lonely nights, which are only slightly better with sweaters and radio

trigger warning: self-harm

and tomorrow, everything will be different. and tomorrow, i will feel things again. and tomorrow, i will not feel so abandoned, even inside my own head. and tomorrow, you’ll be with me again. but you won’t be with me again. but you won’t even see me this way again. and the self-harm marks are turning into scabs, and i refuse to let those scabs become scars, but in the moment it’s just a lot… more… hard… and tomorrow, i will get on the phone. tomorrow, i will not cry in the closet with a pillow like a blindfold because that way you don’t have to fucking know. because that way, i can just walk right past you, and try to look as much like nothing as possible. but for now, i’m stuck. so for now, i’ll just make myself tea. and put on a sweater. and open google docs, and plug in my headphones, and wait out the storm. as i listen to the radio.


i wrote this one on a really bad night, a couple weeks back, as a way to try and talk mysel f out of a particularly bad wave of loneliness. i really did listen to a radio broadcast while i was writing, and somehow the sound of another human voice, just talking about music and their feelings and the world… it was really calming. and i guess it just reminded me that there were other people out there. and that the world wasn’t ending, and that it would be all right, and in that moment, i needed that reassurance more than anything. for spoken word version, click here.


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lonely nights, which are slightly better with sweaters and radio (spoken word!)

i wasn’t really feeling up to it, so i took a break for the month of august and just let myself stick to written poetry. but, well, a couple nights ago, i was feeling up to it, so i finally did something i’ve been wanting to do for a long time–i set a poem to music! it’s from danosongs.com and it’s one of my better recordings, if i do say so myself. 🙂

check out the text to this poem here. (add link when post is published.)

trigger warning for discussion of self-harm.

august 19th, 2019

go ahead. close my eyes. close my eyes, and lock me in the dark, and eliminate all variables. just make everything perfect, all right? make it all exactly like you wanted. make it so my eyes have this way of blending perfectly into the night. bend my emotions, and make me successful, all right? make me run a hundred. thousand. miles. and make me never get tired of this. and make me never want to cry because of this. make me perfect this time. and take advantage of my fleeting emotions, because i am not sure what i am, but i know i’m not all right. and i know it’s really fucking dark outside. and i’m tired of this, all right? i’m tired of being the one who’s always up past their limits but goddamnit, i have to write. and i’ll look back, straight through time, and i’ll feel my stomach clench up. and i’ll drown myself in sugar, and salt, and spice. and i’ll hate myself. which was exactly what i was trying to avoid. so go ahead. turn everything off for a second. leave me in the dark, and don’t tell me how to turn on the light. because the truth is… i don’t know how else to be all right.


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treadmill

you see, i am a warrior. you see, i am on a treadmill. you see, when i look in the mirror i want to punch myself and that means faster. and faster. and faster. and you lazy asshole, didn’t you hear me when i said go faster. didn’t you hear me when i said you don’t have time to laugh. don’t have time to love. don’t have time to grow up. and how you feel about this is kind of irrelevant. because eventually, it’ll all be over. and because my head is swimming with sharks, and because i have fucking social anxiety. and by social anxiety, i mean i will stay up all night rather than risk the slightest bit of anger. and because setting boundaries and sleeping at decent times is so yesterday, all right? because you see, i am on a treadmill. and every time i take a step, it just keeps getting faster, and faster, and faster. and every time i hold my breath, i just keep sinking faster, and faster. pounding, and the flicker of pages as i skim-read harry potter. and it all just keeps spinning, and spinning, and spinning. faster and faster. you see, i am a warrior. you see, apparently i have a future. a future i’d die for.


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it is august 16th, 2019, and i am officially a mess

after flatsound, kind of. a little bit.


trigger warning: self-harm. if you need to talk to anyone, no matter what you’re going through, find someone to talk to in your area by clicking on the word here.

and you call it depression. but it’s not depression. it’s just… a box, i guess. a box, nestled softly in my chest. and it’s august 16th, and i am officially a mess. and i am officially the kid who doesn’t know whether or not her therapist is telling the truth about this. and it’s just that even though i feel like shit right now, i know in a moment i’ll be over it. i just don’t know how to be okay with the fact that i don’t want to hurt myself today. and you can call it depression, but it’s not depression, because i still want to live it’s just for a moment, i am the empty room and every lightbulb in my head has short circuited. and you call it depression, as i hug a pillow and speak in sandpaper-voices. and you call it mental illness, and that feels about right, because right now, i just feel so fundamentally sick. so maybe i will cough up my problems. and maybe i will fall apart in your arms.. and maybe someone will fucking think long enough to bring me flowers, because i don’t think you understand that this is hard. having a brain that wants you dead. not knowing how to touch you without falling apart. and not even knowing how to speak. and living in the dark, because outside is worse, or maybe it’s just your head. or maybe it’s just your stupid fucking broken heart. it’s hard. because this is war. only… this is the kind that no one gives you medals for.


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