august 29th, 2019

because i need to make up my mind eventually, right? and that means it has to make sense eventually, right? even though no matter how hard i try, i still can’t figure out how to make all the pieces align. because of my stupid, anxious mind. and maybe you’ll roll your eyes, and call me a teenager, when after a week of not seeing you it feels like the entire world is over. or maybe you’ll tell me i’m a moron for not being sure. and if my gut instinct says two things at once, how am i supposed to tell you what i decide? and if i scream up at the clouds like a maniac, maybe everything will stop for a moment. and maybe then i’ll finally be able to tell the difference between wrong and right. because i can’t sleep, and  i can’t breathe, and my mind is made of origami paper, and i’ll laugh like everything’s fine, as you unintentionally crush me between your fingers. even though i can’t even think without my thoughts crashing into each other. because i don’t know, okay? i don’t know what the truth is anymore.


big decisions are always really rough for me. and confusion. honestly, confusion is one of  the most underrated negative emotions. i don’t know if a lot of people with anxiety go through this–but sometimes it feels like follows me everywhere. when i was eleven was the first time i remember feeling really confused, i think. i have this really distinct memory: it was, november or december, dark and stormy outside. my class was having a discussion about charles darwin. and i wanted to make a joke, because i wanted people to like me. but then i realized not everyone would like me if i made a joke. and some people would like me more if i was myself–but if who i was was constantly influenced by what other people wanted, who was that? what was an identity anyway? in the big picture, what did it matter what i wanted for myself–there were more of other people than there were of me, and so therefore if more people wanted me to act a certain way shouldn’t that have a bigger impact than what i thought of myself?

and i still remember that feeling–like you’re standing out there all alone in the middle of a blizzard, and you open your mouth to call out, but every time you try, nothing comes out. it’s gotten better, obviously–i have a lot stronger of a sense of identity than i did back then. and most of the time, i’m fine. but confusion definitely still impacts me.


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july 13th, 2019

please capitalize / please use / more frequent spaces / spaces in my heart spaces / and my heart pounds / and my heart pounds / and this worry is kind of all i am right now / all i am now / all i am now / newspaper article i hate the look of my face i hate myself / i hate myself right now / so i am redesigning all my book covers on wattpad because i hate myself right now / and i hate that i gave you everything i had and it still wasn’t enough / and you still didn’t understand / and good god it doesn’t even matter but right now it feels like it / and i try to brush past it but my mind / snags / just a little bit / which is better than my skull caving in i guess / which is better than me hurting myself again i guess / and i’ve been through this before / and i know this story off by heart the one / where i destroy myself because for a second / i can pretend i’m destroying someone else / because i just get so angry sometimes / the kind of anger / that feels less like anger and more / like fire / and your whole body is a bomb and you’re inches away from falling apart / please capitalize / like i asked for your opinion on this subject when i fucking didn’t / except i guess i kind of did because the second you gave it to me i instantly defined myself by it / but if you were looking for a sign / i just want you to know / that i’m stronger than my worst days / because i’m strong enough to tell you i have worst days / i’m strong enough that i didn’t ask for you to rewrite my poetry for me / i didn’t ask you to tell me who i am / i do not want you to control me / and you don’t control me / and i understand you have an opinion / and i’m not going to be angry / but i am what i am / and i am going to speak / and i am going to smile / because i’m proud of myself / and because my emotions are not defined by you / and i’m going to try / whether or not you want me to


i’m really bad at dealing with criticism. which is ironic, since, you know, over the  years, i’ve gotten a fair bit. but i kind of think that’s why it’s so hard for me to deal with, to be honest. when you’ve been given so much of something–especially in an unconstructive way, and you don’t know how to process it, the only other option left is to fear it. i’ve been that way for a long time. little incidents are enough to send me over the edge–even being teased in a nasty way, or being touched when i wasn’t expecting it. (i wrote about this a little more in “landslide.”) i didn’t write this poem to be an instruction manual. i just wanted to process these feelings, even in a really messy, panicked form, and get them out in the world somehow–even if i’m the only person who will ever understand this poem completely. so… here you go.


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i lie awake at night and all i can do is hate my body

trigger warning: self-harm, suicidal thoughts, weight-related issues. if you need to talk to anyone about whatever you’re going through, find a crisis line in your area by clicking on the word here.

i lie awake at night, sometimes. and all i can do is hate the way i’m trapped inside my mind. and think about the future. and think about how much i hate my body just for not. being. tiny. and hate my head, for not working right. because i just wish i could magic away these bones, sometimes. i lie awake and i can imagine what it would feel like. to die. and i guess i’m addicted to the idea of that. because i just want the sky to stop collapsing for a second. just want to not feel the weight of my self-hatred crushing my skull only to remould it all over again, only no matter how many times i make myself anew it’s never perfect, like i need it to be perfect, because i will hate myself until i’m perfect— i lie awake at night, and it’s like 1a.m., and god i just need to go to sleep, and try my best to forget. forget. forget. because at this exact moment, if there was a potion i could take to wipe everything away, maybe i would take it. maybe i would wish myself dead. and this isn’t how i always am. it’s just… right now, i’m a fucking mess. right now, i am looking in the mirror and if i could rip myself apart i’m telling you. i’d do it. i’d remould this fucked up head and this fucked up body, and i would be better. i would be better. i would be better. i would gently carve the knife across my skin, and focus on the pain until everything else just kind of disappeared, only this time not forever. i would be better—only i wouldn’t. i wouldn’t be better. because self-harm does not make you better. because drinking poison for the 56th time does not make you better. because… i can’t change my body. but i can change how i treat it. but right now i just… i don’t know how to do that.


i just came down with a cold/fever thing, so being productive has been pretty hard, since all my body wants to do right now is spend the entire day flopped like a slug on the couch watching mindless tv or rereading my favourite books or taking a nap something, but somehow i managed to edit these poems! if you missed it, check out the new youtube video i just posted by clicking on the word here, i’m super proud of it.


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and apparently puppies on instagram are the only things with bright eyes anymore

and you don’t know about any of this, do you? don’t know how fucked up everything is, right now. don’t know how sometimes, i just sort of want to curl up into a ball and cry for all the shit i’ve lost, now. now. now. and by that, i guess i just mean my innocence. i mean the fleeting, shattered moments when i trusted you more than i trusted anyone else. i mean i’m rereading the books of my childhood, and suddenly i understand. and you don’t feel any of this, do you? don’t get it. what the world has fucking come to. don’t understand that sometimes in life you love people so much, and they will care the world in return and still never know how to love you. and if you hear screaming just let me know, because tonight the monsters in my head are hunting me down to the death again, and sometimes i say things i don’t mean to. and can’t you see it? the way that on the bad nights, sometimes exhaustion slams the door, but never locks me in. and is it better? to be ignorant? to just not have to think about any of this? because… you just look so happy. like all you really want in your life is to spend it loving someone unconditionally.


so im sleep deprived and getting sick as i write this, but like i think this is okay? when i’m sick all logic honestly just goes out the window, but i think it’s okay.


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august 15th, 2019

there’s a certain way the stars look, when you’re crying in your backyard at 10 o’clock at night because everything is broken, and because i’m falling, and because you don’t understand, and because the sky is blue, and because you’re dying. and because there’s a way that it feels to laugh and cry and slide into tired nothingness, all at the same time. and there’s a way to love you so much my heart breaks in two. a way to love you, so much i can’t handle even being in the same room as you. and there’s a way your eyes feel, after you’ve spent half of today crying and the other half dying inside. and if i were sick in a way people actually understood, maybe i wouldn’t be hiding under the stars trying my hardest to conceal the deepest battle scars. and maybe i wouldn’t have to hate myself under your arms, because everything is spinning. and because it was so stupid, and because i don’t know how to process any of this. and because there’s a way your mind looks when you realize how fucked up it is. and when you realize how sick you are. and when you realize how recovered you are. and when you realize how empty your eyes are. and when the whole world is spinning out of control as you stare up with tears in your eyes at the stars. and when you’re on stage, but your hands are shaking, and your voice wobbles, and you just want to run away. and when your mouth hangs open, and your heart starts to race, and your stomach starts to tear itself apart, and you pinch yourself to stop the pain, and you said it all wrong again, and the floor drops out beneath your feet, and the wind whistles in your hair and you don’t know what to say…


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