'Stop worrying'

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'Stop worrying' they said
As they laughed in your face
As they skipped along the road less traveled
As they killed to win the race

They expect you to think the same
To laugh and smile and wave
To Tippex out the bad verses
To them you're being 'brave'

But you're just getting on with it
What else can you do?
Put on a show and an encore
It's really nothing new

'The world is a stage'
Now I understand
Because it's not all it's cracked up to be
It's nothing like I'd planned

But you live for the small things
A laugh, a smile, a wave
Because there's not much more you can do,
Other than to be 'brave'.

So that was weird. Just a little improvised poem about stress and my anxiety and all that shabang. I like that word, 'SHABANG'. Anyway, this wasn't me trying to be artsy or anything, a.) I couldn't think of anything else to do and, b.) this is about one of the only things I'm good at. To be honest, I don't care is anyone finds me weird for writing poetry, if I gave a shit, I wouldn't have written it.
PEACE *peace sign emoji because I'm on my laptop*

R.

Spring Break? More like Spring Break me off a piece of your KitKat I'm going to die alone, fat and surrounded by 30 dogs (Not cats, cats are evil)

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As you can probably tell by the title, this isn't going to be an upbeat issue of 'Sit down, shut up and come listen to how boring/shit/miserable my life is.' I don't actually think any issue of 'SDSUACLTHBSMMLI' (I know, catchy right? I might sell t-shirts) has ever been 'upbeat', so why break that streak now?

So, after watching numerous live Snapchat stories featuring thousands of beautiful, exciting Americans leading their exciting lives all hyped-up on Spring Break-ness, I've come to the conclusion that England is shit. The weather is never good enough to do anything that's even classed as a break. And anyway, break from what? College? Think again, with homework and revision rearing their shitty little heads every time you sit down with an Easter egg and a cup of tea like, 'JUST KIDDING MOTHERFUCKER, YOU'RE NOT FINISHED YET.' I tell you, if I see another copy of In Cold Blood, I'm going to contact the Police, register for a gun licence, buy a gun and shoot something.

And it's not just the American people that have let me down, everybody I know is either IN America or at fucking Center Parks. What even is Center Parks? I get the feeling that it's like Butlins but for the more refined. Instead of caravans, there's log cabins. Instead of indoor pools where you can catch STI's by walking around without flip-flops, there's heated outdoor springs where the water runs straight from the top of the highest peak of mount Tibadabo... probably.

'So what are you going to do, Rebecca?' I hear you cry. Good question. Well, my plan is to eat a lot of chocolate, procrastinate to the brink of utter failure and wallow in my lack of self-motivation. I feel like that's a pretty solid plan. I'm an inspiration to future generation, I tell you.

R.
(all images presented are not my own and I do not own the rights to any. All rights go to and belong to those who own them)