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patreon page

Hey guys! So, as you might have noticed if you’ve seen the new item on my menu, I have a Patreon page.

What is Patreon?

For all of you who don’t know what Patreon is, it’s a platform for artists of all kinds to create their own pages where fans can donate money and potentially receive rewards, becoming “patrons.” Becoming a patron means you pledge a certain amount that you will give to that artist per month.

Do I have to donate to your Patreon page to read your writing?

Absolutely not! Although some point, years now in the future, when goldfishandthemicrophone.com has significantly grown in size (and I’m emotionally ready to take that on), I may introduce ads and/or subscriber fees to this website. However, in the forseeable future, you will always be able to read at least half of my writing online, for free.

How much does it cost to become a patron?

I have different teirs of patron-hood set up–for your convenience, here they are (as a screenshot) below.

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Where can I become a patron?

By clicking on the word here, and selecting your membership tier. 🙂

july 13th, 2019

please capitalize / please use / more frequent spaces / spaces in my heart spaces / and my heart pounds / and my heart pounds / and this worry is kind of all i am right now / all i am now / all i am now / newspaper article i hate the look of my face i hate myself / i hate myself right now / so i am redesigning all my book covers on wattpad because i hate myself right now / and i hate that i gave you everything i had and it still wasn’t enough / and you still didn’t understand / and good god it doesn’t even matter but right now it feels like it / and i try to brush past it but my mind / snags / just a little bit / which is better than my skull caving in i guess / which is better than me hurting myself again i guess / and i’ve been through this before / and i know this story off by heart the one / where i destroy myself because for a second / i can pretend i’m destroying someone else / because i just get so angry sometimes / the kind of anger / that feels less like anger and more / like fire / and your whole body is a bomb and you’re inches away from falling apart / please capitalize / like i asked for your opinion on this subject when i fucking didn’t / except i guess i kind of did because the second you gave it to me i instantly defined myself by it / but if you were looking for a sign / i just want you to know / that i’m stronger than my worst days / because i’m strong enough to tell you i have worst days / i’m strong enough that i didn’t ask for you to rewrite my poetry for me / i didn’t ask you to tell me who i am / i do not want you to control me / and you don’t control me / and i understand you have an opinion / and i’m not going to be angry / but i am what i am / and i am going to speak / and i am going to smile / because i’m proud of myself / and because my emotions are not defined by you / and i’m going to try / whether or not you want me to


i’m really bad at dealing with criticism. which is ironic, since, you know, over the  years, i’ve gotten a fair bit. but i kind of think that’s why it’s so hard for me to deal with, to be honest. when you’ve been given so much of something–especially in an unconstructive way, and you don’t know how to process it, the only other option left is to fear it. i’ve been that way for a long time. little incidents are enough to send me over the edge–even being teased in a nasty way, or being touched when i wasn’t expecting it. (i wrote about this a little more in “landslide.”) i didn’t write this poem to be an instruction manual. i just wanted to process these feelings, even in a really messy, panicked form, and get them out in the world somehow–even if i’m the only person who will ever understand this poem completely. so… here you go.


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on trying to figure out my real personality

trigger warning: self-harm

a thousand stillborn faces flickering through me. and i’m standing at the edge of oblivion, and i still can’t breathe. and i still can’t figure out what you want me to be. and i will beg you to love me. and you will walk past me. and i swear i am trying to stand up, but one word is all it takes to collapse me. and i am floating in a vacuum. and i am successful. and the second i fail, my mistakes will become sinkholes. and where… is… my… soul… and i will close my eyes, and try to bask in the sunlight. try to melt my worries like stubborn shards of black ice. and i’m numb inside. and have you ever wondered what it would be like to try and walk across the universe in a single night? because that’s me. because i am drifting through this rainstorm of a personality, and all i want is for someone to just keep their promise when they say they’ll never leave me. and i will mold myself to your eyes, and beg you for the moment when finally, finally you’ll be satisfied. because it just feels like i’m starving sometimes. all like skin and bones; a tent meant for summer that’s been left out in the snow. and screaming, and crying, in a bedroom with this stupid disease that can make anything feel like all alone. and i’m handing you this mess of a heart without makeup on, and not being able to breathe. and still not being entirely sure you’re not about to leave.


i wrote this piece a long time ago–last may, or something along those lines, and only stumbled on it and decided to post it (after HEAVY editing, this was a nightmare to rework), since even though i wrote it a while ago, the topics it covers really still resonate with me. so… i hope this one resonates with you too, and if it does, please drop me a comment, leave a like, or tell me about it by emailing me at goldfishandthemicrophone@gmail.com, getting feedback means the world to me. 🙂


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and maybe this matters or something

for flora

and i’m not saying i’m there yet. i’m just saying… you wrote me a poem. you wrote me a goddamn poem, saying my poetry meant something to you. saying all the empty messages and desperate mixed signals actually got through. and honestly, even now, it’s hard to even believe that’s true. even though it is true. even though this is true. and this is mine. and this is real. and i’m not saying that this is it. i’m not saying that suddenly, with something you’ve written, my entire world is fixed. i’m just saying maybe someone cares or something. maybe i’m worth something. maybe there’s hope for me. and maybe someone would listen, if i grabbed a megaphone, and raised my voice a little louder, and a little louder, and maybe if i screamed up at the sky, people wouldn’t just call it mindless chatter. and maybe… maybe i have a chance. maybe we have a chance. and maybe… maybe we’re not alone in this. and maybe that means something. and maybe what i’m doing… what we’re doing… maybe, maybe, maybe matters. or something.


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a night spent looking at the stars

so it’s almost pitch dark, right? and it’s only 9p.m. but apparently by some people’s standards that actually qualifies as late at night. and the city lights flicker and dance in the starlight. and i don’t even know where we are. and i don’t know what’s out there, but i’m not sure i care. because right now, beside you, everything feels beautiful. and maybe that’s enough. to try my best to be your friend. and feel like a book character. and roll down the hill in your grandparents’ backyard together. and not know how to stop. and not want to stop. and never want to stop. because maybe this is what it feels like to be happy, and alive, and weightless, for the first time. maybe this is the metal i will mould into a sword as darkness falls. and as my heart pounds. and maybe this time, we’ll be the army against all the painful memories pouncing on these broken bodies. and maybe i can’t keep you safe from the world, but i can listen. and care. and i can write you happy poetry, just to let you know how much you mean to me. and for what it’s worth, in this moment, i am more than my broken pieces. i am caffeine and stardust. and i am someone who matters to you. someone who is wanted by you. and someone who finally realizes that it can be completely platonic and still mean the world to you. and i am someone who tries. and i am someone who is here. and maybe that’s enough. to be this person who a year ago, i would never have thought could have existed. and to feel like a miracle.


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there are five days left of summer break and i am paralyzed

and / i won’t let you touch me and / i won’t let you go / anywhere near me and / i will live for my art because at least when i write i don’t hate myself completely / and i will wither without you there to encourage me which probably says a lot about the state of my ability to take care of myself honestly / because i miss you / but i don’t want to / because i want to tell you it’s fine / because i wish it was fine / because i refuse to be a burden / but / i feel like a burden / and my head / please / take my head / take the thousand rough drafts curled up in my skull and /  i don’t know / how to let them go / how to be a bird / how to fly like i’m actually meant to be alive / i don’t know / and i don’t know if i’m doing this right / and i miss being myself / but i don’t know / who that is / right now because it’s changing so fast because / i’m spinning around / and around / and around / losing pieces of myself accidentally / and i just / i don’t know / where this is going / who i’m turning into / and what next year will even look like because / next year i will be without you and because / next year i will be with you and it’s been a long time since i’ve written like this is all / like i am so thirsty / and it’s been so long / since i’ve come home / and i just forgot / how amazing it felt / to feel for a moment like / i don’t know / like maybe there’s a chance you could be at peace with yourself / like you could speak up for yourself / like despite all the shit that’s happening / you’re powerful / and it’s ok that you’re a kid / with broken limbs because someday they’ll heal properly / and it’s just a feeling / and it’s probably just the fact that i’m not good at change but right now it just feels like my head is collapsing / and it’s all happening / way / too fast / and / i  / am / paralyzed / by the rush of time / and


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