things i never said

trigger warning: insecurity, relationship anxiety, fear of abandonment

i’m not sure how to receive love because i’m so used to living in a wasteland of it. so i don’t know what to say when you say i’m wonderful. ‘cause in elementary school, my friends never really gave me compliments and usually i was just. the weird kid. i think most of the relationships in my life have been one-sided, and this is confusing and a little disorienting. i’m not sure what i’m doing, excuse me while i lock myself in the bathroom because i’m probably a bad person. and sometimes, i get insecure, and i’m honestly amazed you find anything in me worth liking. and i’m honestly amazed that you’ve seen all my darkness and you still want to be near me. and you can tell i’m having a bad day by when i’m online a lot because as long as i’m focusing on something else i can escape my brain, and as long as i’m constantly focusing on something else it’ll be all right, and they told me when i was little that i should never go in a dark alley without someone with me, and maybe you are that person who comes with me, except the monsters are my brain and they are there almost constantly, but i’ll come with you always if you need me. i’m drifting, slowly, and i need to anchor myself but when you toss out liferafts i’m too paralyzed to grab. which doesn’t mean i’ll be paralyzed forever, it just means i’m having a bad day because there were too many feelings and too many mistakes, and i can’t handle this heavy weight. i can’t handle this heavy weight and i’m sorry if i’m dumping on you. i’m sorry, if i’m supposed to be different this is all i’ve got. this is all there is. my accomplishments are a candlelight i cast out and pride is a river i am desperately trying to drown in. and i want to be proud of myself. i want to wrap myself up in my arms and i want to be all right. but the idea of that is so large, and i don’t know how to even get started, wrapping that around my mind. i am standing at the centre of the sky and i’m trying to comprehend what’s happening and i’m trying to be a good person i’m trying to be perfect, even though i don’t feel perfect. because then it’ll be all right. and i’m scared of you leaving and i’m scared of you not coming back. and why are we all leaving? where are you going?


rag doll

trigger warning: insecurity, exhaustion, swearing, use of “chemical gunshots” as a metaphor, suicidal thoughts

i mould paper flowers out of the long lists of things i feel for you, and i carve my poetry to nothing because that’s what i’m supposed to do. and i’m hoping i’m good enough for you. and i’m so tired it feels like my eyes are made of lead and my skull is collapsing mostly because i’m scared of you leaving. as i fall asleep i think maybe we are all stars, and planets, band-aids and patched up messes. you could say that i’m not really thinking clearly. you could say it’s all a scattered mess of fallen leaves and broken heartstrings and it’s never going to get better and i might even believe you because i can’t imagine my life stretching out longer than it already has and for some reason that idea makes my nauseous and it’s all such a mess and it’s all so large and writing about being happy is really goddamn hard. and it’s all spinning. and it could just be midnight but i think everything is relative, as in everything is dependent, and if everything is dependent how do i know what the truth is? and how can i do anything knowing my future self will hate me for it just because in hindsight all the awkward lines and inevitable mistakes and things i shouldn’t have said highlight themselves over and over again. neon red. my vision is blurring and the headache presses in and i’m trying to care so i shove myself off cliffs like as long as the wind is rushing through my hair nothing will ever be complicated again. i’m shattered glass on windowsills. i’m dressing myself up in business suits and prom dresses printing out credit cards so i can buy my way into the future and it doesn’t matter if i go into debt because my brain can’t even process the present yet but did i tell you that of late did i’m soft blankets and the crickets at midnight and oceans of tears and the words expecto patronum and the gilded frames of finished poems. and i’m lying awake late at night, and it’s just i’m having trouble getting this through my brain. because i’m still only half-sure how to use my broken heart as a band-aid.

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i am trying to make you happy

trigger warning: insecurity, social anxiety

i am trying to make you happy. i think i do a pretty bad job at this, but it could just be my anxiety. because my anxiety is like a news reporter, twisting milk spills into catastrophes, whispering a constant rush of both dark & terrifying things. & i’m not going to go into detail, but i am going to say that it is constant and paralyzing & it is difficult to look at my hands without thinking about the things they could destroy. i am going to say that i just want to be beautiful when i look in the mirror, because i think it would make you happy, and i don’t know if that’s true or not, but. i like the idea, of being pretty. like the idea of all the broken pieces finally fitting together, perfectly. and sometimes the hardest part is knowing that none of this, no matter how hard i try, is ever going to be perfect, and that feels impossible to accept for me. and i’m trying to make you happy, but god everything they’ve ever said about me is burning tattoos into my skin, and the words feel like bullets going right in, and i don’t know how to be numb to it when you told me not to be numb to it, and the dot dot dot of your train of thought seems to go on endlessly, and i can’t breathe, and i can’t really think clearly but i do know that i need your hand to accompany me because when i’m with you i don’t have to think about my anxiety, and i’m falling apart piece by piece my skin flaking away i’m falling apart so i can mold myself into something politically correct & appealing. & my brain is a lightbulb, and it’s clicking off again. and i’m in the dark again. and i’m trying to feed myself silence for medicine. but i’m having trouble ironing out my brain, and i know this isn’t how you be a good friend. but i’m trying to make you happy, and i want to make you happy, and i want to make you love me so you’ll fill the empty space inside me where trusting other people and feeling safe inside my skin should be and i’m not really sure what i’m doing but you have me your heart and you told me. and in other people’s poetry, they talk about calmness. they talk about the kind of conviction that makes you forget anything outside. but my anxiety, it doesn’t let me feel those things. and i don’t think you understand that insecurity should be a disease, because it’s killing me. and because i feel like a ghost most days, like my skin is see through, and maybe that’s why sometimes there are earthquakes, and the reason i throw my arms around you and cling really tight for no real reason sometimes is because i’m having trouble thinking clearly and it helps to be near you because i love you and i need to focus on something happy and how did i let my brain hurt every part of me and leave seeds of self-hatred in even my happy and there are a thousand fragmented thoughts running through my brain and i’m not sure if it’s called depression when you watch yourself from above and you curl up into a ball and look away and you think about death and nothing matters some days but i don’t care what you call it because it’s all really fucking complicated and my eyes slip closed, and i don’t know what i’m doing or why through all the shit you think i’m still worth knowing, but all this mess of a poem is trying to say is is it ok if i disagree with you? because i half love and half hate the fact that i care about you enough that i know i’m going to.

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trigger warning: numbness, stress, exhaustion

i can’t write because / your voice / is safer / than mine / which explodes sometimes / which hurts me sometimes / which is too much sometimes / the tidal waves of emotion / which drown me sometimes / the busy days when i barely have any chance to write / the busy days / that are too loud sometimes / the dilating sound of your voice / which is so loud sometimes / the seeds of dandelions blowing around my mind / they are so fast sometimes / sowing seeds of worry that look beautiful at first / before rotting / and when the doctor told me that a little bit of perfectionism was a good thing / maybe i just don’t understand but / i don’t think he was thinking about my feelings and the fact that hating my own skin hurts me like crazy / and my feelings strangle themselves regularly and it’s so much sometimes and i don’t understand how this can ever be healthy / and honestly i just want to get out of my own mind / and honestly i just want to bury myself like when i was younger and / when the sand was warm and heavy / as it enveloped me and / when i closed my eyes / the entire world was gold on me / it’s so much sometimes / and i can’t write outside of school anymore i mean not really / not like i used to / not like i was writing myself back to reality because i don’t want to be in reality / my mind is so heavy it’s so hard sometimes / the way i scroll through social media / the way i will take any excuse to escape from myself / the way the self-control i used to have melts so easily / it so infuriating sometimes / most times / the way you watch me / like i am a fuse box and you are trying to prod bolts of lightning out of me / sometimes / the rollercoasters of my emotions / falling and rising / slamming into themselves / i’m a volcano set on destroying itself / and the thing is / i am turning off the light just to stare up at the ceiling just to not think about anything / why i could not do it / why i could not give the world everything / why i could not write more / write harder / write faster / trust others / say the right thing / and i know the answer to that and i know i could fix this but / i’m frozen in my skin and sometimes / i just wanna be blind

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the letter i just sent to my favourite author but with more honesty

based on a true story.

hi. hello. greetings. when someone has been a figure in your head for a long time it is weird to think that you are an actual, physical person, with days and nights and futures and pasts. and children. and parents. and endings. and beginnings. and if you ever read this, i just want you to know. that i’m rooting for you. and you’ve made me happy. and i hurt, but sometimes your stories make the hurt less for me. your stories have made me laugh. your stories make me happy, your stories make fireworks go off inside me one after the next, lighting up the sky when the stars need replacing, because there are nights and days on end when inside, there is nothing. your books make me happy, sunflowers and dandelions, small flickers of light in the void inside me. i hope i’m not making you feel pressured, but if i am it’s ok if you stop reading here i’m sorry. i understand that you’re a person i just wanted you to know, that i’m scared of falling out of love as much as i am scared of falling in it, because love is a swimming pool and i am a child who never took swimming lessons. i’m scared of lightswitches, because i have hit them enough times to know that one motion is enough to change the world, and change the world is not always a good expression. i’m scared that someday, i won’t want to be this person. i’m scared my heart can be outgrown. i’m scared, and yeah, i cling sometimes. cling, like i’ve been stripped down to skin and bone and there’s nothing left of me but hope and words and sometimes music notes. cling, like you’re the last meal i will ever eat. cling, as i’m standing at the edge of the river tears falling like raindrops onto the water, and it feels like everything is spinning, and i am so, so scared of falling. you have no idea how scared i am of losing. have no idea the monsters, kicking sandstorms, and i won’t go into detail because i don’t know how to tell you the whole truth so i won’t because i don’t want you to help me without my permission. oh god. sorry if i’m rambling i hope i’m not wasting your time it’s just. are you like the characters in your books? are you the kind of person who fights through the pain, who has felt pain, who beleives there is good in the world? i know i don’t have the rights to ask all these questions, i’m sorry. being alone in your own head all day makes you curious in a desperate lonely sort of way. and i have stomped my curiosity into pieces, i still do it all the time, this moment is wild and reckless, so i’m sorry for being proud of it. proud of it, like for a second, i am more than space junk through days where when you ask how i’m doing the best i can give is a shrug, and my eyes are blank, and the shadows are deadweights more than they ever are capes. i’m sorry if i’m wasting your time, i just wanted to say that i hope your heart can touch mine. and i’m sorry, i’m probably dodging the point. if this ever reaches you, i want you to know books don’t work miracles but thank you for giving me a place that almost feels like home. i just want to believe that every single one of us feels all the same emotions, and therefore connection is possible even when it is with someone i will never meet in person. so is it ok if i’m honest? are you one of those people that can take the brunt of it? because all i’m really trying to ask is please tell me you’ve felt the dark, too. because if you’ve felt the dark, and if it’s not too much trouble asking, could you please tell me where the hell the light is?

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