play dead

freeze in place. stare out at the crowd, for just a moment too long. give them a small, shaky pirouette. you roll your ankle, and try not to show it.

because i don’t want to be a let down. or whatever. i don’t mean to come across obnoxious, or brash.

so i will swallow back the lump in my throat. i will shake out my shoulders, and try not to show it, as my frost-kissed fingers turn black and blue.

i will sleep with the door shut. i will drink my tea cold. whisper to myself at night, and cry when no one’s home.

i will crush myself into the smallest corner you have to offer. curl up into a ball. and i’ll wait until it’s over; weather the storm, like i always do.

i will forget my own name, as the blizzard screams. i won’t run this time. when my demon claws his way out from his grave, and wraps his arms tight around me.

i will sink down to my knees. i will beg for forgiveness. oh pretty please… i’ll give you whatever you want, whatever you need. if only you would grant me the tiniest smidgeon of mercy.

just… please. don’t hurt me.

I think I’ve spent my whole life living in survival mode sometimes. It’s probably a trauma thing.

I guess, when you learn that, for whatever reason, you’re not safe in the world around you, you learn to play dead, a little bit. Does that make sense?

You learn to make yourself as small as you possibly can–you learn how to stay quiet, and stuff your opinions right down your throat–because maybe you want to speak up and defend yourself or issues you care about, but if you do, you know that it probably won’t get you anywhere–that people will laugh, that people will get angry, that people will hurt you. Maybe not physically, but they will. And in the end, it’s not worth the risk. You learn to look down in hallways, and walk as fast as you can on the way home from school.

You become hyperaware of the little risks around you. You see the tall, burly man across from you on the bus, and avoid his eyes. You see the group of guys jeering loudly as they make their way down the hallway, and make sure to put in your earbuds, and stay quiet. You see a stranger come up to talk to you, and you do everything you can to get away because you don’t want to get asked uncomfortable questions, don’t want to open up to someone in a public setting, out of nowhere, with no idea who they are or if you can trust them.

And it keeps you safe… but sometimes, it also gets really lonely. Which I’ve completely brought upon myself–and something I’ve been thinking about a lot of late. I’m just tired of playing dead, you know? I want to live. But also, that’s a very vague thing to say, and I don’t really know what it means. Honestly, just come thoughts I’ve been having of late.

Lots of love,


i am an empty room (spoken word)

empty room(3)

trigger warning: depression, numbness, hopelessness, vague self-harm mention, suicidal thoughts. if you need to talk to anyone, please read this list of crisis lines by clicking here. i know it’s not much, but… you are never the only one who feels like this. ❤
read the text of this poem here.

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today the sun rose, and the sun fell. i didn’t ask you sure how one pocket of time can feel so tiny and yet so massive, and maybe it’s all about perspective. today, it’s hard to write this without it feeling like i’m pushing my way up through sticky honey and the fog of closed curtains broken flash drives and half-asleep panic attacks, but i’m trying. today, i decided i would try and drown my feelings. only then i decided to fold them; try to find symmetry out of the chaos and make sense out of everything and it didn’t really work, but i did write poetry. and today, i wasn’t the person i want to be. because i’m never the person i want to be. today, i think my fingers shook on the keyboard with the quiet electric shock of my anxiety. today, i think maybe you’re not who i think you are and that scares me. and it’s all lies and empty faces. and these words do i mean it is this really my voice do i really mean it what am i saying what role am i trying to fill again what is this? what is this? and will you still love me in the morning? and was i good enough to be worth your time? maybe i’m not good enough. i spread my arms out like the page of a book and i turn myself into your story. and why am i not enough to be your everything? and today i try to wrap my arms around myself until the words stifle my mouth. i curl up into a corner and my heart is one massive explosion of charcoal and screaming and my eyes which are always kind of closing. the stars are shaking above me. and i want to be ok but i’m not but i’m trying. i’m trying. i’m trying. i hope that means something.

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did you know fun fact your perfect product comes at the cost of my mental well being? example: today, i realize at 9:30 i decide i need to finish two units of french for no apparent reason other than my skin is crawling and to leave anything half-broken makes me feel nervous. i finish a lesson. work harder, because my stomach is jumping out of my chest, and it’s hard to think clearly when your body works like this. it’s hard to sift through the lies desperately carving myself to the finish line because part of me just wants to keep moving, and part of me wants to do big things, but part of me just wants to grab your hand and never let go of it but even i know it’s more complicated than that. i’m trying to care of myself and stuff like my friends tell me to and stuff because i know they want me to be happy and stuff but it’s difficult to fill an empty mind with only other people’s love. and try to hold onto the good memories like lifelines, when the storm is telling you a hundred thousand lies. and i’m not a machine but i kind of wish i could be. but i also don’t because i think it would break me. seeing everything i could achieve, and still having to let go of all of it. so i chase after these concepts late into the night, over and over and over again. and yeah. it’s never gonna happen. but i still want it more than anything. i still sacrifice my mental well-being at the altar of my insecurity every night and every morning. it takes a long time to put the monsters to bed and now it’s too late at night. and the weight is blinding, and the only thought left in my empty head is that i don’t want to be normal or emotionless or whatever it is, not when it comes down to it. i just want to be accepted.

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