you trace your fingers down the lines of old scars and long-held grudges, because i guess paranoia always did die hard. count them out quietly in your fingers, but i guess i can’t judge you too harshly, because i know i’ll be doing the same with yours. it’s so fucking awful. i know, i know, i know.

and some days, i’m a hopeless romantic, but most of the time i’m the most cynical person you’ve ever met. and i can’t be your princess, with her smiles and sunbeams and starlight filtering through her hair. a whole universe inside just one person. and i guess that’s all well and good in theory, but in practice, i don’t have a clue.

’cause i’m young, and naive, and inexperienced at most things. and it’s equal parts joy and torture, remaking myself each september. trying on different costumes in the hopes that maybe someday, i’ll find one that fits.

and i’m still learning silence from the burnt-out trees, raised up to worship the pain coursing through my bloodstream, to search day after day for its mythic beauty, only to realize, eleven years old, that maybe that wasn’t the best thing to do. but i still find myself following its footprints, on the bad days.

staying up too late on purpose, and letting my chapped lips start to burn. because if i’m just miserable for long enough, won’t you love me all the more? won’t you raise me up, and salute me, mount me like a trophy on your wall? would you tell me you’re proud of me, when i’ve done nothing at all?

would you plug the holes in my heart with drywall, paint me magenta and sky blue? would you run away with me one afternoon, even if it’s only in our dreams, and build me a cityscape of promises we’ll try our best to keep, but who knows?

because people change. and people mess up. but right now, i mean it, and maybe that’s enough.


i woke up this morning, and i didn’t feel like dying, which is kind of a novelty. the snow on the trees cast everything in a youthful glow. has it been ten days since we last spoke, or the rest of eternity? i’m in a weird headspace, and i honestly don’t know.

because these days, i spend most of my time floating facedown on melting ice, watching old ghosts sing out their sorrows deep below. tell myself i’d never sink to their level, and dance with them next week, to old songs from 2010. i create a vision in my head, of a childhood never lived, because it’s the best i’ve got, you know? and i’ll do what i have to, for late nights, listening to songs on your phone.

long walks in the snow, laughing ourselves numb as it all spins out of control. and you’ll hold my hand, even when i start to disintegrate like a layer of old paint on a shitty building. and i know it’s not much, but my standards are low, and so i guess it feels a bit like everything.

i woke up, and i didn’t know what to do. but maybe that’s not the worst thing, maybe fifteen could be the year of sloppy cardboard wings, and promises to keep. maybe i could jump without looking down, and the adrenaline would only serve to help me land on my feet.

and… today could be a good day, against my better judgement, with dresses and sunshine and lemonade. maybe i could call you up without apology, and ask how you’re doing. like a good friend would, and kinda work the rest out from there.

should you reciprocate the question, i’ll try my best to answer honestly.

out there

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you know, when i was younger, they told me i could be a hero i just wasn’t prepared for it to feel like this. like standing in the middle of a tornado wondering how the hell you’re not falling to pieces. and when i was younger, they told me i could do big things in the world i just didn’t realize it would feel like this though. like bleeding on an open stage. like curled up in a silent room trying your goddamn hardest to concentrate. like trying, and trying, and trying to lift the darkness away but it doesn’t feel like it’s gonna ease up more than a little today.  and i wish my head wasn’t broken shards on the side of a highway, and i’m trying hard but it’s just difficult to pretend that everything is ok. because i know its just cat fucking with my head but sometimes, it feels like i’m not even that good at this. feels like this is just another way to pass through the small empty hollow of space in my chest unnoticed. and i’m standing at the edge and the wind whistles past me, and i don’t know how to get it right. get it right. get it right. as in, capture this feeling perfectly. because i’m not perfect. i’m not. which is not the same thing as worthless, i guess. but right now, the roar in my head is so. fucking. loud and at the same time so completely silent. and when you’ve been alone with yourself for so long i guess it’s hard to to fraternize with the voices in your head because even poisoned apples look beautiful right before you fall. you fall. you fall. you fall. and it all feels like it’s coming at me a mile-a-minute.  and i’m standing at the edge of a cliff, with no idea what happens next. and you’re watching. and i guess… this is it.

i wrote this right before a performance i’d spent months planning for and then finished it after, honestly just as a way of processing everything that happened. putting your feelings out in the open period is honestly really hard, but putting your feelings out into the world when you have anxiety is really hard. for the record, i did really well, and it was the first performance i’ve ever done that i didn’t have the profound desire to run for my life. which is, you know, a plus. 😉

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i am on a rollercoaster

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i am on a rollercoaster that only goes up. i am on a rollercoaster and i will make mountains rise from my fingertips and i will goddamn make something out of myself. i will mould statues from my sweat blood and tears and yeah i’ll probably watch as they collapse. and i’ll watch as my organs flake apart. and my lungs puncture. because i don’t know how to breathe and i can’t do this and. i’m not sure whether i can handle this. and i’m not sure whether or not i can do this without something collapsing. this is a suspension bridge and right now all i know is that i’m the first person to ever have walked it and everything is wobbling. i am on a rollercoaster that only goes up, only i’m not sure how true that is. and i’m not sure when you’ll leave, but i know you’ll run. i know you’ll run, and when you do i will know in that moment that every word you say is true. i am on a rollercoaster and i’m not prepared to fall again. because it hurts, and i’m not prepared for this because my mind is an open wound. i am on a rollercoaster trying to tape together the broken pieces of ceramic but they’re slicing me to pieces but please. don’t look at me. don’t look at me. don’t tell me that i’m covered in scabs because last night at 1a.m. i had a breakdown. don’t tell me there are crack lines scattered across my cheeks and i look like a broken doll or something. please. because i am a rollercoaster and i can feel my blood sugar crashing, but somehow i’ve got myself convinced this is happy making mountains out of molehills because that’s all it is, really. because it’s just a meal. just a stomach sore from exercise but somehow it feels more right than anything. i am a rollercoaster and the past is the wolf at the door and i don’t know what i can do to keep it away. i am on a rollercoaster and goddamnit. please. just. get this over with.  just deal with it. i am on a rollercoaster wrapping my arms around my fractured heart as i’m collapsed like a train wreck on the floor. i am on a rollercoaster and i’m staring up at the skylight trying to catch the slightest fractures of the stars, stabbing in through the tears in my eyes. because for a moment, they make me feel loved. accepted, i guess. like everything i am is all right. even though it isn’t.

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