i am strong (or something like that)

i wanna write something real.

i wanna write something that doesn’t feel like it’s sugarcoating what’s happening, because what’s happening is i am falling. i am falling, from everything i used to be. and i know it looks pretty awesome from where you’re standing but trust me. living my life isn’t easy.

i wanna write something that makes me feel awake. because to be honest, i haven’t been feeling that way a lot these days. 

i wanna write something. because i have a voice, and i want to use it. because i am not a curse to the world i live in, and the greatest thing i could do is so much more than be erased. you know that right? we don’t deserve to live this way.

apologizing for our dreams, and our hopes, and our feelings. apologizing for being here. apologizing, because it’s the next best thing we can do to disappear.

you know, you are not defined by your mistakes. you are worth so much more than your worst moments, or the times when they looked you in the eye right before they threw you away.

you are the flower growing through the crack in the sidewalk no one ever thought to water. you are the whisper that becomes a voice that becomes a roar. you are the whole sky staring right back at you in the mirror. you are the everyday magic it takes to get out of bed, and get ready for school, and somehow have the courage to stitch yourself back together just enough to make it through.

so i wanna write something for myself. i wanna write something for all of you. 

i wanna write something like the driftwoood raft you used so long ago when everything fell apart. when the ship crashed, and it all went dark, and you were completely fucking alone. 

i wanna write something that feels, despite all of this, like the smallest piece of home.


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this is me

this is me. and if you don’t like it, i will not be remaking myself in your image because i’ve been there. and i’ve done that. and honestly, fuck you. this is what i was meant to be. 

this is me. and i am not a toy. i am not yours to torment. i’ve wasted enough of my life being someone else’s puppet.

this is me. and i’m not your disney princess. i’m not your token dramatic teen with mental illness.

this is me, and yeah. sometimes, i have two anxiety attacks in one school day. or i close the bathroom door and fight the urge to fade away. and i fall apart. and i make so many mistakes.

but where were you, when i made tapestries out of my broken pieces? when i somehow found the strength to pull myself out of this darkness?  this is every part of me that refused to be silenced. 

this is me. this is writing at 1a.m., or sobbing uncontrollably.  this is the stubborn determination to do it anyway

this is hope. despite the inferno on my hands, and the freezing cold. this is the first beam of sunlight, warming my skin after all these years alone. and maybe, maybe, maybe this is what it feels like to finally come home.


This poem is based off the song “This is Me” from the movie The Greatest Showman, a song that’s been really influential to me in the past couple months. I don’t know if it’s good or not, but honestly I just needed to write it and share it with the world. 

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autumn leaves

let’s go to the park and pretend nothing ever happened. pretend we’re just two kids, in early november on a swingset. let’s bury ourselves in leaves until there’s nothing left but vague wisps of painful memories.

let’s watch shitty adaptations of romeo and juliet and laugh ourselves silly. let’s dance on bookshelves, and make stupid jokes, and cookies, and superhero alter-egos, and butcher the word tortilla, and talk over our feelings with copious amounts of tea.

let’s look at the stars, because i’m not afraid of the dark anymore. i mean, it’s not like i haven’t been through worse.  

and sometimes, that makes me so angry. because i never got that chance. to just be innocent, and carefree, and happy. i don’t even know what an okay version of myself would look like, honestly.

but for what it’s worth… when i’m with you, i feel like a kid. like the person i never got to be. like some small piece of an alternate universe brought into reality. like i’m free.

and i know that shouldn’t seem like a huge deal. but it means the world to me.


I feel like I’ve been writing a lot of sad stuff of late, so time for your weekly dose of tooth-rottingly fluffy friendship poetry for your poetry needs. I actually kind of hate this right now, but it was in my queue, and I don’t have anything else to post for today, so, uh, here you all go. 

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today

today the sun rose, and the sun fell. i didn’t ask you sure how one pocket of time can feel so tiny and yet so massive, and maybe it’s all about perspective. today, it’s hard to write this without it feeling like i’m pushing my way up through sticky honey and the fog of closed curtains broken flash drives and half-asleep panic attacks, but i’m trying. today, i decided i would try and drown my feelings. only then i decided to fold them; try to find symmetry out of the chaos and make sense out of everything and it didn’t really work, but i did write poetry. and today, i wasn’t the person i want to be. because i’m never the person i want to be. today, i think my fingers shook on the keyboard with the quiet electric shock of my anxiety. today, i think maybe you’re not who i think you are and that scares me. and it’s all lies and empty faces. and these words do i mean it is this really my voice do i really mean it what am i saying what role am i trying to fill again what is this? what is this? and will you still love me in the morning? and was i good enough to be worth your time? maybe i’m not good enough. i spread my arms out like the page of a book and i turn myself into your story. and why am i not enough to be your everything? and today i try to wrap my arms around myself until the words stifle my mouth. i curl up into a corner and my heart is one massive explosion of charcoal and screaming and my eyes which are always kind of closing. the stars are shaking above me. and i want to be ok but i’m not but i’m trying. i’m trying. i’m trying. i hope that means something.


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this is a poem

for poetry club

this is a poem for angsty poetry. this is a poem for every afternoon spent trying to drown my brain out because i don’t have the energy for my mental illness today. this is a poem for every single fist i’ve slammed against myself because i still don’t understand and the rage is curled up in my chest and something about it just feels like a monster about to pounce to me. this is a poem for pounding butterfly heartbeats and standing at the edge thinking that maybe today is the day i fall. this is a poem for not falling. this is a poem for every time you’ve made me laugh. this is a poem every time we’ve said weird things to each other, only you got it. this a poem for dance parties in an empty math classroom and you tell me all about your stories over angsty music because it’s okay that we have issues. this is a poem for writing until my mind is shaking and for the first time in ages my lungs are empty. this is a poem for being six years old and alone in the world. this is a poem for the time i called you and i was panicking and  in that moment you were the only thing that could look my anxiety straight in the eye and tell it it was lying. this a poem for being scared shitless and still somehow managing to hold a sheet of paper and step up in front of a bunch of human beings and goddamn do this. this is a poem for binge-watching harry potter only it’s not a compulsion and you casually lean into my shoulder and i want to cry because it’s kind of the best feeling in the world to just to be trusted to hold the entire weight of someone else for a while. this is a poem for forests and feathered dragon noises. this is a poem despite all the unbearable days and the times i thought i couldn’t take it and the times the voice in my head told me told me anything i was worth was pointless and this is a poem despite the broken bones no one noticed, despite all the things they called us, despite numbness and confusion, despite the loneliness and the future like a black hole ahead of us, we survived. this is a poem for the fact that we. are. alive.


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