rock-a-bye (spoken word)

Read the text to this poem here.


Song is “Old Tape Loops” by Rest You Sleeping Giant. It is found here: https://freemusicarchive.org/music/Rest_You_Sleeping_Giant/Songs_for_a_Sad_Guitar

And used under this license: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/

“Wind through trees” is by spoonbender on freesound.org. It is found here: https://freesound.org/people/spoonbender/sounds/244939/

And used under this license: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/

goodbye

for poetry club

goodbye. to calling it “the plant room.” to inside jokes and cult chants and high school feeling perfect. even though it isn’t.

goodbye. to somehow, for a moment feeling like the child i never got to be. naive and small and innocent, laughing until my stomach hurt over the stupidest shit. to perching contests and piggyback rides, and tu es caca eeboo, or something like that.

goodbye. to magic, and pouring our hearts out on scrap paper, and the giddy rush of finally having friends.

goodbye. even though i can still see the memories, flickering through your eyes. even though i think you’ll always be there, carved out into my chest.

goodbye. because even after everything you gave me, i think i’m ready to let go. i think it’s time to fly. and i know you’ll always be there buried deep, down inside.


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mental breakdown at the grocery store

trigger warning: implied self-harm

up until 1a.m. watching netflix, and i’m so fucking tired. doing anything but taking care of myself, red mark on my arm, and dear god do i hate all of this. 

pounding heart, and too much caffeine, and let me disappear, okay? tone down all the blinding colours to a muted soft grey, and just let me be done with my life. okay?

because i want to close my eyes. i want to fall flat on my face at the grocery store full of fake lights and fake smiles and i want to cry.  i want to let the screen light swallow me. let my throat shatter, let my fingers freeze off in the cold night air…

because at least… at least this makes sense. at least i actually know how the fuck i’m supposed to live like this.

and if that’s not depressing, i don’t know what is.


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make it stop

trigger warning: suicidal thoughts mention, self-harm mention, general heavy content. need to talk to anyone? crisis lines are here.

fingers digging into my palms. why do i fantasize about self-harm so much, even on a good day?  

why am i weak like this? why did i cut myself again, digging one more tally mark into the row of scars on my broken skin?

and why don’t you fucking get it? no matter how loud i scream. no matter how well i try to explain it. why aren’t you concerned? i just… i don’t get it.

and why… am… i… so… exhausted?


Hey guys. I just wanted to say that, well, this is a vent poem. Basically, I’ve been having a lot of bad days of late, and… yeah. But that doesn’t make any of the thoughts in it true, and I know I’ve said this before, but I feel like it’s important to say again. You’re not a bad person for struggling. You’re not alone, even if you feel like it.  Suicide and self-harm aren’t solutions. But at the same time, expressing those feelings is, to me, incredibly important in terms of processing them and dealing with them in a healthy way. So please, if this poem hits close to home with you, reach out. Talk to someone you trust–a parent, a teacher, a friend, a counsellor. Just the fact that you related to this poem is a sign that you’re not the only one who feels this way. And please, hang in there. I promise that someday, someday, we’re not going to feel this way.

-dragonwritesthings

okay

and you tell me it’s gonna be ok. and i know how entitled i must seem. i know how long i’ve been in therapy. i’m trying so fucking hard to get better, i swear, ok?

and is this ok? i’m sorry if it’s too much.

and i’m sorry, if sometimes i’m needy. i’m just terrified that the second i look away of course you’re gonna leave me.

i’m sorry i take up space. i’m sorry i exist. i’m sorry my self-talk is so ridiculous, and if this feels like a lot to take in, that’s probably because… it is.

i’m not ok. my mental health is a mess. and just because i get a lot of shit done doesn’t mean i don’t feel like i’m being eaten up by my own emptiness.


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