be okay

i hope you make it through the night.

and every morning, i hope you cling to the rising sun. close your eyes, and bathe your open wounds in its gentle light. i hope you know that you have to hang on. because i love you. all right?

i hope you know. how strong, and kind, and beautiful you are, even on a bad day. i hope you know that i need you. i need you to stay.

i hope you know, that this stifling fog will not last forever. that the poison ivy has to go away.

i hope you know… that you will survive this. cracked bones and broken pieces, you will see the light of day.

i hope you know… that you’re gonna be okay.

I’ve written a lot of poems with similar themes to this one. Poems, about making it through. About being okay.

Poems I wrote while I, honestly, was not in the best of places myself.

I’ve spent a lot of my life thinking that I was the only one feeling a certain way. That there was not a single person out there who understood. And I want to be someone for others, who lets you know that you are cared for, and loved, and not the only one. And even if there’s only a handful of people who I can do that for, all of this will be worth it.

It’s weirdly therapeutic, for me, writing about these things. Because my brain can’t help but come to the conclusion that if I am capable of caring for a random person on the internet, I must deserve that level of care directed towards myself as well, too. And that’s been really helpful.

I don’t want to write this to trivialize anyone’s struggles. But I hope that, on the bad days–the days when your vision is distorted, by the depression, or the anxiety, or whatever–the days when everything just feels numb and awful, this whole mess of words can remind you, of the good things. Amid the awful.

Lots of love,



the vicious current of my mind won’t leave me alone. but it’s fine. because the cream-white canvas sail will always be there, to hold me. love me. and promise, as i start to drift off, that i’m gonna be all right.

and it will sing its siren song. tell me it’s gonna be okay. and i’ll be so transfixed; i won’t even notice, as the stars begin to fade…

they told me not to touch the stove. and yet somehow, i find myself, gulping down nuggets of red-hot charcoal. candle wax dripping down my cheeks; nimble matchsticks lighting up my throat.

charybdis is hungry tonight. and you are oh, so gone

barely even putting up a fight at all. as she reels your wayward body in. as the shoreline takes your flimsy skeleton as its own. as your faithful sailboat leaves you high and dry.

and oh, my dear. i can’t believe you’re still surprised!

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.


another day. just like the one before. and i want to feel something, okay? i want to find somewhere deep inside myself to actually give a shit. but i don’t, do i? not… when it comes down to it.

i’m just a flat grey. just eyes closed, teeth clenched, as i tell myself tomorrow will be better. but i don’t believe a single word i say.

and if i have a talent for anything, it’s repeating history. again, and again. so flip the page. because it’s my life to destroy, and what do i mean to you anyway?

am i your loving daughter? your dutiful friend? do i spend every sunday at my desk; all work and no play? do i buy expensive gifts, and spend tuesday at the ballet?

am i a withering autumn leaf? am i dark circles? am i the gap between your teeth?

you can say it, now. because i know what you want, from my body’s slow decay. so go on: take it. plant a kiss on my forehead. and be on your way.

I wrote this poem quite a while ago! Or, the first draft of it, anyway. It was an early-quarantine poem, penned around March. I scheduled it, looked over it again, and scrapped it in my drafts folder, because I didn’t really know how I wanted to polish it into something more enjoyable than the word-vomit it began as.

When I was young, although I never officially received the “gifted” classification, mostly just due to attending an underfunded, small, rural elementary school, where almost every kid in my class had some kind of trauma or mental health issue. Getting good grades, and being ahead of my peers was the least of the school system’s problems. But anyhow–despite this, I was widely considered throughout my early childhood, by my parents, peers and teachers as talented, brilliant, or otherwise superior to the other seven-year-olds. Essentially, as some flavour of “genius” or “gifted.”

I was destined for great things, everyone told me. And, I mean, I was seven years old, with cripplingly low self-esteem–of course I ate it up. The thing is, though, growing up believing that your entire identity is built around outpreforming others doesn’t work in the long run. You burn out–at some point, you just can’t keep up with that standard.

Years after coming to that conclusion, I struggle with that–still find old habits, creeping up on me when I least expect them. I’m learning, though–learning far more, ironically, than I ever did during that period of my life, when I was so fixated on being a genius.

I’m curious–were any of you classified as gifted kids? Did you know anyone who was? In general, what is/was your experience with the school system? I know mine’s been overall very negative, but obviously I have a very unique perspective on these things.

Lots of love,


september: month in photography

Hey guys! Welcome to the first installment of a series I hope can continue for quite a long time. Month in Photography will be a series of photos I took, throughout the course of the month–think of it like a little scrapbook, but on the internet.

I want to be able to highlight the good memories, and look back on the positives–as well as the negatives. I want to build some kind of memorial to what actually happened, to look back on when I need it.

I have a tendency to forget about those good things–to let my depression trick me into losing sight of who I am. But… I want to keep those memories, hold them close. Because they matter.

September has been… I mean, it’s been a month? God, I don’t know. In all honesty, it’s hard to believe it’s over.

I went back to school. And as I record this–I mean, I’ve gotten anxious, of course I have, but I haven’t had to hide in the bathroom hyperventilating, or anything like that. Whenever I feel the sickening fear creeping up on me, I’ve always been able to bring myself back down to earth. And I’m really proud of that.

It feels really good. To just see people again. I don’t care, if they have their masks on, or if they’re six feet away–all I need to know, is that there’s someone out there. That I’m not just a bunch of pixels, floating around the internet. Or whatever.

I am scared. I am scared, of where the world is going. I’m scared I’m not doing enough. And in many ways, this has been a month tinged with absolute terror–that I’m going to get used to this new normal, only for it to be ripped away again. I don’t know what to do with that. How to just sit with it in my mind.

But I got through this month. And it wasn’t as bad as I thought. And that’s something, right?


I live near the beach, and love to go on long walks and take photos. This one was taken right at the beginning of September, when I went on one of this walks with my earbuds in, listening to a podcast. I lost track of time, and ended up staying out past dark, but it was worth it. I felt at peace, that night.


My friend and I went exploring around my neighbourhood the other day, and despite living here my whole life, I never realized how much of my little world I’ve never seen before. We found this little secret trail I never noticed, and followed it together, not knowing where it would take us, and walked along the beach, talking about light teenager topics, like taxing the rich. It was a good memory, I don’t know. That day felt so deeply magical.


The week I took this was rough, not gonna lie. As I write this, I am in the process of going off Zoloft–a medication. (With the advise of my doctor, don’t worry.) It’s just not been effective the past year, and so I made the decision to change to a new medication. I’ve done this before, though, but I’ve never experienced withdrawal before. And it is difficult. Just being off any medication at all is awful. It has been hard, and scary, and… I’ve been feeling really lost. Yesterday, I went on a walk, and I took this photo.


The same fence from before, on a different day, from a different angle.


The smoke has finally begun to clear up, as rain has just been coming down torrentially, over the past few days. The day I took this photo was the first time I had seen the sky in ages.


There’s a little trail near my house that I love to go walking on after school. I’ve walked there my whole life, and it’s become really close to my heart, I suppose. The leaves are starting to turn yellow, and fall. I went on a walk this evening, after dinner, and listened to my favourite podcast, and thought about life. And I took this picture.


This was taken a few minutes later, on the same walk the last photo was taken. I just felt really at peace, I don’t know. Sometimes, you just need to not think, about anything at all.

To be totally honest, I am scared of what October is going to bring. And I know I can’t be the only one who feels this way. The world is a really terrifying place to live in right now. I can’t deny that, I can’t make it suddenly better. But I do know that amid all of this, there are good things. Small, beautiful moments. Dandelions blooming between the slabs of concrete, against all odds.

Or something. I’m really tired. Honestly, I don’t know.

Hang in there, is what I’m trying to get at. Please take care. We’ll catch up next month!

Lots of love,