trigger warning: bullet/gun mention in a metaphor, discussion of beauty standards/implied body image issues

wear me down with your sandpaper words. crumble me to dust, and sweep me up, because you know i’m gonna fall. you know my no doesn’t mean anything, know i am but your helpless. paper. doll.

and i guess it’s high time i admit that, isn’t it? that i am but a little girl, and i am so fucking lost.

so take my hand, and guide me, to whatever you want to call the holy lands. and maybe it’ll never make me happy, but at least it’s something. at least it’s easy. at least it doesn’t hurt like this.

and you know, maybe you’ve got a point. maybe it was just a phase all along, and maybe i’m finally over it. little girl, for god’s sake, no one even cares you exist.

so sculpt at my thighs, until i’m skinny, and bite-sized. let my hair grow out, and die it just right. go ahead. i know there must be parts of me you don’t like. and maybe it hurts, maybe it feels like a bullet right to the head. but i won’t put up a fight.

because i am scared. and confused. and i would rather be yours than keep fighting alone like this, night after night. pushing, and pushing, and pushing against the tide. as my arms start to splinter. and ever-so-slowly, the tears finally start to dribble from my sleep-deprived eyes.

Yet another one of my teen burnout poems–which is a really bad title but also pretty much encompasses  a whole sub-category of my poetry.

I dunno, sometimes I really love doing all of this, and I feel really great about myself and super proud of it, and sometimes I want to burn everything I’ve ever written and never say another word again and also decide to reevaluate all of my life choices up to this moment. I guess work is just like that sometimes?

I dunno, I was talking about this with my friend this morning–how as a girl, and especially a teen girl, you’re told, over and over again–by 40 year old men on the internet, by your teachers, by overheard comments at school school, by messages you’ve been exposed to ever since you were a little kid–that you can’t do it. I don’t think I realized how profoundly that affected me until today, honestly. You like books? You’re a weird, crazy fangirl. You like TV? You’re dumb and shallow. You have your own unique style? You’re a dumb, rebellious teen. You like traditionally girly clothes? You’re shallow and stupid. I’ve grown up surrounded by the culture that whatever it is, you can’t do it, soley on the basis of being a young girl.

Honestly, that’s so much of why I’m not ready to run this platform under my real name. I don’t want people to think badly of me. Don’t want to offend anybody. I hide how old I am almost instinctively, because I’m terrified people will use it to judge me, and never admit to liking anything traditionally feminine.

I guess after a while, you just start to internalize all those really shitty messages. I use “little girl” in the place of my name a lot in poems–and that’s very much intentional. Because so often, that’s all I feel like I am. All I’ll ever be to society at large, no matter how old I am and no matter how much I accomplish. And most importantly, all I’ll ever be to myself. A weakling; a victim. Still nothing more than a small, helpless girl. Which is honestly such bullshit. I’m really trying to learn how to deal with that.

This isn’t to say that young girls are the only ones who are treated unfairly by society as a whole because of their gender—honestly, society is pretty shitty to young boys too, but I am obviously not male, and therefore really don’t feel qualified to talk about that experience.

On a lighter note, I’m considering just doing a little audio recording thingie of me just hanging out with my mic tomorrow if I get the time, maybe answering questions or doing something dumb with my friends over FaceTime–it’s been a while since I’ve just done something fun and pointless and happy with you guys, and I think we all could probably use something to take our minds off things for a while right now–so if that’s something you’d like to see, let me know in the comments! 🙂

Anyhow. No matter what’s going on for you right now, I’m sending all the hugs your way.

Lots of love,


bug eyes (spoken word)

Wow! I made a spoken word poem! Yippee!! If it’s your thing, the original written poem for this piece is here.

There are a lot of hidden references to my childhood in this poem, that I wrote with the full intent of being very mysterious and sneaky about them, but since I have no self control and can’t keep a secret to save my life, I thought I would do a sort of Genius-lyrics style breakdown of the references in this poem, since, I dunno, I’m extra. 

1. a little girl with bug-eyes, and dollar-store sneakers

When I was little, as many kids are, I was pretty awkward. But unlike most kids, I was very much aware of it, due to a lot of bullying that was directed at me because of it. My eyes were just normal eyes, that part is just a metaphor, but my face was constantly covered in scabs from picking at it whenever I got anxious, my teeth were a mess, and my hair was always frizzy and chaotic. There was this one specific time in first grade, one of the most distinct memories I have of feeling different, when I was wearing these cheap sneakers my mom had picked up at the dollar store, and they weren’t like the ones the other girls were wearing, and I totally freaked out about it and thought not having super expensive sneaks somehow made me a lesser human being. So as a kind of way of punishing myself for it, that recess, hid in a corner alone in the cold, watching people pass by–pretending I was invisible. It was just a little thing, but it hurt, to hate myself that much–and I still remember it very clearly.

2. whose stamping feet caused earthquakes, whose sobs controlled the tides.

When I was little, I was very sensitive. Honestly, I still am, but obviously I express it in very different ways now. I didn’t really know how else to express my anxiety at that age, honestly–so I ended up lashing out a lot, and crying a ton in general. During my early elementary school years, my dad was also trying to get an accounting degree, and my mom had just gone back to work, all right while my mental illness was starting to fester and worsen. So my first and second grade years were just kind of a nightmare. There wasn’t a single person out there who I trusted with my thoughts and feelings completely, and both my friend group and my family was almost always fighting about something.

  1. a girl in a glass house

As a kid, I was definitely a bit of a hypocrite at times. In a weird way, lashing out at others at that age was my way of indirectly hurting myself. Because I wanted to make them to hate me, as much as I hated myself. 

And I’d love to say that I’m over that… but honestly, I’m not. It sucks, and it’s something I’m trying really hard to work through. But I’ve spent so long desperately racing to the top, believing my only worth as a person lay not just in being isolated and different, but being better than everyone else in the room, at any given moment.

Also, in fifth grade another class did a unit on metaphors and had to illustrate them on the school walls–and I remember how that was the first time I heard that metaphor, and I really overused the hell out of that metaphor that year.

  1. a girl dressed up like a christmas tree

This refers to this really specific memory I have from eighth grade. I had a choir concert, that I had not practised for at all, so I had no idea what I was doing. It was my first year taking classes at a regular school, and one thing I really struggled with during that first month or so was how I wanted to dress, and the fact that I literally had not talked to a kid my age for longer than five minutes in two years and just sort of rotated between the same three outfits. I remember that night, how sleep-deprived I was, how i felt like I was suffocating or something, the walls pressing in closes and closer on me. I didn’t have any friends, so I didn’t even know who to talk to, and just kinda drifted around the room aimlessly. I ended up wearing these hand-me-down pants my neighbour gave me, and this old, worn out, red T-shirt, and my favourite green comfort sweater that actually is really cute if you, yanno, don’t wear it with a clashing colour–and was agonizingly aware of how awkward the whole thing looked all night, and had a whole panic attack in the bathroom about it. Hence, “dressed up like a christmas tree.” Honestly, what I most remember from that night is how paralyzed I felt inside my own body. I didn’t know who I was, or what I wanted, or how to fit in, or if I even wanted to fit in. Which pretty much sums up the first couple months of eighth grade, actually. For some reason, that’s another memory I can recall very clearly.

  1. a girl curled up on the couch

In my elementary school and middle school years, I would spend a lot of my bad days curled up on the couch, just sitting there for hours, reading, or writing, or scrolling through Tumblr on my laptop, my brain just sort of turning to mush. I still do that sometimes. I don’t know, there’s no specific memory that inspired this line, it’s just somewhere I’ve sat and felt really sad, and hopeless, and not really wanted to do anything at all at, for a really long time.

And with that, I think I’ve broken down some of the easter eggs in this poem! Hopefully this was interesting! If it was, please let me know, I’d love to do it again if this is a hit.

What was your elementary/middle school experience like? I’d love to know, I feel like mine was pretty strange, and I’m definitely glad I’m out of that period in my life now.

Lots of love,


Continue reading “bug eyes (spoken word)”


In this episode, I talk loneliness, self-sacrifice as a coping mechanism, friendship, panic attacks, and exhaustion, and medication.


“Mimos Menguados” is from  and has also been edited by me.

Songs are “Rural Cello Theme” and “Tears of Beauty.” Both of these have been edited by me.

All sound effects made by yours truly! 🙂

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a walk in the rain

and i can’t remember / the last time the world cracked itself open like this / and my hair got wet / and i splashed in the puddles like a little kid / and tried to pretend i didn’t wish you could see it / and it’s funny / how these days anything outside of my backyard feels / like practically a world away / and some days… i’m okay / and some days / i am a broken mirror / desperately trying to duct tape irreparable mistakes back together / and i don’t know how life / can be this way / heartbreaking / and beautiful / and silly / like one of those movies / that’s so fucking stupid / but here you are / four hours in / still watching anyway / and you say it’s old / and you say it’s bullshit / but at the bottom of your heart / you never really believed it  / and it’s strange / that in this moment / i can miss you like a sinkhole opening up in my chest / taking all the good things with it / and also know / that no matter what happens / we’ll get through it.

I know things are hard right now. And this isn’t to underplay any of that. I guess I’m just at the point in my life right now… where I don’t like this, but I also know that I can’t really change it. And I guess while all of this is happening, I may as well make the best of it. Try to… find some kind of silver lining or whatever, I guess. Which is not to say that things aren’t really shitty right now, but I’m also at a point where I can live with it. I don’t like it, but I can survive it. And it’s a good feeling–to feel strong like that. The closest thing to stable I can be, I guess. I mean, it’s not exactly something I get to feel very often.

Anyhow. I hope you all are hanging in there throughout everything going on right now.

Lots of love,



trigger warning: hopelessness and self-destructive thoughts

and sometimes, i swear i can hear the wind whisper. you know? when i’m all alone in a silent house, sitting on the couch, and my brain’s just sorta… cold. 

and you could give up. you know. sit here forever, until the permafrost wraps its loving arms around you, and takes you as its own. because you don’t really have to do anything, if you don’t want to. and… it’d be a hell of a lot easier, you know.

to just… give up. and lie in bed all day, scrolling through my phone, watching the autumn leaves be replaced by snow.  walk up the endless flight of spiral stairs, that i’ve always kind of known is there, and never come home.

because i’m basically invisible, right? and i mean, if i left… would anyone honestly even know? and i could go. i could forget that this ever happened, and start again.  but somehow… no matter how empty i feel, in that moment, i don’t know. i just can’t do it.

and isn’t it so fucking ironic? that it’s only when you’ve stranded yourself in the eye of the storm, you finally realize…

you were never meant to be alone. 

So because I actually saw one of my friends for the first time in two months today (where I live, lockdown restrictions are finally starting to loosen and our premier just said that was okay a little while ago) and did not work or check my phone other than for, like, two minutes to play a cursed ad I saw on the internet and quickly post a poem on Instagram. Which is not, like, insane or anything, but felt really good, but also kind of took place at the worst time for me to be taking a break, right before a posting day–when I have a ton of stuff to get done, so if this is completely incoherent it’s because it’s exactly midnight right now, and I honestly just want to sleep. So, very ironically, considering this very depressing poem, I’m actually feeling pretty okay right now.

But however, in general, I guess I’ve just been feeling really… stuck. Of late. Getting work done feels like dragging my feet through this thick quicksand, and there’s this little anxiety voice in the back of my head, telling me–that I need to do this thing, I just kinda… sit there, in this weird, sleep-deprived, trance-like state, quite similar to the one I’m in now, watching YouTube or reading or whatever, just completely transfixed and unable to move, so fucking tired it’s not even funny–but the kind of tired where your dumbass brain can’t even think clearly enough, to, like, I don’t know, get some sleep to maybe help with that lovely exhaustion we have there sir?

And I guess it’s just put me in this really dark place, where… I guess I just kind of want to give up? All the time? Everything just feels so fucking hard, i don’t know. I go between sluggish and unmotivated and frenetic and motivated to the point of it being self-destructive. That’s the feeling I tried to channel in this poem. Also, this draws some strong inspiration from my favourite childhood book of all time, Zoom, which is this picture book with this magic house–that features one scene where Zoom, this cat who goes on adventures with his human friend Maria, goes up her large fancy flight of stairs in search of the north pole, and the whole house is all spooky and cold and covered in snow, which is an image that’s always kinda stuck with me over the years for some reason. So enjoy that random fun fact.

Anyhow, I hope that was an entertaining life update to read, and I am going to sleep now and make my therapist proud, because I see her tomorrow. I hope you’re all still holding up okay. ❤

Lots of love,