let them be happy

imagine my brain… like a tourist trap. with cheap gift shops, and a couple rollercoaster rides; the tracks encased in layers of neon rust.

imagine my skull like a dust bowl. forged from years without rain, as you build me up on blind trust, just to tear me down again. and i swear to god i’m gonna make it. but what price will i pay?

because i have to eat. i have to sleep. and i can’t just spend the rest of my life, fueled by desperate wanderlust. crafting a house of bone, and calling it a place to stay.

because it doesn’t matter. that when i was little, people were shitty. or that maybe i spent a little too much time alone. or how if i screamed loud enough, i always got my way. because maybe i’m just a broken fucking girl, okay?

just… let them go on. let them be happy. let them bask in their own normalcy, and pretend the world isn’t ending for just one more day...

The side affect of writing deadine-to-deadline, and very much teaching myself how to work on that last-minute kind of structure is that every week, I tell myself… this is the last time I’ll sacrifice my sleep schedule, or not leave the house for four days trying to finish a project, or procrastinate on something until those measures are necessary.

But it never is. I get so caught up in myopic, week-to-week things, that I lose sight of the bigger picture. Forget that I can’t just put my mental health and general sanity on hold forever. That you can’t create in a vacuum.

And as much as I love writing, it gets tiring after a while. Not the actual creative part, but the spending hours on a screen alone, and the constant vague stress of making sure I’m on top of everything at all times. Self promotion and social media and all that stuff.

I guess in a lot of ways, it’s just human nature, to automatically want to ignore the problem until the problem becomes a crisis, isn’t it? God. I need to figure things out. I need to take better care of myself, so I don’t feel so damn exhausted all the time.

It’s just… hard for me to look at all these beautiful things I could make, and still be able to turn it down for something as smal and insignificant as spending an afternoon at the beach.

Lots of love,



In this episode, I spend six minutes geeking out about my fandoms and how much I love writing while talking way too fast, beauty standards, and sleep. (Also, freaked out about having to go into quarantine and was incredibly naive about how bad things were going to get, feel free to laugh at me in the comments because I’m laughing too tbh.)

Song is “My Friend Jason” by smallertide. It is found here (https://freemusicarchive.org/music/smallertide/All_Along_the_Northern_Evening/smallertide_-_All_Along_the_Northern_Evening_-_06_My_Friend_Jason) and used according to this license (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). It has been edited by me.

“Mimos Menguados” from patrickdeartegea.com

Find me on all my internet places here: https://linktr.ee/dragonwritesthings

And find this podcast all over the web here: https://linktr.ee/sonnetsofateenagewannabe
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All songs have been edited by me.

All sound effects made by yours truly! 🙂

The next episode will be dropping next Friday, 9a.m. PDT–make sure to subscribe/follow/add this podcast to your library/enable notifications on it to be notified when it comes out.

sunflower shell

i am but a girl of paper flowers, and barely-healed scar tissue now

locking all the doors, and finally understanding

how a small stretch of silence can feel so deafeningly loud

but i just don’t get it. i did all the things you asked so

why do i still feel like i’m being watched, somehow?

why can’t i breathe? as the phantom wolves call out

and i run, and i run, and i run

like a girl of paper flowers, and barely-healed scar tissue should

without a single doubt.

but… i never intended to be like this; a sunflower shell

of a person. just wandering through this endless wood, whispering my name like a prayer;

begging the trees to finally be heard. understood.

but we all know the truth

i’m never going to outrun my childhood.

For so long, I have been afraid. Afraid of making so much as the tiniest sound, because if I did, someone would notice me, and if someone noticed me, I was probably going to die, because receiving any kind of attention in the past has always been a negative thing.

I don’t even think about it, sometimes. Little things I’ve long since given up trying to do, because the level of anxiety they cause me is so high it’s just not worth the reward. Stating my mind. Presenting anger or frustration in any public way. Standing up for myself, without apologizing first. Making any kind of major change to the world around me. Allowing myself to be known, or recognized publicly.

If I let myself do those things, maybe it would be pretty awesome, maybe it wouldn’t–I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. Because right now, I can’t. It’s just… too much for me.

I’m trying to take back… the little things, though. After all, the Statue of Liberty wasn’t built in a day. And sometimes, I guess that’s all you can do. Let yourself wear a miniskirt or a crop top and not feel ashamed, if that’s your thing. Every day, try your best, to reclaim all those little parts of myself the world took away. And allow yourself to have hope–that someday, we’re going to get there. We’re going to be able to get up in front of the world, and say… Hey. This is me. Using our real names.

Lots of love.


highway exit: home

it’s funny, isn’t it? how the loneliness never really goes away, no matter how happy i am. because in the end, as it stands on the precipice of something like a doorway, i will always be crying on the floor like a fucking little kid, begging it to stay.

how the road stretches out to infinity. and i switch lanes; close my eyes, and despise the sound of blood pounding through my veins. because if my life was a movie, i’d skip right past this part of it, okay?

but god. i can’t wait to see you again. for a minute of normalcy before the sky finally caves. and i know it’s dramatic, but no matter what happens, the gentle gravity of your shoulder will never push me away.

and so my eyes slip closed as i turn down the exit. because we have to be home. don’t we, now? we have to be okay….

girl; lost at sea

i don’t remember… i don’t remember who i am anymore. so scribble out my name, and everything else you desperately tried to explain on the worn-out chalkboard. as the summer heat melts into my brain, and the lavender fumes sweep me up, up, and away …

to land of the strong, and the free, and the brave. to an island of broken toys, where you have to stay.

to late nights, and long drives. and i try to get to sleep, but somehow, i just can’t close my eyes. so instead, i’ll play connect-the-dots with the traffic lights, searching desperately for polaris. because all i need is a map tonight.

and as the years go on, my skin wrinkles. and my hair starts to grey. my bones go brittle, and you have all but faded away.

i don’t remember where i’m going.

but i do know i’m gonna be okay.

I don’t know what’s really going on right now, honestly. I’m confused, and lost, and scared and alone, and I don’t really know what I’m doing, honestly.

These days, I’ve just been questioning everything. Whether I’m a good person. Who I want to be. What I want to do. What the right choices are in my life. It’s definitely not easy. And honestly, sometimes it just makes me want to cry, because it never used to feel like this.

But, I mean… I’m starting to think that might just be a part of being a teenager. Something that comes with the territory, I guess. And what other time in my life am I going to feel this free again–have the options to turn over like this? I don’t know. As hard as it is, I’m doing my best to find the silver lining in it.

Lots of love.