sweet tea

content warning: discussion of disordered eating

love poetry / and sweet tea / honey sticks to my throat / in the summer heat but / i think that if heaven is out there, then this is what it would be / it would be pretty dresses and the colour pink it would be / sugar and cream / because maybe we weren’t put here to suffer / to push the boulder up the hill / over and over again / to punish soft baby skin / and go hungry because of a post you saw online / about how gorgeous it is to feel sick / and weak / and sad all the time / how healthy definitely looks like crying at mealtimes / and your body doesn’t care about your feelings / trust me, it’s not true / trust me, you deserve rainbows in the mist of a garden hose / like it’s the first time / dewdrops on the morning leaves, catching the light / to hold yourself like the child you didn’t get to be at night / to sing lullabies to someone you really love / and spin around in the mirror, cause you look so fucking pretty / so i’ll tuck flowers behind your ear and hold your hand / and let petal-soft words crawl out of my throat / they’ve been hiding there for a while / so they’re probably gonna be a little awkward, and clumsy at first / but in time, i think i’ll learn


I spent a really long time punishing myself for wanting nice things–I’m honestly still kind of in the habit. But, although this year has been pretty horrible–I think I did finally learn how important it is, to listen to yourself, and be soft, and kind. How much of a difference the smallest nice things can make–like a vase of flowers on your desk, or a snack you really like, when you’re deprived yourself of those things your entire life, out of some strange mix of self loathing and pride.

It doesn’t have to cost a ton of money, or any at all. It doesn’t have to be fancy, or dramatic. But sometimes, just taking a bath after a long day to relax, or making yourself a mug cake feels really, really good. Like a quiet, peaceful surrender.

I’m still figuring it out. I’m still clumsy, and confused, but… I think I am, very slowly, getting somewhere.

the deadly poppy field of oz

i’ll run my hands through the knee-high grass. eyes half-closed. i don’t remember how i got here… but i’m here now, i suppose…

and why won’t this place let me go? because every time i try to run away, the garden wall will press in; cuddling me close. stuffing my baggy lungs to the brim; with newspaper flyers and hypnotic smoke.

and it will refuse to leave me alone, you know? because i will be young. and small. and broke.

and so, like dorothy, and oh so many who’ve come before me, i’ll surrender myself to the perfect august sun.

and you may take me. you may swallow me whole. and you may run.

you may blow me out like a candle. smother me, as the bedsheet catches fire. as your walls begin to crumble. i’ll be a summer seedpod; as i come undone.

i wrote this at 12:40am, and i kind of hate it

i’m a broken girl now, aren’t i? watching my back, and following the crowd. because you know perfectly well what happens, when you let yourself stick out.

i’m a broken girl now, aren’t i? ripping up my skin like old carpet, tired of these bones. angry, and lost, and alone.

i’m a broken girl now, aren’t i? covered in tiger stripes, and leopard spots, nothing more than a nice fur. a prize to be won. and i’ll sit here, and smile, and kiss your cheek. two for one.

i’m a broken girl now, aren’t i? now i can’t keep going. and the idea of tomorrow instantly makes my shoulders ache, and my eyes slip closed. but watch me. watch me smile for the crowd. watch me grab some duct tape, and say that it’s art as i slap it onto my mouth. because i know what i’m doing. and i will do it well.

even though i want to be happy. and i don’t think i can take this much longer, now.

because i want to be happy. but i don’t know how.

24 degrees

the humid air snuggles up close to me. and stays there. and my blood starts to come to a boil as i look into your eyes, because i hate you even more than i hate myself tonight. furious tears, dripping off my chin one. at. a. time.

and you know, they say the skies are rife with disease. say it’s never going back to normal. not completely. and some days, i can’t help but wonder. if this step could be the butterfly that causes the tsunami. if this is going to be the last time you get to see me…

they say i’m withering. like a parched august flower. and you know, maybe it’s time to empty out the vase. rather than just changing the water.

they say i am parched soil after a long, hot wildfire. crumbling under the slightest pressure. 

and the steam seeps into my lungs, air too thick to breathe. and little girl, is this too much for you?

because if this is enough to scare you… then you haven’t seen anything.

distant memory of a good day

it was a good day. i think. and we went to the city, and we felt like big kids all of a sudden. didn’t we? took deep breaths of the fresh blue air, and ate fancy macaroons, and pretended there was not a problem in the world we couldn’t fix, even though that really isn’t true. 

went shopping, and dressed up  like the people we wish we were. and tried to swallow down the panic. and that was one of the last times i saw you. wasn’t it? 

but it was a good day. a really, really good day. and if i had known what was coming, i wouldn’t have spent it any other way. 

and i just want to go back. want to bury myself in the past, and stay there forever. where things were okay. where every day, i didn’t wake up, and feel this fucking afraid. 

because now i’m just alone. and scared. and unsure. and sometimes, it feels like the floor is crumbling beneath me. and it’s just not like that anymore.


So apparently now I literally only write semi-depressing nostalgic poetry about all the things I miss pre-quarantine. But, I don’t know, I am starting to learn how to cope with this, and make something semi-productive out of a really hard time for me. I haven’t had a complete breakdown in a while, and I’m functioning. I’m surviving. I can’t say I’m doing “good” honestly–although I don’t know if I ever have been able to honestly say that, for a prolonged period of time. But I am doing okay, which I think is kind of all I can ask for right now. I hope you all are doing okay, too.  We’re going to get through this together. I have to believe that. Oh, yeah, and on a completely different note, the first episode of my podcast is hot off the digital press and literally just came out! You can listen to it here.

Lots of love,

dragonwritesthings