the yellow brick road

trigger warning: potentially disturbing imagery.

come on. just do it. just follow the yellow brick road. and smile, and laugh, and pose, as the glitter falls like rain, and the harp music plays. and come on. you can do it. just pretend you don’t notice the pain.

put on your pretty red shoes. adjust your gingham dress. and off you go. just like the stories said. and if you ignore the screams in the distance, or the rot writhing inside each and every magic pumpkin… it’s kind of beautiful. isn’t it?

and the vultures swoop down for what’s left of you. and you bite back a scream. but this happens all the time, you know. because you silly little girl, just do what you’re told. just keep walking. just let it go.

just take deep breaths. and ignore it, when the thoughts come for you, sharp needles piercing your skin. fumble for your thimble, and clean out the wound as best you can.

and it doesn’t matter what makes you comfortable. it matters what’s in right now. so curtsy, and adjust your lipstick, and you’ll figure it out somehow.

psychedelic colours. and maybe it’s a daydream. maybe it’s a nightmare. but this can’t be happening. not now.

or at least that’s what you tell yourself. as the blood dribbles down your knee. and it red stains on your shirts don’t even surprise you anymore.

as you stare at the ticking clock on your computer. watching. as you get older, and older…


This is gonna sound really self-congratulatory, but I’m actually so proud of this piece, I don’t think I’ve ever written anything like it before. And that feels good. Really, really good. I don’t know if I’ve felt this proud about a piece in a while. I don’t really know where it came form, I don’t know

 

hands

it’s been a long three months. or whatever.

and every day, i tell myself that i can’t take it anymore, and yet somehow i manage to. and it makes me want to cry, but i guess… there’s a certain kind of power in that too. that you didn’t break. even when you wanted to.

and i miss everything about seeing you. miss dancing around your kitchen like idiots, and finding dumb things to investigate on the internet. and finally understanding what the books meant, when they said i felt infinite. because you made me happy. even if only for a moment.

and i miss your hands. holding onto mine. even when i hated myself. even when i couldn’t stop crying. i miss doing the same for you.

miss not being afraid like this. because at this point, i can’t even remember what normal is. and i’m not totally sure that i want to.

but i do know… that you made me feel safe. in a way i don’t think facetime calls will ever truly replace. and i just… i really fucking miss you.


Ah yes, another lonely social distancing poem. I did not intend to write about this stuff as much as I am, but I guess it’s one of the only ways I honestly know to cope right now. I know I probably shouldn’t be letting myself think about this much, but I’ve been… thinking about the future of late, even if it’s bad for me. About if I’m ever going to go back to even some semblance of normal, or if the world is. I mean, I know, I’m probably just being melodramatic and stuff, but it’s still a scary thought. That this could be my life. And that what’s happening now isn’t going to define me, sure… but I also don’t think I’ll ever forget about it either. You know what I mean? Every time I think about things going back to normal, my brain instantly goes into anxiety mode.

I feel guilty for things that we’re allowed to be doing in  my area–like, even though right now we’re allowed to double the amount of people we’re in contact with, all I can think is that in other places, things are worse, and then I kinda start thinking about “maybe I shouldn’t leave the house at all” and then… yeah, it all goes downhill from there. Schools are reopening in June, and I guess… yeah, that’s a thing. I don’t know how I feel about that, or what I’m going to do. Honestly, I feel like school is going to be stressful as hell, and probably won’t stop reminding us about coronavirus literally ever–it’s just a hunch, but with my experiences with the school system, I would bet money that they’ll be making us write essays about this, and stuff like that–when all I want to do, all I need to do to survive this, is forget about it, until it’s far enough passed that I know how to deal with it.

My current plan is to sort of gradually expose myself to the environment and stuff–my therapist thinks that’s a good idea, anyway. Spend some time on campus, just reading on the field or something, and then maybe walk around before anyone gets there, and then try and catch up with one of my teachers for ten minutes, or something like that–since not maybe people will probably be there, and in that regard, I guess it is a pretty good opportunity to deal with my crippling social anxiety.

Anyhow, I guess what I’m trying to get at here is… things have been really lonely of late. And although I’m trying not to focus on it, sometimes those feelings just sort of peek out, and I guess this poem was my best attempt at processing that.

But I have to believe, for the sake of my sanity, that I will somehow manage to make it through. Just like I always do.

 

so i’m a sad thirty year old now, apparently

the stars are out. and i should be asleep. like every single part of my body is telling me. and i can’t handle this, and yet somehow… i can’t stop doing it. because at least there’s one thing i’m good at, despite everything.  

and there’s something so addicting, about whole worlds sprouting out from my fingers. and maybe if my life in the real world is over, i can just… escape. forever. 

and i should be proud. but i don’t know how to be. and all accomplishment brings me these days is this weird moment of empty. and i’ve been working on this for so fucking long, that i’m starting to hate it, honestly. and doing what i love shouldn’t exhaust me.

but at this point i’m just… i’m too tired to care anymore. so whatever. just let it be. let the jewels of my mind drift down to the ocean floor. let the dust settle on the pages.

i don’t want to do this anymore.


I have this long running joke with my friends, about how lockdown is slowly turning me into a sad thirty year old, hence the title of this poem. Basically without having friends or whatever my life has been reduced pretty much work and only work, as I’ve probably mentioned before. Like, when I wake up, I don’t think “oh, I’m going to do this fun thing with my friends!”or whatever (because there is no fun thing I’m doing with my friends). I think “what do I have to do today?” And I do it, with more like these little quick intermissions for my life to happen–FaceTime calls and watching movies and reading books and stuff. I guess I’ve just been raised with this really toxic, horrible culture, that work is everything, work is your worth as a person, and you’re never going to be able to do the things you love, no matter how hard you work–because most of success is just having a rich family with connections mixed with random chance. And although I wish I didn’t believe that… I don’t know, I guess I still can’t help but wonder sometimes.

And these days, it just feels like work is… kind of consuming me, I guess. Ever so slowly. Like, I don’t know what my life is without it–and I don’t want to. Because I know I can do this, and do it pretty okay, considering my age. But I don’t feel the same way… about being a person. Honestly, I don’t have a clue how to do that. So instead, I just bury myself in deadlines and projects and responsibilities, and… I stay there. Because it’s easier like that.

coffee

trigger warning: blood mention. if this is something you don’t feel like you should be reading right now, feel free to skip, and just in case, find a crisis line in your area here.


blood dripping down my cheeks. slumped shoulders. angry music. too much caffeine.

and i’ve just gotta make it through one more fucking night of this. just got to grit my teeth, and push through the quicksand of my mind, and just… just tell me i did good, all right? even if i didn’t. tell me you’re proud of me. because god knows i need it.

and the shadows melt, and my limbs start to bend, and it’s funny, how scared of yourself you can get.  an echo chamber of self-hatred. greasy fingers, long showers, scabs scattered across my skin. and this is… real, right?

because, well, sometimes… it doesn’t feel like it.

and maybe it’ll pay off in the end. or maybe this was only ever pointless. and maybe i don’t even care anymore. because i just want to get this over with.

but tomorrow. tomorrow will be better, right? i mean… won’t it?


I don’t know what’s going on post this being published, but as I write this the government in my province just said it was okay, after May 16th, to see a tight group of friends again.  But the thing is, no matter how hard I try–I can’t get myself to truly be happy about it, I guess. I should be. I’ve been lying to myself that I wasn’t silently screaming to just hug someone, and laugh with them about dumb YouTube videos, and lay my head on their shoulder, but… yeah, I have. I totally have. And yet somehow the idea of having interaction back knowing it could be taken away by some random person in a suit who doesn’t even know I exist? It scares the shit of me. Because suddenly, I something to lose.

Essentially, to cope with the virus, I’ve been kind of in this… constantly denial/cynicism thing. I told myself this was just a fun vacation, an opportunity to develop coping skills and gain life experience, imagined all my friends were online. That I had never even hugged someone other than my family before, and I certainly did and do not miss it like this massive sinkhole in my chest.

And no matter which way you slice it, I just end up back at the same place I am now. Tired and angry and scared, and completely fucking useless. Ruining on caffeine and desperation, bouncing between emotional extremes in the blink of an eye pretending everything is all right. And yeah, it… it sucks.

02/02/2020


In this episode, I talk wanting to isolate myself, schoolwork, test-anxiety, and letting go.

Need to talk to anyone? Find a crisis line in your area here: https://www.suicidestop.com/call_a_hotline.html

All sound effects made by yours truly! 🙂

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Okay, music credits here we go!
Credit: Music: https://www.purple-planet.com
“Mimos Menguados” from patrickdeartegea.com

***ALL TRACKS HAVE BEEN EDITED BY ME***