you know, it’s funny. the things you would do for love, when you’re just a little kid. how you’d lie right through your teeth, for one single second of undivided care and admiration.

it’s crazy. how your mind plays tricks on you. how success is relative, but i still have to be the best in every single room. how childhood was never really an option. because if you don’t work harder, no one will ever want you.

so don’t you get it? i’m perfect. for this one, glorious moment, as the sunlight serenades my skin, i am king midas. golden.

because this was never about me. and it was always about you. about the hole in my chest, where flowers grew among the broken shards of glass, but no light peeked through.

you always said i was a hungry kid. and i think i finally know why that’s true.

Part 5000 in my quarantine nostalgia poems but make it really depressing, because actually, it turns out being a little kid kinda sucks, if you’re me anyway.

Back during this time in my life, I remember feeling so alone. I was always the odd one out in every situation imaginable, and everyone must secretly hate me. But, I don’t know, if there’s anything that growing up has taught me, it’s that we’re never the only ones who feel the way we do, and that… I don’t know, this sounds cheesy, but… there’s community, where you least expect it. And I promise, I’m not just saying that.

I guess that’s why I started this blog, in the end. I don’t know if it’s helped anyone, but if it’s made even one person feel just a little bit less isolated in their feelings… then all of this is worth it, to me. Because it’s what I wish I had been able to find during my darkest times, and what I still wish there was more of out there in the world. So I hope that this site, if you actively follow it, has been able to do that for you–and I hope this post in some way or other spoke to you. 🙂

Lots of love,




trigger warning: self-harm

and i remember the day you taught me / to be normal taught me / to camouflage bend in as my skin slowly / crumpled into itself / because you are the hunter and i am the prey / as it all / collapsed and / my throat will swell under the weight of my thoughts and i / am / about / to / collapse and / i  / am / about / to / collapse / surrounded by support mechanisms i no longer trust because if you look a certain way it all / seems / like / bullshit / today / and the waves scream around me and i know i’m being dramatic it’s just / i’m so desperate / for you to love me / love me / the grey expanses of my head / screaming trapped can’t think thoughts are jamming love me / love me / love me / love me / because i’m always the giver in these kinds of relationships anyways and / i’m not good at loving people anyway / and i guess this is it / this is my apocalypse / this is the smoke rising up in the air this is the moment everything goes toxic and you realize that this is all you get / and honestly after that / you may as well / just / forget about it / this is my apocalypse / only nothing has actually happened / and i smash my personality like a castle to pieces now slowly / slowly / slowly / because i am a robot / and if i can’t fix myself i may as well just / fall / apart again / right? / may as well just punch myself again, right? may as well just crack open my throat and smash apart my eyes / until you find me there / bleeding on the floor / and i don’t know how to be anything other than romanticized mental illness / other than this story / other than this cage i can’t break free of / as i lie in bed / and i stare up at the versions of myself on the wall / and i want to cut off everything if that’ll make my mind / stop / just please / just stop / make it all stop / because i’ll give up every single bomb in my chest if you can just / make my head / shut the fuck up / because you taught me / to be normal / and i beleived that i needed to be normal / because you are the hunter / and i am the prey / and / it’s fading it’s just / slow / and i’ve never really been in my head before like this so / i don’t know, ok? i just don’t know.

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quick non-poetry related blog

trigger warning: mentions of self-harm, suicidal thoughts, discussion of what it feels like to be bullied and have a panic attack

So this week, I had a mental breakdown.

Ok, I know, not that unusual for me. But this was not just a normal I’m-at-home-in-my-bedroom mental breakdown.

This was an at-school frozen-in-a-chair-in-the-principal’s-office-for-at-least-45-minutes-at-the-verge-of-tears kind of mental breakdown.

Ok, so I’ll give you a little background. As I’ve probably mentioned before, I was bullied in elementary school. Not just by my peers, my friends and teachers as well. To give you some examples, I remember a time when I was feeling a little sick but my mom couldn’t afford to take sick days off. I was in fifth grade, ten years old. The rest of the class was playing some kind of ball game, and because I felt terrible, I was sitting on the sidelines. When we all lined up, my teacher was furious. His voice was shaking. I remember him saying how disappointed in our behavior he was.

How he didn’t want any of us moping like (my name redacted). How he pulled me out of the line, or pointed at me, or called my name out like it tasted bad. How it was always bad. How I was always the different one, the exception, the outsider. All alone at the edge of the fence, looking in on the world.

He would do things like that all the time. It wasn’t just him.

None of the adults in my life really understood me. I had suicidal thoughts pretty much since starting elementary school. I felt isolated and alone. I was the kid you saw crying out in the hallway, waiting for a teacher to deal with them, a teacher who was supposed to make them feel better. A teacher they grew afraid of. A teacher who never came.

To be honest, I’ve never really had a healthy and trusting relationship before. Everywhere I’ve gone, I’ve always felt different, like if I didn’t lie a little bit about myself someone will yell at me or not understand or tell me I’m enough. After a while, all those things start to feel the same. After a while, I just mostly gave up hope on people understanding me at all.

Of late, I’ve been actually making progress in terms of trusting people my age. I’ve made friends, and I tell them about myself. They understand me, in a way no one else really has understood me before, maybe just because I’ve never been this open with someone else. The kind of open that makes me understand what it’s actually supposed to feel like to have best friends. I’m on good terms with all of my teachers, but my English teacher and I are really close to each other, which has helped me a little bit in not being so afraid of figures of authority. I feel safe at my school. All of that fell apart last Wednesday.

So I was working on my own in a study room between my English teacher’s two classrooms (I could explain, but it’s complicated, and I have word count to save, so I’ll tell you all about it later, okay?) and this boy who had bugged me and my Poetry Club friends, who are actually my only friends, and the people I mentioned above a couple times, cracked open the door.

It was really awkwardly silent, so I said, “Hi.” I felt really weak and awkward and scared, like the voice in my head was controlling my words.

He said, “Hi.” It was really hesitant, and awkward, and weird. The thing about this boy is that… he’s good at manipulating. He can have done something a thousand times, and a part of you is still so convinced by his act of being interested in you that you can’t help but collapse, a little. As someone who has lashed out at others before, I guess I overempathize, because I see myself in other people too quickly. I guess it feels like if I can forgive them, it’s all right to forgive myself. So in that moment, even though I knew he was going to bait me into giving some response in the logical part of my head… I let him reel me in. I let kindness become weakness, because honestly I’m still struggling to figure out the difference.

“Hey, do you want to hang out in the summer?” He said out of nowhere.

I bit my lip, fiddling with my computer screen. I was researching stuff about social media marketing and planning the next couple week of blog posts and working on some new poems and I had about fifteen tabs open, but I didn’t want him to see. “Uh… not really.”

“Oh, come on!” He burst out, instantly seeming frustrated with me. “I’ve done this with, like, five people, and we’re already becoming best friends.”

“Um… I’m going to have a job this summer.” I felt like I was trying to explain something to a toddler, which I guess is a defense mechanism. Trying to feel superior. “So I can’t.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be off, and then you can hang out with me.”

“Um, I’m busy with… other stuff.” Like running a website and doing my own performances in my town, I thought in my head, but obviously I didn’t say that out loud. I felt like curling up into a ball and ignoring everything he said. Like, emotionally shutting down. I’m pretty sure self-consciousness and fear of being punished were really the only things that kept me from doing it.

“Um… I have a social life.”

“Yeah, and–” he growled. “Ugh, this is pointless. Why don’t you want to hang out with me?”

“I don’t really–I’m going to be busy–”

And then he went silent. And he started laughing. And he said, “Just kidding, I’m only here to clean the fish tank.”

“I figured that,” I said quietly.

My heart was sort of pounding.

And then it all fell apart.

My English teacher told me to tell her whenever he bugged me so she could deal with him in combination with the principal. It took me a while to come out of the silent, empty study room filled with plant seedings and basketballs and a couple fossilized kale plants. My knees were wobbling and my hands were shaking.

I know it seems little, but it wasn’t.

My emotions had been pried out of my chest. I wasn’t perfect anymore. The armour had shattered, and everyone could see it. I felt like someone was covering my mouth, even though no one was. It wasn’t exactly like a flashback, it was more like I was slipping back into the version of myself I used to be. I don’t remember what I told her exactly, I just know it was something incoherent, and that I felt like throwing up.

I stayed in the principal’s office for 45 minutes, trying to calm down.

The next day, I punched myself harder than I ever had before. It was only twice. It was enough to make me go to my computer and use the Live Chat function to call a helpline from their website. I rated my level of upset at a seven. I felt like my body wasn’t mine. I’m honestly not sure I’ve ever been that frantically honest with a person. I told the Counsellor everything about my life that I had been going through, about my self-harm and about how my family has a history of mental illness that sometimes feels like it defines me. How it feels like all around me, the whole world is dying. I talked about my suicidal thoughts and my self-harm. I talked, and I talked about how I felt like self-care made me selfish because no one around me takes care of themselves so when I take

I told them how much I wished I could lift the pain away from all my friends, who were struggling in their own ways, and who I could comfort and support and listen to and validate, but never take away the bad memories, the mental disorders and the bullies. I told them how I didn’t understand how so many people in the world could be so broken and so terrible.

They said something I’ll never forget. I wish I had taken a screenshot of our conversation, but I was panicking so much I didn’t do it. Anyway, it was something like this.

Maybe every time you take care of yourself, you can imagine that you’re lifting the pain away, not just for yourself, but for your family, too. Like every time you let yourself be all right, you’re healing the scar. You’re making the world as a whole a little bit lighter.

Okay, fine, I’m rewording it a little bit, because awkwardly worded text messages irritate me. But that’s the basic gist.

Hope you’re hanging in there. ❤


If you need to talk to someone about anything you’re going through, no matter how big or small it might seen, find a helpline in your area here. In case you missed it, follow my Instagram here, follow my Twitter here, follow my YouTube here, follow my Wattpad here, and follow my Tumblr here, and read the poems that I posted this morning here and here.

how to bury a feeling (spoken word)

trigger warning: mentions of bullying, self-hatred, depersonalization, anxiety, depression

watch the youtube video (if you want to) below:


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how to bury a feeling

trigger warning: bullying, depersonalization, self-hatred, anxiety, depression

so you’re sitting out in a hallway. and you’re six years old. and you’re different, as in you’re ahead, and therefore you’ve done something wrong. and  you clench your fists. close your eyes. build electric fences except only in your mind so every time you disobey yourself it’ll feel kinda like getting hit by lightning and maybe that’ll kill the part of you that needed their love, and that’s a good thing. don’t let yourself feel anything. don’t let yourself need anything. let the anxiety surround you. let it hem you in. and when it tells you you’re worthless, listen, but don’t let yourself know about that bit, because it’s complicated, and the complicated makes the sky kind of pixelate every time you touch it so stop. stare at yourself in the mirror, and go numb. you are a computer and every part of you is turned off. turn it all off. turn off the lights, and stare into the darkness with nightmares in your eyes. and you’ll be so afraid of the monsters eating you in the night you’ll sleep with a pillowcase wrapped around your head all the fucking time. and there will be a lead box of sadness in your chest and you’re not really sure what is, and you’re not really sure where it comes from, it just explodes sometimes and the world goes black and white and it’s all too much to process and you think this feeling like you’re lifting up off your body and everything is hollow all around you and there’s nothing keeping you from drowning is taking over and the constellations glisten in the background and somehow that makes it worse. and mental illness feels like someone chopped off a couple of your limbs and then laughed and walked away and then scoffed when you decided to be ok with the fact that you’ll never function like a normal person anyway. and you i mean i could be ok, and i can feel the small seedling of hope buried deep down inside me, but it’s only a seedling, and seedlings aren’t anything you can live inside. and it’s complicated, so can we please not question it. and it’s complicated, and i’m sure you won’t get it, and if you do get it you fucking shouldn’t because a small part of me wants to rip up everything i’ve ever written just to make myself cry and my therapist calls it self-sabotage but i don’t know if that’s what it is or not because it’s always more complicated than a diagnosis. i need to write a hundred thousand poems and then maybe i could make sense of this. or maybe everything could just melt into the cold that wipes the happy from my veins because we’re all contestants in a competition and that competition is pain and if i hurt more than you i think you’ll give me love or acceptance or maybe just a second of your attention. and if it’s a choice, can’t i just rip everything away and then tomorrow will everything be perfect will i be happy i want to be happy i want to be better i don’t want to be a monster…

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