Uncategorized

A.C.E: Ready for Debut!

One amazing group is about to make their debut May 24, 2017, A.C.E.!

They have released their Teaser MV for ‘Cactus‘ which shows beautiful cinematography and color choices. They also released their Logo teaser which shows off creativity and their exact debut time.

A.C.E is a five member boy idol group that already has quite the following because of their song and dance covers. They are under Beat Interactive with the stage names:

Jun (leader, lead vocalist, lead dancer)

Donghun (main vocalist),

WOW (main dancer, rapper, vocalist),



Jason
(main dancer, rapper, vocalist),


and Chan (main vocalist, Maknae).

Their fandom name is Choice. Which was announced via Tweeter on May 22.

They have been working hard on covering dances and singing covers of other artists. Their dedication gives fans an idea of how much harder they have been working on their debut. Check out their cover of ‘Last Dance by BigBang And their dance cover of Seventeen’s ‘Adore U‘. When you watch their videos you see the talent they have and it raises anticipation for their debut.

If you want to check them out for yourself look them up on YouTube, A.C.E official. They already have 161k followers on their YouTube channel alone. They are a group that deserves your attention.
Tags: A.C.E debut, ACE official, Beat interactive, debuts

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poetry, Uncategorized

When You Finally Die

I have never seen death 

manifest itself up close.

But I have seen worse 

happen days before.

Death, usually, 

is only cruel to the people 

you have chosen to love

and those who have chosen 

that you are worth loving back.

The days, weeks, months, years,

waiting for death are only cruel 

to the one chosen to die.

The body was made to live.

It does anything else 

it will sacrifice your sanity 

for the sake of living.

Even if it’s a life worse then death.

When it fails,

when you finally die,

you take pieces of the people you’ve 

touched, people you’ve hurt,

the people of almosts and 

the people of forever. 

You take the piece of 

yourself that you planted 

in them.

Rip every tendent. 

Leaving them all in 

critical condition 

hoping that it will heal 

correctly.

Death.

It’s complicated.

Burdening, soul wrenching.

Something to look forward to,

and end to suffering.

The beginning of grieving,

or possibly the end. 

The end and the beginning.

I’ve only seen the before 

and after.

I’ve seen people,

people who where slowly 

painfully dying.

I’ve seen a body,

motionless, heart still.

Eyes shut, never opening,

Caked in makeup, dressed

as their families want.

Both sights looking

nothing as who they truly are.

The before taking away 

their light and voice.

Not able to be how they 

truly wish to be.

The after letting the families 

put on a show, the big production.

“The lie of the one who has died.”

People showing up 

that should have showed up 

a couple heart beats earlier.

Words spoken that

should have been said

To rosy cheeks 

not cold bloodless lips. 

Death is regret.

Death is inevitable.

Death is at any moment.

Celebrate! 

We have an excuse to live.

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poetry, Uncategorized

Can You See Me?


I am hidden.

I pride myself on being 

transparent,

but I find that I am so

much so, that I am invisible.

I have no color. 

I feel myself 

and there is no intriguing 

substance.

I have lived only 20 years 

and I just bought my 

first thong.

I am behind the times.

My body is a chameleon.

Morphing to the colors, shapes,

and habits of my surroundings.

No one can see me. 

Why do I blend into what 

I don’t want to be a part of?

How do I find myself?

Why does my honesty 

hide me?

Why can’t you see me?

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Chronic illness, poetry, Uncategorized

Things That Pop Into My Mind


I like the smell of rain 

when it hits the pavement.

I don’t enjoy puddles 

because I always forget 

to buy shoes that are meant 

for jumping in them.

I have never envied others 

for having siblings because 

I knew if I had one,

they would be the better 

one.

I could stare out a window 

for hours, just spacing out 

at the nothingness.

Daydreaming while standing or 

sitting, creating worlds that

truthfully I never want

to become reality.

In middle school I was so 

bullied, that I changed my 

handwriting five times,

all as an attempt to get them

to like something about me.

I don’t know what my natural

writing looks like, since

when I don’t think about it,

it looks like five different fonts.

There is this reoccurring 

dream I have that I watch 

myself walk down stairs.

All in slow motion, then

suddenly,

I see a knife stab me in the 

chest.

It restarts, same snail speed.

Leaving me feeling anything but 

terrified.

What I do fear is fate.

Not mine but his and hers.

He’s gullible and enrolled in

the military.

She thinks life is like a

game of “follow the leader.”

Both big hearted, 

both scared of their past 

truths.

Afraid of being alone 

with themselves.

I know that I’m not 

going to ever work like 

my mother does from 9-5.

My body is broken and

there is no fixing it

with doctors, medicine,

herbal therapy, yoga, veganism,

vampirism, or detox program.

There are times when days 

go by and I realize that I haven’t 

eaten.

So no Shelly, I’m not thinking of 

children anytime soon.

I somehow have a zit on

my ear.

That won’t stop me from

picking at it like the rest.

I’m not afraid of confrontation,

in fact when it happens,

I get a thrill from fixing problems 

or even putting people 

in their place.

I want someone to hold me 

but I’m scared that when someone 

does they will find my intimacy 

repulsive.

This is my madness.

The FAQ sheet of yours 

truly.

Ramblings of a chronically ill,

pajama party loving,

chocolate eating,

wise-beyond-her-years,

20 year old woman.

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Uncategorized

What A Broken Love We Have

I find myself in the same situation so many times. Misunderstood by my dad and his side of the family. Then I am the enemy when I try to explain and my mother is to blame, since she is the only one who raised me. 

Sophomore year was emotional. Not only was I dealing with health issues but also my fathers drug abuse. After I had enough of my life being in danger in the car one too many times, I went to my grandmother. I told her how he was struggling with addiction and driving under the influence with me in the car. How we went into on coming traffic and how I had to steer for him on 30 min or more drives. She did nothing, the only words she said to me was,”You are lucky to have a father.” The phase that my dad would use to excuse his actions. 

My father and I drive home. I was lucky enough to have my permit at the time so I could drive him home. I had had enough so I uttered,”Dad, it’s me or the pills.” He   Looked over at me while I was driving anxiously and flatly said to me,”I am not throwing away my pills.” Heartbroken I replied,”Okay.”

After I got home, I told him to not bother speaking to me until he got clean. What I didn’t expect was that it would take him a year or the blame I got from my grandmother and my aunt. Knowing everything, I was to blame. I was wrong to stay away. Even though he did clean up and now we have a relationship again. I am still a terrible daughter and granddaughter. They still don’t like my mother even though they have never put effort into taking care of me. Even though they have never taken an interest in anything I have done or have helped with my medical care. We have asked for money and they bitterly obliged. 

They love me when I sit quietly. But I have illnesses that are constantly screaming. I will not be walked over because I was raised by “lower class.” I will not take anyone seriously when they try to give me “treatments” when they don’t care enough to ask about or research the illnesses that I have. I will not take your words when it has to be said through others because you won’t tell me yourself. We pride ourselves on being family but we don’t even love each other enough to care about each other. Let’s stop pretending that our family is doing well. I am willing to fix what we can but first we need to acknowledge the truth and be honest. 

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Uncategorized

I don’t understand others who do things that they are ashamed of. I don’t understand how someone could do something and feel so ashamed when I write about the situation. They don’t want what they do posted on the internet. They want it to stay in the dark so that it is still acceptable for them to act the way they do towards themselves and others. They don’t like that their actions can be read about by people. 

If you think that it is okay to hurt me, then I don’t see why you would regret doing it. If others know about what happened, it doesn’t change anything. Maybe the fact that you know you are doing something wrong is more prominent. If so why would you act that way in the first place? Do things that you think are acceptable to do in front of the world or in front of the people you look up to.

Know this, I write the truth about how I am feeling and the truth about what has happened to me. I will not stop doing this because you don’t want people to know your actions towards me. I will write about what I think should be shared. It is not about you and the things you have done. What I write is about how I feel in the situation and how I choose to deal with the situation. It’s so that people can see that they are not alone in in life and that others deal with crazy things too.

I never share names. That is my respect towards you. But what ever you do and what ever I do, will be written with no false or exaggerated information. I do this for a reason and nothing will change my mind.

Don’t Ask Me To Not Write About You.

Aside
Uncategorized

The Rock Bottom

It’s just a school night. I don’t like telling the truth. So my tongue only pleasures lies. My dad chugs medication as if it was water, a 50 year old man slashed my 13 year old innocence as I tried to sleep, and there’s a rope slithering in my hands that I’m planning to knot around my throat. Lie to them, don’t let them see that you’re  worthless. I caress the rope, embracing the rough texture. Examining its tight twists and loose ends. Dad’s in the other room. Too high to notice the dark bloodshot eyes and conversations I’m carrying with myself. Do it, make it easier for your mother. Only thing I remember next is my lungs reaching for air. I never cared so little for what my body wants. Despair and emptiness fills the room. The rope unknots. I let gravity do what it pleases with my body and my lungs give me their say. Screaming, I wipe my makeup over my cheekbones and take in the ceiling. Pure silence and nothing breaks it but my sobbing. 

There I slept. Rope still knotted to my neck. 

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