teen rebellion, or something like that

i don’t need you. you know that? because in fact, i don’t need anyone. because you were always going leave me in the end. i’m not an idiot.

and in case you couldn’t tell, i’m a big girl now. i don’t need anybody’s help.

because big girls hate their bodies, and watch their backs in alleys. big girls don’t trust anybody but themselves.

big girls hate the government. wear fancy clothes for no reason other than that everyone else is doing it.

big girls don’t tell you about their feelings. because you don’t fucking deserve it. stay up until three in the morning, writing fake words on an empty stomach.

big girls don’t speak up. big girls implode. because i’m so fucking confused, and i don’t fucking know. big girls say yes. good girls say no.

and some days, i feel… like i’m about to disappear beneath the weight of the future, pressing its bleeding hands into my shoulders. and now i’m starting to panic…

because i don’t want to know what i’ll find out there if i take off my rose-tinted glasses.

I don’t know when I started to really get into this, but I guess I don’t really like telling people how old I am. Even though I’m actually a December birthday, and therefore almost always the youngest kid in any room of people in my grade–like, I have never in my life shared a class or had friends in my grade who were younger than I am. But for some reason, people always seem to assume I’m 2-4 years older than I am, which I guess is in part is just because I’m such an overacheiver. Throughout my entire sixth grade year, my teacher literally never managed to pick up on that I wasn’t in grade seven. During various events I’ve done, people are always surprised about my age, and I get a lot of comments about how mature I am. And although I know those people are well-meaning, sometimes it can feel like I can’t be a kid and also be passionate and professional and do a really good job. So after a while, I guess I just kind of started to feel ashamed of the fact that I am a teenager, who sometimes does teenager things. I’m not entirely comfortable talking about this online, but I think this is a good step for me. (Even though a lot of my audience is older.) And I hope this poem is a little peek into a side of my personality I don’t really show online that often, and that it was somewhat relatable to your teenager experience, whether you’re still a teenager now, or you’re an adult looking back on those years. 🙂

Lots of love,


so… i have a face!

Hey guys! So this honestly is nowhere near a big enough deal to warrant a whole post in its honour, but here I am, making one anyway, because, I don’t know. It feels somehow like a pretty huge milestone to me.

Yesterday on my Wattpad, I did a face reveal–because I’m at the point where, I don’t know, I’m tired of being ashamed or embarrased of my appearance, and the things I do online, and because this summer I’m planning on just working really hard on growing this platform and making not just more content, but different content, more quality content, maybe starting a more typical YouTube channel with vlogs and book reviews and all those things–and probably by the end of the summer starting to run this platform under my real name. This is just a first step, but it means a lot to me, and it’s taken a long year of working on myself and this site to get there. So without further ado, here is my face! (ft. terrible lighting, and very frizzy hair but oh well, at least I tried)

And of course, no face reveal would be complete without the 1am work selfie I don’t actually remember taking ft. my room

Anyhow. I guess…. that is it? Wow.

Lots of love,



nurse me back to health like i can’t do it myself. until everything is normal again.

rock me back and forth in your arms. call me lovebug and baby. tell me i’m beautiful just the way i am, or whatever instagram told you to say.

tell me i’m brave. and strong. and that i’ll get through this, and everything is going to be all right, because maybe you don’t know that, but i just want to pretend. even if only for a moment.

even though no amount of love you carve out from your heart, and press into my arms is gonna fix me. but it’s worth a shot, isn’t it?

i mean. you do some pretty dumb shit when you’re desperate. 

For as long as I can remember, it’s always been me looking out for me. My mom–the primary person who raised me, since my dad was gone at work throughout all of my early childhood for most of the day, sort of instilled the into me, both intentionally and not so much so. My mom has always been one of those people. And I think seeing her to do that, for better and for worse, combined with my relationships with my peers, teachers, and honestly every adult figure in my life… even as a toddler. There was. I had to look out for myself. And I think in some ways, that’s lead to my life’s greatest successes. But, well… sometimes, I don’t want to watch my back. I don’t want to take care of other people.

I just want someone to hold me in their arms, and tell me I’ve got you, and to just not have to have my guard up. Because honestly, it is so fucking exhausting.

Um, on another, slightly more lighthearted note, the first episode of my podcast just came out today! You can listen to that here.



purple fog. strobe lights. and the stage unravels slowly. hungry fireflies, closing in around me. and what are they thinking? and are they even listening? and will anyone ever truly understand me? 

booming heartbeats. loud music. high heeled boots. and the bustle of an old, tired city. skyscrapers built of broken bones. and isn’t it all so pretty?

all-too-fast, the future rolling out before me–and i’m just a kid, just a kid with anxiety, and that doesn’t mean i can’t do this. i just need a moment. to catch up, and breathe through the rush of panic. because i’m not perfect. and i don’t think i ever will be.

victory waffles, giddy laughter, and god knows where we are, but i feel like i could lift you up in my arms and carry you to the sky right now. so honestly, whatever.

neon sunsets. and i lie awake at 2am, searing statistics into my skin. i signed my name on your arm, and i still don’t know if i loved or hated it. and i tell myself that all of this means nothing, but it doesn’t.

and i bury myself in layers of tissue-paper curtains, and watch the traffic roll out below me like an unfinished story. because i’m tired. god knows i’m tired.

and right now, i just… i don’t want to think about it.

I spoke at a pretty big event in November–which I’m planning on talking more about later, but, um, all you need to know right now is that there were 20,000 people, and it really impacted me for sure. I’ve been thinking about taking this blog to the next level in a lot of ways of late, and I feel like… I’m at the edge of some pretty big, pretty scary decisions. And that’s equal parts scary and exciting–which I hope were embodied in this poem. I’m definitely going to turn this into a spoken word track over the weekend, so get excited for that, I have some plans for it I’m really excited about putting into action! 


better than nothing

i don’t want to write anything. and i don’t want to move, and i don’t want to breathe, and please. just leave me in peace.

 i don’t want to write anything, so i’ll write you this. this depressing piece of shit. this empty list of words, clunking around my head.

because it’s better than nothing, right? because if i’m not gonna write anything anymore, then… here. have this.

 have the remains of my heart after a late-night panic attack because of course something went wrong. and of course i couldn’t stop thinking about it.

have the wind biting into my cheeks, and blowing through my hair. and the voice in my head, that just wants to get the fuck out of here.

and take it. take all of it.

i don’t think i’ll be needing it anymore.

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