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 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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september 11th, 2019

trigger warning: implied suicidal thoughts. if you need help for whatever you’re going through, find a crisis line in your area here.


i am an alien. floating through my own skin. and i’ll try to breathe, but maybe there’s no gravity because somehow my lungs just refuse to suck in. and maybe there’s no gravity, but i need you to hold your ground. and i need you to write happy things for once. i need you to not be so worried about what other people think for once. and i need you to just try. try to be all right. except i know perfectly well that you won’t and so watch me. as i crash onto the ground. and as i still can’t breathe. and as the music echoes through my headphones, but i’ll never let it out of me. and i’ll never let you let go of me. and the pressure of the moment builds before it explodes inside of me. and it’s all inside of me. and my brain is really just another organ, right? another war waged inside of me. another day spent counting all the reasons i should just die already inside of me. and i can’t stop crying on the driveway, blood-spattered emotions for everyone to see, and feel free to think whatever the hell they want to think of me. and tear me to pieces, and leave me parked right in front of my endless pile of scars and sad poetry. and you’ll tell me how much i disgust you for the thousandth time. and i will believe everything.


school–just dealing with being in a building with other kids my age–is really hard for me. in so many ways, that i don’t know how to completely explain. i wrote this on september 11th, 2019–because titling poems is really hard for me of late for some reason–and just edited it recently.


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and now i apparently have a debit card

and i guess… i’m getting older. and i guess this wasn’t all a dream. even though it felt like a dream. i guess this means i’m real, and i can’t spend the rest of my life locked up in my room pretending i don’t exist. because to be honest, up until this moment, i guess it all just felt kind of like sleepwalking and rough drafts and flicking through the pages of history, still wondering if this is what my life could be. wondering if anyone will ever actually notice me. and maybe this means that i’m at the edge of being free. or maybe this means everything is at the edge slowly collapsing all around me. or maybe this means i’m nothing compared to the mouth of a system that will only ever want to swallow me. because did you really think you were different? did you really think you could escape this? because now i have a debit card, and my own set of keys. and a dream. and i’m just scared of this, is all. scared of the ocean, and the mountains, and the trees. scared what i wanted wasn’t actually what i wanted. scared that i can’t do this. scared that i can’t take this. scared that i can’t afford this. because it’s complicated. because it’s always been complicated, but… this is different. i mean… it feels different. and honestly, today, i just wasn’t prepared to handle this.


yes, that was a harry potter reference. 😉


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and i will not know who i am without my self-hatred

trigger warning: self-harm. if you need to talk to anyone, no matter what you’re going through, find a helpline in your area here.

just let me explain, okay? because if  i explain, maybe you’ll forgive me for hitting myself early in the morning behind buildings because i just couldn’t take it anymore. and because i just feel like tearing myself apart. and because the feeling, of doubling over, and the gravel beneath my feet, and the tears, and the wind rushing over my shattered cheeks…. and i just hate everything about myself so much today. and because i don’t know who i am. and because… it’s just all too much, i guess. right now. and i will try to breathe in the pain. not because i like it. because… it’s the only time i feel numb, to be honest.  numb to the fact that it’s 1a.m. as i write this, and i don’t know who i am, and  i’m spinning out of control, and self harm is still a black hole. and i’ll claw my way out, but no matter how far away i try to walk from it, there are still days when i feel its pull. and i know this is bullshit, but every day i still buy it. so why am i still here? why am i hiding behind a building, punching myself like that will actually make anything go away or something? and why do i hate myself so much, and love myself so much, and why is everything like this, and why are my feelings like this, and why am i such a fucking mess, and is there ever going to come a day when i will not feel like this–


the last couple weeks have been rough. really rough. i don’t know why exactly, i’m just… a mess. i hope it gets better soon, because it’s starting to feel paralyzing. having to constantly feel like this. if you’re going through the same thing, please reach out. there is help, and you are worthy of it. i’m rooting for you.


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