afraid to say no. Afraid he will break up with her. She looks at the photos for a minute. A sad look emerged on her face. A defeated look. Then, she selects one she thinks Marco will like, and pressed the send button. She trusted him. He would never leak it. He's a good person.

The next day, she finds out he leaked it to the whole school. She thought he was a good person. She was wrong.

Here are some limericks for the challenge. I hope you like them!

A Funny Little Boy

There once was a dashing old tree,

Which may have harassed a bee,

According to a boy,

Who went and got an axe toy,

And started hitting the oak at three.

That Guy

There's this guy who goes to the store,

And breaks many cans on the floor,

He said he wouldn't buy

All the damaged supply,

So he is banned from the store heretofore.

TW: violent w/ suicide and stuff

they still love me

I slowly walked through the hallway away from my room...

they still love me

I walked down the stairs. I think my mind was fuzzy...

they still love me

I slowly opened my basement door and descended down the stairs...

they still love me

I turned on the lights and walked into the unlit part of the room...

they still love me

I slowly tightened the rope around my neck...

they still love me

I think the police came in, but they were too late...

they still love me

In front of them were many people with their necks split and dry blood on their clothes. Each had a stitched smile on their face. There were three of them sitting down,

a mother and her two children, all dead and smiling eerily. They were sitting along a table, wood etched off in it. At the head of the table was the father with his neck limp and floating above the table; blood slowly dripped from his hands...

family reunion...

Yeah, this fake. I made it up on the spot lol