i’m curling up into baby-soft folds of skin. i’m watered down and ragged and giving in, so i hold myself close, with every fragile beat my heart has to give. every scrape of broken glass down my throat, every shaky breath of poison air into quivering lungs. yeah, every tap-tap-tap on the window, as i tend to the scars on my ankles and the hungry days when i prayed to be consumed. and i’m sorry, when i hurt you. when i hated you. when i googled ways to die. when i cried on the staircase at two in the morning, ‘cause i was too dizzy to see the light. i’m holding myself through the night, ‘cause holy shit, i could have died. i could have crumpled up like an autumn leaf, and shattered like dust beneath someone else’s feet. but trying is a million times more scary, you know? like fluttering leaves and half-snapped wishbones, sitting by the sink. sometimes, i almost miss those days. and i’m sorry, baby, for all the nights i have stayed up late. for the screaming, and the shouting. and all those years, i flickered in and out. i’m sorry that i’m still learning how to love myself. i’m sorry for every cut, and bruise, and sticky-hot tear on tissue paper skin. i’m lying still, breathing out. and in.

I wrote this a few nights after this super-scary incident I had, where, long story short, I may or may not have accidentally swallowed a small piece of glass.(I decided to have leftover soup as a late-night snack, the lid on the casserole dish had somehow shattered, and glass had got into my soup, which I clued into pretty fast, but in theory I could have swallowed some.) It was terrifying in this existential way. I felt so delicate that night, and so… glad I was okay. Which, when I’ve spent so long self-destructing, is kind of new. Overall, it was a really weird experience.


the last of the storm clings to the leaves

and glistens off the grass, emerald-green

wind blows through my hair

shirt’s soaking wet, clinging to my back like static

mud under my nails; smeared on my knees

birds flying like paper-kites

fluttering with the wind, dipping and diving

and rushing toward the sea

snapping me awake

and there’s a rainbow in the sky, sinking down towards the earth

my heart gleams like crystal, sharp and great.

Another rough attempt at nature poetry. I don’t tend to be a visual person, but I’m trying to learn.


honey, you make depression look gorgeous

cut it like tulle, and make a skirt of your misery

and you smile so wide as tears stream down your cheeks

you make me want to buy it from a department store

and wear it like it’s yours

you make self-loathing look sexy

because i’ve spent my whole life learning

how to ignore my own suffering

and trust me when i say a little discomfort won’t stop me from working efficiently

which is not a compliment

but i still glow with pride as you give it to me

you carry the archetypes on your weary back

you do it perfectly

iron out your blemishes and mistakes

with makeup i can’t afford

but they say inner confidence is really what matters above all

and that’s probably why i always look like an awkward seventh-grader when i smile for the camera

but god, you’re fearless

you’re bright, and brilliant

like a barbie doll

clean-white teeth

and an hourglass waist

i bet you have it all

but i’m pretty sure

if i reach out and touch your arm

you will burst like a bubble

you will rot with the dirt

with your bottle blond hair

and your sunbeam smile

honey, i’m sorry

’cause you deserved better

’cause you should have lived

should have been happy and sad

and messy and confused

i’m sorry it’s normal

for girls to feel this lonely

and beat-up

and used

but i hope you sleep well

wherever you are

and you lay in bed for as long as you like

and eat really nice food to your heart’s content

and feel all right, for a while

i hope i’m not a tragedy

a horror story

or a cautionary tale

i hope we get our happy endings

i hope true love prevails

i hope there’s something up ahead

other than disappointment and misery

marilyn, i hope you’re happy

So, we had to research iconic historical photographs to recreate for my photography class from the 1900s, and one of the things my teacher suggested doing was finding celebrity photos we could attempt to very poorly recreate. I didn’t end up actually doing it, but in a last-ditch effort to find something in the exact right time period, I went on an hour long tangent on, like, Audrey Hepburn and Marilyn Monroe and before I knew it I had read their entire biographies, and, I don’t know, maybe I’m being a cliche here, but it was really sad! The world is really sad! It felt so unfair that these people’s lies, people who were so good at looking so happy had been through so much, and that their lives often ended in tragedy. And call me a sap, but I just feel like these people deserved better–I feel like so many people deserve better. I think one of the worst feelings in the world is watching a loved one suffer and not being able to stop it, only able to try and offer help.

I don’t really know much about Marilyn Monroe–and although her name is in the title, I didn’t really write it about her. I more intended to use the vague idea of her to frame the romanticization of mental illness, and discuss tragedu–and it worked really well as a framing device, so I ran with it. (Actual people who know about this person, I am so sorry, if I’m being horrible please let me know–I honestly considered not posting this for a few weeks, and I’m still on the fence about it honestly.)

Lots of love,



let me close my eyes, and take you to my safe haven. that place i built so long ago, sitting out in the backyard with a book as a friend. it’s got castles, and a gleaming blue sky. and when it rains, it’s always loving and kind. it’ll be here, when you need it–to fall asleep at night, to get through the argument. because you’re not really good at conflict either, right?

and in this place, no one ever gets bitter, or angry, or loses their control. and you don’t have to wrap yourself up in tarpaulin hatred, don’t have to run away from home. let me show you a place where it’s all going to be okay.

where we don’t have to be afraid to speak our minds. don’t have to run and cry behind the couch, where no one else can reach, and tuck ourselves in at night. or work until the soles of our feet bleed just to fucking survive.

and when you look up to the stars, it’s all there, waiting for you–just within reach. and when you’re taller, you’ll stand up on your tiptoes and take what could be yours. you’ll cry for the weight of it all, and wonder which path to choose.

but if the idiot in your math class can grow up into a functioning adult, so can i, right? and every person on the planet has stared over this abyss at some point or other, by definition you cannot be alone. and i promise you: from now on, things are going to only get better. i’ll fight for it, i’ll try, i’ll choose the good path.

not yet stained in blood and tears. i’ll make myself anew and work it out as best i can; treat myself with the kindest love i’ve got in me, and offer the same to you.

and say it, not embarrassed, not afraid: i love you, i love you, i love you. every single day.