Jai. 20. ISFJ.
BA Communications Graduate. Working Boy. Baguio City. PH.


“The thing is, I’m not cool like that. I get jealous when you talk about your exes. Just a mention of their names gets my blood curdling. I get insecure when you talk about your crushes even though I have some of my own. The difference is that I keep them to myself because really, they don’t matter. I can’t take being called stupid even if it’s meant jocularly. Mean words hurt, and it hurts even more when I try to throw it back at you just to get even. I don’t know how to tell the difference between a banter and an insult. I take things too seriously and over think matters that don’t matter. I’m too concerned with what people think of me. I feel guilty too easily. I’m too mature for my own good in many ways but also immature in more. I’m a dork. Why can’t you get that?”

Dork (by Jai R.)

When an artist loves

                When an artist loves, he wants to see you. All of you. Every inch and nook and cranny of you. Know that he sees you as a masterpiece. You are his masterpiece. He’ll keep you in display in the walls of his heart. He wants to know you. He wants to know every blemish and mole and scar you guard with resolute adamancy. He won’t care about the pimple scar you collected in eighth grade or the oddly shaped mark bestowed upon you by birth. Your every flaw is his every perfection because he sees you the way he would admire a painting – as a whole. Your every foible comes with reason, and he understands that, just as every brushstroke and strike of a chisel comes with purpose. All of you, the good parts and the bad, come together to form that one coherent piece that he will forever cherish. He loves you. He’ll treasure you. He’ll do anything and everything to keep envious hands away from what he knows belongs to him. 



The thing about staying is that sooner or later, everyone leaves, and the thing about leaving is that there might not be anyone left to come back to.

Fuck existence.

Fact: I bought the shirt with all the money I had in my wallet, leaving me just enough change to afford a ride home. I make poor decisions sometimes. (no pun intended)

Credits: talesoftheotherguy

(Source: talesoftheotherguy)

“The unspoken kind of love
comes in midnight kisses
while he is sleeping,
on a thumb wiping away
the tears when she is weeping,
it comes in backward glances
after parting ways,
in the static of unanswered
phone calls, hoping he’s okay,
on an arm resting on a shoulder,
between fingers intertwined,
in a spark of fire dwelling
in the twinkling of an eye,
it comes heavily guarded
on the corners of a smile,
buried under dimples
where the truest feelings hide,
the unspoken kind of love
comes sometimes unseen
and mostly unheard,
but it resounds even louder
than a thousand words.”

The unspoken kind of love (by Jai R.)

Every once in a while, someone comes along and challenges everything you once believed in, and then you realize that maybe it’s time to believe in something new.

“Maybe we cut ourselves
to remind us that
our pain is real,
that we aren’t delusional,
we aren’t making things up
as people would say.
This isn’t for the whole world
to see, it’s only for us
Or in the event that it is,
maybe it’s a cry for help.
Maybe it will show them
that wounds don’t heal
overnight. that wounds
would go away just by telling
ourselves to not think about it,
to try to be happy.
Has a wound ever closed up
just because you tell it to?
maybe we want our physical scars
because we know
they’ll go away in time,
unlike the scars in our hearts
which never say goodbye.”

under the blade #2 (by Jai R,)

“We start cutting ourselves
because we want
a different kind of pain.
We’re so sick and so tired
of the same hurt
in our hearts,
that maybe physical pain
will break the streak,
and it does, but only
for a short while,
so we do it over and over.
Even if we know that
it doesn’t fix anything,
a distraction is better
than nothing.”

Under the blade (by Jai R.)

my heart can only take so much disappointment. stop it, life. please. stop.

“It’s not your job to fix me.
I never asked you to
patch up my holes
or fill up my empty spaces,
but the least you could do
is to not add any more
perforations to my
moon cratered heart,
but you strike me like
a meteor shower
and leave me more wrecked
than I already am.
How am I supposed to heal
when the wounds
just keep overlapping?”

To all my triggers (by Jai R.)

Stayed up late to draw this because goddammit I miss sleeping with next to you.