lonely nights, which are only slightly better with sweaters and radio

trigger warning: self-harm

and tomorrow, everything will be different. and tomorrow, i will feel things again. and tomorrow, i will not feel so abandoned, even inside my own head. and tomorrow, you’ll be with me again. but you won’t be with me again. but you won’t even see me this way again. and the self-harm marks are turning into scabs, and i refuse to let those scabs become scars, but in the moment it’s just a lot… more… hard… and tomorrow, i will get on the phone. tomorrow, i will not cry in the closet with a pillow like a blindfold because that way you don’t have to fucking know. because that way, i can just walk right past you, and try to look as much like nothing as possible. but for now, i’m stuck. so for now, i’ll just make myself tea. and put on a sweater. and open google docs, and plug in my headphones, and wait out the storm. as i listen to the radio.


i wrote this one on a really bad night, a couple weeks back, as a way to try and talk mysel f out of a particularly bad wave of loneliness. i really did listen to a radio broadcast while i was writing, and somehow the sound of another human voice, just talking about music and their feelings and the world… it was really calming. and i guess it just reminded me that there were other people out there. and that the world wasn’t ending, and that it would be all right, and in that moment, i needed that reassurance more than anything. for spoken word version, click here.


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july 20th, 2019

july 20, 2019(1)

and i guess it’s been a long time since i’ve been alone this way. since i’ve been surrounded by the sound of myself and nothing else to distract me, because automated birdsong doesn’t sound the same as the reality. and because checking your notifications twenty times a day is never enough to lift my thoughts off my chest and away, away, away. and so i’ll try to swim through all the broken pieces despite my instinct to flinch away, away, away from the evidence. and i’ll try not to feel like i’m lying through my teeth when i call myself a superhero, or a queen, or a princess, or whatever title will give me control over myself, because it’s been a long time since i’ve felt like that’s true, i guess. because i am home alone and drowning out my head to replace company because i’m tired and you’re gone and i don’t know who else to be. because i can’t handle this space in my chest, where sometimes, really late at night, the monsters like to howl. like they’re calling out for every single one of their broken pieces. like they’re calling out for you to come back. come back. come back. and tell me you love me. and tell me you won’t forget me. and tell me you need me. and tell me you’ll never leave me, but this time it’s actually true. but this time you make me laugh, and you wrap me up in blankets, and you watch movies with me in your arms, and you tell me how the fuck i’m supposed to fill up this empty space in my chest where you used to be before something about you left.


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i don’t want you to see me

i dont want u to see me

i don’t want you to see me. i don’t want you to see me falling apart inside and building myself back up again because it’s complicated. and i doubt you’d ever get it. and even if you were willing to listen you’d probably misinterpret because everyone misinterprets. i don’t want you to see me, i don’t want you to know the kind of power strangers have over me. i don’t want you to see me, because then you’d probably hate me. i don’t want you to see me and now i want to cry because i honestly thought that one of the things i was good at was honesty. i don’t want you to see me because my poetry comes out like some kind of flash flood or maybe a tsunami and maybe i just have way too many feelings kicking around inside me. i don’t want you to see me because then you’ll realize that i don’t eat the same things that you do, and i don’t watch the same things as i do, and then you’ll probably hate me. i am standing in front you and i think i have blown my flimsy lungs empty but you still don’t understand what i mean. i don’t want you to see me, and i don’t really know how to write poetry. i don’t want you to see me, and i curl up into a tiny little ball of nothing inside but on the outside i’m sure i look fine because it’s always fine because i’m so good at acting i fool myself sometimes. i don’t want you to see me because it’s not simple, and it’s not easy, and why don’t you understand that it’s not easy. i don’t want you to see me because i feel like you’ll leave me me if you realize how much i empathize with the people around me but especially the bad guys i guess because deep down i still feel like maybe broken windows and punching my thighs and screaming and screaming and screaming are all i have in me and it scares me that it’s actually possible to be hated by an entire society. i don’t want you to see me because right now i’m feeling pretty crazy. i don’t want you to see me because my anxiety has me held captive inside my mind but the pain is still not great enough to satisfy the black hole inside me. and i don’t want you to see me, because then i’d have to tell the truth and the truth is too complicated and too crazy. and i don’t want you to see me because my life is stop motion and broken and i want to feel nothing and i want to feel everything and i don’t want you to see me, because i don’t think you understand the atomic-bomb kind of impact even three words can have on me. and i’m not sure i can handle it if you control me. i don’t want you to see me, because i know that this is a choice i am making and all i have to do is pull myself up and out and away and i know that’s possible, so why doesn’t it feel that way?


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the letter i just sent to my favourite author but with more honesty

based on a true story.

hi. hello. greetings. when someone has been a figure in your head for a long time it is weird to think that you are an actual, physical person, with days and nights and futures and pasts. and children. and parents. and endings. and beginnings. and if you ever read this, i just want you to know. that i’m rooting for you. and you’ve made me happy. and i hurt, but sometimes your stories make the hurt less for me. your stories have made me laugh. your stories make me happy, your stories make fireworks go off inside me one after the next, lighting up the sky when the stars need replacing, because there are nights and days on end when inside, there is nothing. your books make me happy, sunflowers and dandelions, small flickers of light in the void inside me. i hope i’m not making you feel pressured, but if i am it’s ok if you stop reading here i’m sorry. i understand that you’re a person i just wanted you to know, that i’m scared of falling out of love as much as i am scared of falling in it, because love is a swimming pool and i am a child who never took swimming lessons. i’m scared of lightswitches, because i have hit them enough times to know that one motion is enough to change the world, and change the world is not always a good expression. i’m scared that someday, i won’t want to be this person. i’m scared my heart can be outgrown. i’m scared, and yeah, i cling sometimes. cling, like i’ve been stripped down to skin and bone and there’s nothing left of me but hope and words and sometimes music notes. cling, like you’re the last meal i will ever eat. cling, as i’m standing at the edge of the river tears falling like raindrops onto the water, and it feels like everything is spinning, and i am so, so scared of falling. you have no idea how scared i am of losing. have no idea the monsters, kicking sandstorms, and i won’t go into detail because i don’t know how to tell you the whole truth so i won’t because i don’t want you to help me without my permission. oh god. sorry if i’m rambling i hope i’m not wasting your time it’s just. are you like the characters in your books? are you the kind of person who fights through the pain, who has felt pain, who beleives there is good in the world? i know i don’t have the rights to ask all these questions, i’m sorry. being alone in your own head all day makes you curious in a desperate lonely sort of way. and i have stomped my curiosity into pieces, i still do it all the time, this moment is wild and reckless, so i’m sorry for being proud of it. proud of it, like for a second, i am more than space junk through days where when you ask how i’m doing the best i can give is a shrug, and my eyes are blank, and the shadows are deadweights more than they ever are capes. i’m sorry if i’m wasting your time, i just wanted to say that i hope your heart can touch mine. and i’m sorry, i’m probably dodging the point. if this ever reaches you, i want you to know books don’t work miracles but thank you for giving me a place that almost feels like home. i just want to believe that every single one of us feels all the same emotions, and therefore connection is possible even when it is with someone i will never meet in person. so is it ok if i’m honest? are you one of those people that can take the brunt of it? because all i’m really trying to ask is please tell me you’ve felt the dark, too. because if you’ve felt the dark, and if it’s not too much trouble asking, could you please tell me where the hell the light is?


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while listening to sleeping at last

um. not sure if this is needs a trigger warning, but just to let you know, this poem gets pretty angry, and lonely, and stuff.


go. get your headphones on. because i want a stranger to sing me lullabies until my brain goes out like an unattended candle at midnight. because i’m tired. because the difference between music and poetry is that music flies and poetry wanders across the ground and i’m willing to get vertigo if music takes me now.  because i don’t know what to write so rather than writing i’m trying to build a wall of fire around myself and drenching the world in so much gasoline it has no choice but to keep burning. but it’s hard because every time i open my mouth the tears beckon like an ocean that’s always there in the background but tonight i want to swim just to feel the saltwater wash away the cobwebs of yesterday just get away from myself. tonight i want to feel something innocent again. but tonight i’m not innocent again. tonight it feels like trust is just a hammock i could never fall asleep in without getting backache. tonight i’m angry that my life is a mountain range i cannot push across the continents. i’m angry and i was only building a wall of fire to keep you out. i didn’t realize my own fury would burn me down. i’m tired and i want to believe perfection is possible because it’s easier somehow. i’m tired and i want to believe it’s possible to turn yourself into the kinda lantern that glows brightest when it’s needed the most, but if we only offer light when the world is falling apart, does that mean that happily ever after is the kind of friend that  leaves you; the kind of sugar that rots you from the inside; the kind of jewel you can’t even touch to figure out? does that mean i’ll never be able to learn how to starfish float in the atlantic ocean otherwise known as my soul? does that mean i’ll never learn to stop fearing the loch ness monster that sometimes pops its head up out of the water in the middle of the fiercest storms only to look back at me, like it’s tired of hiding and it’s lonely, and maybe it just wants someone who understands what it feels like to have pushed everything it loved away and still feel angry. maybe it just wants to feel like more than the shadow of a future we’ve never even seen before, and it’s then that i run. because running is safer than walking into your arms not knowing whether your promises of safe and home and safe and home are just a booby trap. are just easy things to say. are just empty message-in-the-bottles you dropped over the edge not thinking they would reach me specifically. because… i was only trying to swim across myself. i didn’t realize i needed to bring a lifejacket. and an anchor. and a boat.


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