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.

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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again again again

trigger warning: self-harm. whatever you’re going through, if you need to talk to anyone, you’re not alone, you’re not crazy, and there is help out there. find a crisis line in your area by clicking on the word here.

bleeding fingers, leaving smudges on the keyboard and i’m sorry. i know i promised you i wouldn’t hurt myself, it’s just sometimes it’s fucking hard, okay? and sometimes, i spend the whole night on stupid websites, pretending i’m fine, when i am not fine, and pretending i’m keeping up with my work when i’m not keeping up with my work. and pretending i’m keeping up with this world. when i’m not keeping up with this world. and i’m sorry, my dear, broken, body. i’m sorry there’s a demon inside me. i’m sorry i romanticize my own illness. i’m sorry i can’t breathe. i’m sorry i’m numb on the kitchen floor, because you weren’t supposed to leave. and i’m sorry, for hurting myself. and i’m sorry for not sleeping. and i’m sorry for hating you. it’s just once you get started, it’s so hard to stop it. and my fingers are bleeding over the fucking keyboard. and i’m not crazy. i’m just… a little bit messy. and just a little bit broken. and just a little bit of the remnants of glass, destroying my fingertips, scratching at your cheeks, and scratching at your ankles, and slicing at your knees. and it’s not what it looks like. i swear. and i swear, i’ll be all right someday. and i swear it’s going to get better, or whatever will make you stop looking at me like a half-finished calamity, because  i just need you to tell me you want me here. i need you to tell me you actually care. and hold my hands back, so i don’t pick at every forming scab, until my fingers bleed over the keyboard. until i cry in my closet, listening to angry music hoping that will make it better. and i text you, but you still don’t answer. and i will tell you i love you back. and i will tell you i need you here. and maybe, maybe, maybe someday we can get through this together.


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august 26th, 2019

trigger warning: self-harm. if you need to talk to anyone, no matter what you’re going through, find a crisis line in your area here. hang in there. i’m sending all my hugs your way. keep fighting. we’re in this together, okay?

and honestly right now i can barely hear you / but that’s all right because honestly i can’t process anything right now without my brain jamming / so maybe the music / will drown out everything / and maybe poetry and too many cookies can fix my shitty feelings / enough to bend the pain into something hard enough to sharpen blades / like weapons / to use against you / and weapons / to gently cut at my skin, waiting desperately for the monsoon to soften / but honestly just hand me the key / and i’ll lock myself in the dark for a night  / or two / or three / and i can’t hear you and i don’t fucking want to / and i know this isn’t healthy / but i don’t even want to move right now / don’t want to move for you / because in my head it’s always / about you and / it’s always about me and / the sky starts to bend and / i’m on my knees and / i can’t breathe and / i can’t breathe / and what’s the point of trying if i’ll only tear every accomplishment down / down / down to nothing / and i look into your eyes and pretend to be all right and i am / down / down / down / and i am the dissociation plate smash / as the glass breaks around me and i don’t / feel / anything / as the glass starts to collide all around me and the knife breaks the skin and no one even fucking notices and i / don’t feel shit / as my lungs sort of explode a little / but right now / honestly, i couldn’t care less / or the monster in my head couldn’t care less / or i don’t know what life is / or i don’t know what mine is / or i don’t know who i am / and i don’t know / if i’m in control of this


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it is 12a.m. and i do not sleep

it is 12a.m. and i don’t want to know whether anxiety and self-hatred are hereditary. and maybe the reason i hate mirrors so much is because every time i look in one, i see the broken shards of you nestled deep down inside me. and  because maybe the fact that people i have never met still affect me is the single most terrifying sentence anyone ever could have said to me.  it is 12a.m. and if you’re willing to burn to get what you need, what’s the difference between who you are and who you want to be? it is 12a.m., and my fingers sleepwalk into the keys, only everything i write feels ugly to me. it is 12a.m. and i melt my eyes closed. it is 12a.m. and the thoughts race through me, but only when the light goes out, and if the light never goes out, my thoughts will never come for me. and i will never call myself weak. will never have to  face whatever messed up shit my brain comes up with, the moment i fall asleep. it is 12a.m. and i don’t want to be tomorrow. i don’t want to be out of control. i don’t want to be cold. and i don’t want to know. i don’t want to know what i did right, and what i did wrong. i don’t want to know that the world is falling apart. i don’t want to know i’m not good enough to stop it. i don’t want to fucking know. so it is 12a.m., and the darkness presses in as my eyes slam closed.


this poem is about a lot of things, but one of those things is my family’s history of mental health issues. it’s something i think about a lot, and something that’s really affected me. i don’t know what i’ll do with this piece, or if i’ll even do anything with it beyond posting it here, but here you go anyway.  if  you liked this poem, consider reading the rest of my work, giving me a follow, liking this post, or leaving a comment, if you have the time. thanks for reading! 🙂

and if you need to talk to anyone, click on the word here to find a crisis line in your area.


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