the yellow brick road

trigger warning: potentially disturbing imagery.

come on. just do it. just follow the yellow brick road. and smile, and laugh, and pose, as the glitter falls like rain, and the harp music plays. and come on. you can do it. just pretend you don’t notice the pain.

put on your pretty red shoes. adjust your gingham dress. and off you go. just like the stories said. and if you ignore the screams in the distance, or the rot writhing inside each and every magic pumpkin… it’s kind of beautiful. isn’t it?

and the vultures swoop down for what’s left of you. and you bite back a scream. but this happens all the time, you know. because you silly little girl, just do what you’re told. just keep walking. just let it go.

just take deep breaths. and ignore it, when the thoughts come for you, sharp needles piercing your skin. fumble for your thimble, and clean out the wound as best you can.

and it doesn’t matter what makes you comfortable. it matters what’s in right now. so curtsy, and adjust your lipstick, and you’ll figure it out somehow.

psychedelic colours. and maybe it’s a daydream. maybe it’s a nightmare. but this can’t be happening. not now.

or at least that’s what you tell yourself. as the blood dribbles down your knee. and it red stains on your shirts don’t even surprise you anymore.

as you stare at the ticking clock on your computer. watching. as you get older, and older…

This is gonna sound really self-congratulatory, but I’m actually so proud of this piece, I don’t think I’ve ever written anything like it before. And that feels good. Really, really good. I don’t know if I’ve felt this proud about a piece in a while. I don’t really know where it came form, I don’t know



pixelated visions of a perfect world. and what’s happening anymore? because i honestly don’t know. pinterest fashion,  tumblr memes. the same song on loop for, hours on end.

and yeah, i know i’m not alone. i know there are a thousand people out there who might be feeling the exact same way but that still doesn’t change that i am still stuck at home.

and that the birds sing, the wind blows, and jesus fucking christ, is there even a world out there beyond hex colours and html code? because at this point, i honestly don’t know. and i shudder with exhaustion, leaning into these dusty bones. and i don’t want to look on instagram. i don’t even want to turn on my phone. i just want to see you again.

but i can’t. not now.

i know.

So not to sound like your fifth grade health teacher who definitely got more than the designated two seconds of screen time we were supposed to have at that age, but… screen time has actually been, in all seriousness, really weird for me of late. Since my entire life exists on either my phone or laptop, it’s not really hard for me to spend, like, my entire day just sitting there in the same room and barely moving at all. Sometimes I forget to eat, almost every night I end up staying up far too late than is healthy panic-editing or panic-writing something or other, trying to think through my exhaustion–I guess what I’m trying to get at is after day after day of that, it all sort of starts to blur. Everything goes by in fast-forward and slow-motion at the exact same time. And suddenly, it’s like you’re not sure where you begin and where your work, and this artificial thing ends. And you feel fake, and shallow, and I don’t know. It just sucks, and it’s what I drew on as I wrote this poem. And, um, I should have some smart important things to say right here other than that but I’m having trouble keeping my eyes open actually so, um. Yeah, basically the TLDR is that I’m a mess and I keep dissociating because my entire life is working now and wrote this as a way of getting all those icky feelings out a little, even though I still struggle with this a lot to be honest. Also, lockdown is a bitch.

I hope you’re all doing as good as you can be. I hope today is a good day for you. I hope a lot of things, I guess. I don’t know, the 1am brain is working and there is a 200% chance this whole post is incoherent but I am just too tired to care right now.

Lots of love,


a campground filled with… nobody

i’d cry. because boy, do i want to cry. but i don’t have the energy. and i’d tell you all about it, but… everything is just… so… heavy.

and i’d do something other than procrastinate on my schoolwork, and stay up too late. but if i did that, i’d also have to actually fix my brain.

and i’d take a shower. and get dressed. and i’d do something with my life other than sit here, scrolling through my phone. pretending this is gonna make me feel better. when i know full well it isn’t.

and what’s the point? because no matter what path i take… at some point or other, they’re all going to end.

at some point or other, i’m going to find myself. dying on a hospital bed. and did i really even matter? in the end?

because i’m just another person, made of skin and bone. and that’s nothing you won’t forget.

Oh boy, I have been in a toxic cycle of late, to, um… put it mildly. Being stuck at home with very limited things to do other than work, read, listen to podcasts, FaceTime friends, and watch TV, all of which I just sort of do in various different orders, rinse, repeat. You know the drill. It’s slowly making me lose my mind.

it is 12a.m. and i do not sleep

it is 12a.m. and i don’t want to know whether anxiety and self-hatred are hereditary. and maybe the reason i hate mirrors so much is because every time i look in one, i see the broken shards of you nestled deep down inside me. and  because maybe the fact that people i have never met still affect me is the single most terrifying sentence anyone ever could have said to me.  it is 12a.m. and if you’re willing to burn to get what you need, what’s the difference between who you are and who you want to be? it is 12a.m., and my fingers sleepwalk into the keys, only everything i write feels ugly to me. it is 12a.m. and i melt my eyes closed. it is 12a.m. and the thoughts race through me, but only when the light goes out, and if the light never goes out, my thoughts will never come for me. and i will never call myself weak. will never have to  face whatever messed up shit my brain comes up with, the moment i fall asleep. it is 12a.m. and i don’t want to be tomorrow. i don’t want to be out of control. i don’t want to be cold. and i don’t want to know. i don’t want to know what i did right, and what i did wrong. i don’t want to know that the world is falling apart. i don’t want to know i’m not good enough to stop it. i don’t want to fucking know. so it is 12a.m., and the darkness presses in as my eyes slam closed.

this poem is about a lot of things, but one of those things is my family’s history of mental health issues. it’s something i think about a lot, and something that’s really affected me. i don’t know what i’ll do with this piece, or if i’ll even do anything with it beyond posting it here, but here you go anyway.  if  you liked this poem, consider reading the rest of my work, giving me a follow, liking this post, or leaving a comment, if you have the time. thanks for reading! 🙂

and if you need to talk to anyone, click on the word here to find a crisis line in your area.

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the first therapy session

trigger warning: depersonalization, feeling lost, self-hatred

i am a student and i don’t understand and when i was eight i remember thinking that what i wanted to do with my life didn’t matter because i didn’t have to act on it and i would always be in control of my decisions and therefore able to inflict as much suffering upon myself as i wanted and nothing could stop me and when i was nine i remember clenching my fists and drawing walls up around myself so no one could touch me and it’s amazing how all it takes to fall apart is one little drop of poison and i don’t know how other people think but can you show me how to be happy. and can you just tell me what’s a good thought and what’s a bad one. because i just… don’t… understand… can you just tell what i’m supposed to think now but please make sure it’s the kind of thing i’d think and please don’t take me away from me and please don’t make me another person and please don’t take away my choices and the words keep ricocheting like stray bullets through my skull i will believe anything you say so i will plug my ears sometimes because my opinions are porcelain hell not even porcelain because i’m blinded by my desire for approval and can you just reach inside my heart and let me get over it i’m a mess curled up inside my arms and what i’m trying to say is that every minute seems spinning and disconnected puzzle peices ripped apart and disjointed flashes of colour but it doesn’t really make sense and it’s hard to breathe and it’s all kind of a mess bleeding splatterpaint colours on the walls clawing down the cage of my skin like if i push hard enough i’ll crack it open and were they right when they told me this would make it better because the wicked lanterns burning through my skin did promise me that

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