a good day

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and maybe i will take lavender baths / because that sounds like something people would do in poetry / and i will go to bed at midnight and wake up at 10a.m. and i will not need coffee to wake up / and i will be calm / and i will not use food as a way of burying my emotions / and i will keep trying /  i will keep writing / sorting through my feelings like puzzle pieces and i will try to go slowly / i will try to shatter myself under the weight of expectation / i will try / and i’ll probably fail half the time / but i’ll try to be the kind of person my therapist would be proud to hear about / the kind of person who knows what they’re doing inside their own mind / and / i will stay up late / writing alternate universes where we are superheroes / listening to the sound of the cicadas / and the keystrokes / and the hope / the small, lonely piece of hope / a car ride and we’re all alone / and i will try and not be swallowed this time / and i will try to figure out who i am without everyone else inside of me / and i will try / and today is international self-care day and i feel like it’s kind of pathetic how terrible i have been at this so far all right / and i will try to love myself as the me i am / or at least figure out what that even looks like right now / and i will try / and i will try and sleep well / enough / well / enough / and breathe / and believe / that i will get through this / eventually / and try not to feel like i’m standing at the edge of some highway with my hand out in the air waiting for someone to pick me up / and the heat is splitting / and my mind is slowly dissolving / and i will try to talk back to my anxiety / and maybe this time / it’ll feel / something like reality

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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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