something like an empty head

trigger warning: blood (used as a metaphor)

this isn’t romantic. how i close my eyes but no matter how hard i try i just. can’t. stop. thinking about it. this isn’t romantic. how my head is a washing machine that won’t stop spinning, and spinning, and spinning, but i’ll never let go. and i just want to breathe for a moment. but i’m picking myself apart. and i don’t know what’s true and what’s false anymore. and this isn’t cute. this isn’t trendy. this is a crack in my skull. this is the parts of me that refuse to let go. this is the spiderweb fragments spreading wider, and wider, and wider. and my stomach turning to stone. and maybe i’m going to fall. and maybe i’m not good enough. and maybe i’m a shitty person. and maybe i’m going to die alone. and the leaves fall, fall, fall. and my heart will fall. fall. fall. and my thoughts will spin into overload. and the warning lights flicker in and out of this world. and don’t you fucking get it? this doesn’t make me any stronger. this isn’t a superpower. this isn’t who i am, even though half the time i believe it. this is an illness. and why is it so hard for me to understand that?


just a quick piece i threw together yesterday. because the last couple days have been hard for me. just in case you need to talk to anyone, find a crisis line in your area here.


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september 1st, 2019

and i’m walking home, just a little after sunset. and it’s the kind of day where i can’t help but think that maybe someday, i’ll be free of this. or maybe someday, i’ll at least know how to manage it. maybe someday i won’t have dreams, i’ll have goals, and goals will be real. and my thoughts will be known. and maybe someday i won’t feel like such an idiot for having hope. maybe i can do something in the world. and maybe someday, all of this will be distant. and my lungs will be clear. and… maybe someday, i’ll be able to really say that i’m happy. and even if every day in my life is only ever spent just working towards being all right like that, it will have been worth it. all this pain, and suffering, and stepping of shards of glass and nights spent crying alone. because it’s the kind of day where you try to breathe, but it’s so hard not to feel alone. the kind of day where you just want to run and hide from everything you’ve ever known. and every time you look ahead, the trail feels just a little longer. and the shadows just a little taller. and you can’t help but feel alone. and you can’t breathe, as the sky unfolds above you. but somehow, you find it in you to let go.


this took so ridiculously long to write and edit and stuff. im so glad it’s finished now.


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howl

lighting in my belly / and the sky starts to bend / as i raise my hands / and i just want to make it all stop for a second / and maybe i am not human / and maybe i am just playing pretend / and i will slowly walk towards the edge / and there is no moon / and there is no sun / and there is only darkness / and my head / and the scars i’m tired of wearing / and a number i am fucking fed up of bearing / and i just want to be alone for a second / and i just want to forget / forget / forget / but i can’t forget / forget / forget / and i just want the silence to ring through my ears / and for peace to exist / because i’m tired of being at war with this / this constant buzzing anxiety / and it’s not cute / it’s not trendy / it’s stealing my last ounces of control away from me / and i’ll call out / because i want to get out / i want to get out / i want to get out of this cage / this place / and i’m tired of being sick / i am so tired of being sick / and i’ll scream out / because i can’t handle being alone / and i’ll dig my nails into my arms / trying to get it out / trying to twist it out / trying to stop hurting / this loud / but it won’t really help / and there will be no escape / and i will bang at my skull / trying to get out / because i don’t want to be sick / because i am tired of being sick / and i will grab onto you like a lifeboat / and i don’t know / and on days like this / all i want is to run toward the storm / and let go


pretty sure one of the first poems i ever posted here was called “howl”? so consider this a vaguely sentimental comparison poem and please no one find my old writing and read it! also, i know this is really heavy, so… just in case, find a crisis line in your area here.


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september 30th, 2019

i took you to town on our lunch hour. just the two of us. in the crisp autumn air, touring vintage shops and bookstores like typical high school students. with typical jansport backpacks. laughing, and looking at books and geeking out about things i bet no one else would even notice. and maybe this is what meeting your soulmate looks like. like finally finding someone who speaks your language. someone who lights up every room they’re in. because i took you to town, and showed you around, and… i was happy. for a moment. i was okay. i was the eye between the storms, and i was okay. and i know it’s such a small thing. but it meant the world to me. that day. i hope you know that. i hope you know how many of my favourite memories were made with you. and i hope you know that the falling leaves did not feel like death omens as long as i stayed there. beside you. and i hope you know how much i love you. because i do. i love you. like a sister i never got to have. like the first real friend i’ve ever had. like one of the best people i know. i love you. 


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september 15th, 2019

trigger warning: self-harm

and i’m sure you don’t want to talk to me. and i’m sure you don’t want to see me. and i’m sure you fucking hate being anywhere near me. and the words flow out of me way too quickly. and it all just feels… so… heavy. and so don’t breathe. and so lock yourself in the dark, and the news hits like a bomb, and i am the city. i am always the city. i am always the arm reaching out from the abyss, trying my best to fight the urge to just pull you into this emptiness, because god does it get lonely. and the more you say the faster the state of my mental health degrades, and the more i’ll pretend to be falling apart and redefine it as okay. and i’m sure i deserve this, even though i don’t deserve this. and scissors will hit the skin, and the sharp numbness will finally set in. and i’ll hide my face. and i’ll pretend i don’t exist. because it’s just poetry. it’s not that good. no one really knows about me. and what is this ever going to lead to, in the end? really.


it’s been a really bad month in terms of anxiety. sometimes i can’t even breathe walking down a hallway.  i don’t recognize this person i’m turning into.


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