I hide hurt behind a fake smile. I wear it all the time. Everyone says how I always look so cheerful. Shows what they know I guess.
Ellen HopkinsMots clés tilt
The truth is, I've always been afraid of letting anyone get too close. I built a wall around me, a barricade to hide behind those few times someone wanted entry to my heart.
Ellen HopkinsMots clés perfect ellen-hopkins
Raining radiation on this ozone-deprived planet. The only thing she ever longed for was short-lived love.
Ellen HopkinsHer smile is like summer moonlight-beautiful and magical, with a fire that could melt the night.
Ellen HopkinsIf you've never shot a gun,
You can’t understand
how it feels in your hands.
Cool to the touch, all its venom
coiled inside, deadly,
like a steel-scaled serpent. Awaiting your bidding.
You select it’s prey… paper,
tin, or flesh. You lie in wait,
learn that patience is the killer’s
most trustworthy accomplice.
You choose the moment. What. Where. When. Decided.
But the how is everything.
You lift your weapon,
ease it into place, cock it,
to load it, knowing the
satisfying snitch means a bullet is yours to command.
Now, make or break,
it’s all up to you. You
aim knowing a hair either
way means bull’s-eye or miss.
Success or failure. Life or death.
You have to relax,
convince your muscles
not to be tense, not to betray
you. Sight again. Adjust.
Don’t become distracted by the heat of the hunt.
Instincts take over.
You shoot and adrenaline
screams as your target shreds
or the flesh drops. And for
one indescribable moment you are God.
Hers is the face I wear, treading the riptide, fathomless oceans where good girls drown.
Ellen HopkinsTears impress no one. But, oh yeah, there's no one here to impress. So I go ahead and let tears fall. Rain. Storm. Flood. My pillow soaks with the salt of regret, and I rest my head against it...
Ellen HopkinsYou shine like the Milky Way. Now, there are those who might try to take that from you, but you don't have to give it away. Keep on shining.
Ellen HopkinsThe portal to pain is caring too deeply about anyone.
Ellen HopkinsYeah, it stings. But at least I feel something. Something besides hungry. Something besides afraid. Weird. I always thought cutters were sick. Sicker than me, even. But with a single swipe I understand why they do it. Why they like it, even though they hate it. I let the water run over the cut, ratchet it hotter, watch the blood slow, stutter, almost halt. I like the way the exposed flesh looks, all pinkish white. It looks new, although I know that isn't right. It's the same age as my skin, as my bones. Me. It's been there with me since the beginning. Been with me through thick. Thin. Daddy. Suddenly, I don't like how it looks at all.
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