some fucked up kind of lullaby (spoken word)


This makes me so nostalgic and sentimental, I spent a really long time working on it–and I’m really hoping all that love and care paid off. Also, I’m working for an extra-special video for this one, so stay tuned for that, and I’ll let you guys know when it’s out!

Song is “The Ants Built A City On His Chest” by Doctor Turtle. It is found here (https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Doctor_Turtle/The_Double-Down_Two-Step/the_ants_built_a_city_on_his_chest_v3_1305) and used according to this license (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). It has been modified by me.

“Cricket, close recording: JJ” is by felix.blume on freesound.org. It is found here (https://freesound.org/people/felix.blume/sounds/484416/) and used according to this license (https://creativecommons.org/publicdomain/zero/1.0/). It has been modified by me.

dear diary

dear diary, i don’t know what i’m doing. and some days, i work until i can barely breathe. and some days i just sort of sit on the couch and watch tv. and i tell myself it’s self-care, but i don’t even know what that word means to me.

dear diary, i haven’t talked to someone offline in weeks, and sometimes i forget to eat. or sleep. and sometimes i just zone out, for hours on end, because i’m so fucking tired. and it’s all the same, isn’t it? 

dear diary, i can’t tell the difference between the past and the present. and i think the people i love are going to leave, and i’m so scared i can’t sleep, and i refuse to be a child again. 

dear diary, don’t you just love how a situation can trigger a memory? how a memory is kind of like a doorway, and how pretty soon you’re sobbing on your bedroom floor, picking your mind apart into frail sheets of tissue paper. still not sure what the difference is, between what you felt and the reality.

and i’m writing this poem because i have to. because once you grow up, the world isn’t fucking going to wait for you. and i’m writing this poem this because i need to. and i’m doing this because goddamnit, i just wanted to impress you. and be the good little girl you always wanted me to be.

dear diary, i flinch every time someone talks to me. and how many fucking times do i have to say i’m sorry?


I really don’t know what to say about this piece–I think it speaks for itself, but just wanted to say I’m thinking about shooting a video to accompany the spoken word track for this poem, which I already have some plans for and am gonna record over the weekend–ack, I feel like that was worded really awkward but anyhow, be excited, I’m super proud of this poem and want to do Many Things with it!

i don’t want to think about it

i’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, but hey. at least i can drown my thoughts out with high quality television. or books. or youtube. or anything. anything to make it stop. because when you hit the pause button, how come it all comes to a stop, and the thoughts in my head start to pick up, and suddenly i’m falling off a cliff so watch me drop

              drop

                             drop.

because i don’t want to think about all the things in this world i don’t know. about the emptiness thrumming in my bones, or about how no matter how much i accomplish i still feel like i’m 11 years old, not sure who i am, and drowning in my own lack of self control, and god. could someone please just call me beautiful?

and i’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, but that’s all right. i mean, i’m pretty sure it’s normal.

and it’s all healthy, teenager stuff. you just need to learn to let go, let go, let go. jump off the ledge, and feel your hair whip in the wind, feel your mind start to bend. and just… just try to forget about it. because it’s not going away any time soon.


Wow, reading and editing poems I wrote ages ago is… a trip. It’s weird–how everything has changed and yet still stayed the same all at the same time. It sounds dumb, but I miss even feeling like this.

acoustic version

i think that’s what i saw in you. because they’re autotuned, but we’re the real version. we’re messy hair and yesterday’s outfit, and the most random, hilarious sense of humour.

you were acoustic. you were the most lovely version of a song we’ve all heard over and over again only this time i get it. 

and whatever it means, i think our little group feels like home. and i still don’t really get it. what it means, to love someone for what they are, and how to be a good person, and i know that sometimes i do a pretty shitty job at it. and i know we’re all a mess. i know i’ve written this stupid poem before, and i’ll probably write it again.

but i think we’re gonna be ok. in the end. and i don’t know what’s going to happen, but… we’ll get there eventually.

no matter how hard. and long, and shitty the road is. and i know. i know. i know. i’m not gonna try and romanticize it. 

but in the end, we are going to get there. i promise.

and hey. i’m not gonna leave you alone in this.


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red

and so watch, as my lips shatter into the golden sunset. as my thoughts break, glass falling to the ground, and it’s all fucking over now. so here i am, staring up at the ceiling, just waiting for my mind to shut down.

and so listen, as blood dribbles off my fingers, and my hope melts like a candle in the freezing. cold. winter.

because this. this is the apocalypse; the one we’ve all been waiting for. so take a seat. grab some fucking popcorn. and turn off your heart. and brush away every part of yourself that ever dared to think that things were gonna get better, because they aren’t.

because life is not a disney movie.

and you can’t spend all day in bed, hiding away from the reality.


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