butterfly; pinned to the cutting board

you’ll cry out for help. just like you always do. and just like always… no one’s coming to save you.

you’ll rest your hopes, and dreams, on those neon-bright wings and maybe this is all one big dream. maybe you’re going to wake up, because you have to wake up, any fucking second

but you don’t. and instead, all you can feel is the knife poised against your fragile, trembling abdomen. the burning heat… the smoke starting to engulf you… and this is it, isn’t it? so go on. sing me one last beautiful, effervescent song.

but don’t bother trying, little girl. because begging for your life isn’t going to work out for anyone.

Inspired by this prompt. I never pegged myself as the “prompts” type of gal, but I guess I’ve been having trouble writing poetry that does just fall into the same themes I usually choose to write, and just really pushing myself to branch out, and sometimes prompts can be really helpful for that, just in terms of forcing me to step out of my comfort zone. I was considering writing a little note at the bottom of this about what was going through my head as I wrote this, but honestly, I’m really not sure, and I’m still processing a lot of the feelings in this poem–and I think it kinda reads better when the reader is left to interpret it however they’d like to. So yeah, I guess if this was relatable in any way for you, feel free to leave or a comment, and otherwise, I hope you enjoyed. 🙂

Lots of love,



i don’t know what’s up with me tonight. but i just wanted to say that, well… as bad as i am at saying it out loud, i love you, all right?

just in case… i die. or maybe you’re feeling sad, and you just needed to hear that tonight. because i know that everything feels scary right now.

but for what it’s worth, i promise… it will pass. somehow.

and someday, i’ll be able to hold you in my arms, and let that feeling last. without the slightest hint of fear sneaking through my brain.

and we will walk along the side of the highway, eating candy from the general store. stop by the farmer’s market, wander through the graveyard, and make it home just before dark. because god, is some small fragment of normalcy overdue.

but for now, just know that on may 12, 2020, at 12:32 am… i love you.

God, editing this really takes me back–I wrote this what feels like ages ago. I just remember feeling really lonely, and not being able to sleep, and really wanting to get some writing done at 12:32 at night, only I couldn’t think of any good titles–so I just put in the time my computer said, and kind of went from there. During quarantine, reflecting on my relationships was both really healthy and helpful and really unhealthy and destructive–since reflection and nostalgia can pretty quickly lead to obsession for me.

For a bit of context, this piece was written right before we were officially allowed to widen our social bubbles (I think that’s what they’re called but I don’t know, I’m tired) in BC, Canada, my home. But there was a two week period between when that was announced and when it actually went into affect, so for those two weeks I was just feeling really torn and scared and excited, and thinking a lot about my relationships, and what it means to be a good friend. And then… this piece was born.

Anyhow. I’m gonna watch a studio ghibli movie, because they’re on Netflix in Canada now, and I’ve been working pretty much all day today and I want to do something nice for myself for a change–so I should probably get going, but I hope you guys enjoyed this post, and make sure to keep updated on the blog, because I have a big project coming out in the next couple weeks that I’m super excited about, and I’m not telling you guys any more yet, but just know that it’s really close to my heart, and I can’t wait for you to see it. 🙂

Lots of love,




my therapist tells me it’s time to name my anxiety. like this is something normal, like i’m naming a child or something. like if i can just slice it away from my heart and leave it bleeding on the floor like it’s left me bleeding on the floor it won’t hurt me anymore. and i’d like to believe it works. i’d like to believe that just calling it cat spelled C-A-T will change everything. because you have this way of making it sound so easy. the words they’ve called me echo through my head which sucks because i just wish i could wipe this away like a mess off the counter or a hiccup in history but it’s not. that. easy. because pretending it doesn’t exist is the emotional equivalent of the smoke alarm going off at 1a.m. and me deciding to fall asleep to it. but i still kind of wish i could bury it under the carpet and can we pretend it never happened and because they do that in stories and it sounds easier than bench-pressing the weight of my feelings but the more i write about it the less it makes sense and god. this is such and inconvenient time to do this and did you have to fall apart right this second people need you. and why are you always so stuck inside your head?  my therapist tells me it’s time to name my anxiety, and i name it cat. like this is something normal, because it probably is normal, because we’re all fucking crazy, and we’re all fucking dying because the planet is dying and the economy is dying and what’s the point of falling in love with anything because we’re all fucking dying and i need help, but i don’t even know how much longer i’ll be able to afford it. and i just keep thinking back. keep thinking back. keep wondering. if there was ever a time before this. if there was ever a time when i was standing at the edge of an empty highway and my heart wasn’t heavier than titanium and my dna wasn’t a cage and everything was all right and therefore maybe if i tried hard enough, i could bring my mind back to life. my therapist tells me it’s time to name my anxiety, and i name it cat, because i’m desperate. and i guess i’ll believe anyone if they tell me it’ll get better if i just… try… this…

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i am writing in the bathtub

trigger warning:  insecurity, exhaustion, feeling like you have to hurt a lot to be worth other people’s attention, depression/hopelessness

i am writing in the bathtub and i am trying to calm the scream. my brain has been lit on fire and 90% of me feels ugly how did the weeks pass this quickly. i miss the you you used to be. i am standing at the bottom of a black hole, and i think maybe gravity cannot get any stronger than this. they told me the good news was that bad days are only 24 hours long. and yeah. that’s true. but tomorrow, the despair just seems to spread out its arms collapsing right on top of my lungs like it’s determined to crush them. i just want to tell someone that i’m happy and mean it. i just want to tell me i’m happy and mean it. except i don’t, really, because tragedy is the only colour that looks good on me. and they are right that i could mostly live off just being inside me but like. i’ve never tried so. i don’t really know. i do know you make me happy, though. i do know that i have trouble being alone. i do know that i need to learn how to be alone. i do know that i have trouble facing my fears, and that i see monsters when i look at the walls of this home. i do know that the headache feels impossible to swallow away. i do know that my skull feels like it’s about to rupture under the pressure of me. i do know that when something bad happens, the thought of suicide is the first place my brain goes, like it’s a ticking time bomb, like death is all it knows. and when i first started feeling this way as in this way i was six years old, and now i feel like a house of cards waiting to explode, and i’m not exactly sure when i became so fucked up, but here i am. here i am, being so worried and stressed out in the morning that i forget to take my medication, and i just miss when things were simple, but i also don’t miss it at all. i am writing in the bathtub, and the water envelops me, and i bury myself in the silence, and i’d like to pretend it’s midnight, pretend no one is awake but me, pretend i can ride the cloud-castles of my creativity. i’d like to pretend i could spend all day this way. but the steam is suffocating me, and every day i wake up fearing that today will be the day when the world sort of erupts, and every morning i juggle black-and-white faces, dancing between despair and euphoria, and all of that sounds really fancy, and until i started talking about this i didn’t even realize how broken i was, and i feel disabled sometimes, like i am missing limbs but those limbs are emotions. those limbs are my ability to deal with this. and by this, i mean all of it. i mean the clatter of your voice and the dishes, and the quiet emptiness i force myself to swim through, because. i’m told it’s supposed to get better, after i try this. and i’m not even sure what happened did someone drop me on my head i’m going to hate myself until i can hurt myself deep enough that there’s a black hole large enough to swallow me only i’ll shove it into my past, because then i can throw myself into it and justify all of this. but i don’t have the heart to do any of that. and that shouldn’t feel like a weakness.

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