i used to think there was an art to being quiet. sticking to the back row seats, and doing as i’m told, no more and no less. nodding along obediently. i’m doing good, aren’t i? because if i’m not, i swear to god i’ll make it up to you. i’ll write i’m sorry across the kitchen wall, etch it out in sharpie on my palm.

i’ll cry a quiet river when it won’t wash away, and lock myself in my room for days. until this sickness starts to fade. i’m good at that too, they say.

and maybe i’ll open the door, and show it all to you someday; the photos on strings, the posters on the walls. half-finished sketches, and poems, and that really bad song. i’ll speak in brilliant colours, and look you in the eye.

i’ll know what to say, and do, when you bandage the chip on my shoulder and lay out your broken pieces like a puzzle on my lap. i’ll find all the king’s horses, just you wait and see. i’ll carve myself a place in the world, and fit the role effortlessly.

but for now, i think i just need to be alone, wrapped up in blankets on a rainy day, and write myself dizzy. let my mind go blank. in the hopes that maybe, from that empty, something will appear. something good, and kind. something new. and i won’t run away this time. i promise you.

april 7th, 2020

haven’t you heard? it’s the end of the world, baby.

burning skies. flaming asteroids. and barely averted apocalypses. and if you can’t breathe, good. because you brought this upon yourself. and you deserve every fucking inch of it. so breathe it in. open your eyes, and drown in the weight of it.

just grit your teeth. and do it. because this is it. this is the world you have to live in. there’s no changing it.

and whisper sweet nothings in  my ear, hot breath across my shoulder. and watch, as my skin catches fire. and my lungs shrivel up like old newspaper.

and i’ll beg you for help. and you’ll just look down at me in pity, and laugh.

oh sweetheart. you still think the world works like that?

The thing that’s so scary about this pandemic isn’t really the pandemic itself for me (given I’m not at risk for it). It’s seeing firsthand that the world I trusted can splinter apart in an instant. And yeah, sure, it’s something you hear about in my theory. But I’ve never lived through a crisis like this before, and I guess that’s what makes it feel so scary.  Because now all I can think is that the rest of my life i just going to be this. Panic and isolation and constantly just barely holding the world together. I don’t want the rest of my life to be like that.

And sometimes, it’s just easier to pretend. Because I don’t know how else to deal with this. pretend everything is fine, and easy, and perfect.  Just like I wish it were. And I know they say that everyone’s voice matters, but… I don’t know. These days, it’s hard not to feel just a little hopeless.

Um, on another, less sad note, the first episode of my podcast just came out, so get excited! You can check it out here.

i don’t know what to say

trigger warning: self-harm and suicide mention. need to talk to anyone? resources are here.

it’s been ages since i’ve really written poetry.

and i don’t know. things have been crazy. and every day, my life gets harder. and every day, my stack of things to do grows taller. and my head starts to ache. and if i stare in the mirror for long enough, i’ll always find another aspect of myself to hate.

so i guess it’s easier. to just spend hours lying in bed, sweaty clothes and tired eyes, and burying myself in internet culture. because i don’t know what to write anymore. 

and did i tell you about the other day? about how i cried for most of the night. and i did two twenty-question math tests, back to back, and i started writing a suicide note, and i thought i might pass out, and i studied for six hours straight, and everything i tried to write came out underlined in red.

and did i tell you about how i missed therapy? because i’m sick, and i’m tired, and you know when you start forgetting appointments scheduled weeks in advance that you just don’t care anymore.

did i tell you that where there used to be all these feelings in my chest, now there’s mostly just… dust, and sand, and emptiness? tell you about how much i miss the idea of being carefree and innocent, even though i don’t think in my entire life i’ve ever felt like that? tell you about watching disney movies and needing every second of it?

did i tell you that i cut myself? that i don’t think i’ll ever really stop doing it?

or did i mention that my drafts folder is empty, and my fingers are bloody, and… i don’t know the words for this anymore.

I think this is a definitely very experimental style, but I’m proud of it anyhow I guess. I think I wrote this a couple weeks ago, in the depths of a mental breakdown, but at that kind of point where you know you need to write something, and in that moment… that was this.


another sad poem

pick yourself up, girl. i’m tired of seeing you like this. just stitch together the gaping black holes in your chest and laugh it all together. because that’s all it takes, i swear. all you really have to do is just fake a smile, and drink green tea, and focus really really hard on getting better.

just lift yourself up, up, and so far above. like me. smile from the top of the sky and see? everything was fine. so don’t come crying to me with another boring piece of sad poetry. you’re bringing down the vibe. you’re kind of acting like a baby.

come on. don’t be this way. just sprinkle rainbows and sunshine on your shoulders, and turn that frown upside down. because this isn’t a mental illness. just another sign, of another person riddled with weakness.

and you know? i really thought you were better than this.

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the slumber party

trigger warning: self-harm. need to talk? crisis lines are here.

let’s make up secret languages, and i’ll bury my head in your shoulder trying to cut out the world from existence. self-harm thoughts and little wounds, but it’s all right. i keep band-aids on me at all times.

let’s stay up late or watch tv or get lost in the forest. and when you’re not looking, i’ll sneak out back and let the panic crush my skull, because i can’t handle this. all right? but it’s okay. i don’t want you to know.

and i’ll fall apart without you. because i love you, which means i don’t even know who i am without you. which means i’ll crumble the very second i start to doubt you. 

and you know, when i was a kid, i used to keep the broken things. odd socks, and shattered mugs, and containers without lids. tuck them in drawers in my room, and tell them they were worthy. because maybe, if i could surround something with the same love i wished i could give myself, it would fix me.

i remember, how i used to feel so empty. like a hollowed-out seashell, left behind as some souvenir for another shattered reality. and to be honest, some days, i still feel that way.

This seriously isn’t about anyone in particular–it’s mostly just about something I do in general. When I meet a person who makes me feel loved or accepted, I guess I latch onto them really easily, because of how terrified I am of them leaving. Also, that story about me as a kid is true–I really did used to do that. 

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