instagram filters, and well-thought out outfits. and i lowkey hate all of this. hate that a part of me can’t help but believe my own pastel happiness. even if only for a moment.

so smile big and wide. take the risk. ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach. and come on, sweetheart. just do it. 

because you’ll be fine. i mean, probably. and healthy people do it all the time, and you’re basically all right, so pile the sky on your shoulders, and don’t sleep because surviving through tomorrow just isn’t the most important thing anymore.

bleed your heart out on the floor, and make art out of the stain it leaves, and then you can even post some of it on twitter. just for me.

Although I love what I do, it is kind of problematic at times. Like, you know–what if this blog got really big in a couple years, and then my mental health started to improve? Would people still be interested in hearing what I have to say? I don’t know. Although it helps… it is also kind of exploiting my issues a little bit, and I haven’t really figured how how to deal with that. I guess that’s what’s at the heart of this poem for me.