bug eyes (spoken word)

Wow! I made a spoken word poem! Yippee!! If it’s your thing, the original written poem for this piece is here.

There are a lot of hidden references to my childhood in this poem, that I wrote with the full intent of being very mysterious and sneaky about them, but since I have no self control and can’t keep a secret to save my life, I thought I would do a sort of Genius-lyrics style breakdown of the references in this poem, since, I dunno, I’m extra. 

1. a little girl with bug-eyes, and dollar-store sneakers

When I was little, as many kids are, I was pretty awkward. But unlike most kids, I was very much aware of it, due to a lot of bullying that was directed at me because of it. My eyes were just normal eyes, that part is just a metaphor, but my face was constantly covered in scabs from picking at it whenever I got anxious, my teeth were a mess, and my hair was always frizzy and chaotic. There was this one specific time in first grade, one of the most distinct memories I have of feeling different, when I was wearing these cheap sneakers my mom had picked up at the dollar store, and they weren’t like the ones the other girls were wearing, and I totally freaked out about it and thought not having super expensive sneaks somehow made me a lesser human being. So as a kind of way of punishing myself for it, that recess, hid in a corner alone in the cold, watching people pass by–pretending I was invisible. It was just a little thing, but it hurt, to hate myself that much–and I still remember it very clearly.

2. whose stamping feet caused earthquakes, whose sobs controlled the tides.

When I was little, I was very sensitive. Honestly, I still am, but obviously I express it in very different ways now. I didn’t really know how else to express my anxiety at that age, honestly–so I ended up lashing out a lot, and crying a ton in general. During my early elementary school years, my dad was also trying to get an accounting degree, and my mom had just gone back to work, all right while my mental illness was starting to fester and worsen. So my first and second grade years were just kind of a nightmare. There wasn’t a single person out there who I trusted with my thoughts and feelings completely, and both my friend group and my family was almost always fighting about something.

  1. a girl in a glass house

As a kid, I was definitely a bit of a hypocrite at times. In a weird way, lashing out at others at that age was my way of indirectly hurting myself. Because I wanted to make them to hate me, as much as I hated myself. 

And I’d love to say that I’m over that… but honestly, I’m not. It sucks, and it’s something I’m trying really hard to work through. But I’ve spent so long desperately racing to the top, believing my only worth as a person lay not just in being isolated and different, but being better than everyone else in the room, at any given moment.

Also, in fifth grade another class did a unit on metaphors and had to illustrate them on the school walls–and I remember how that was the first time I heard that metaphor, and I really overused the hell out of that metaphor that year.

  1. a girl dressed up like a christmas tree

This refers to this really specific memory I have from eighth grade. I had a choir concert, that I had not practised for at all, so I had no idea what I was doing. It was my first year taking classes at a regular school, and one thing I really struggled with during that first month or so was how I wanted to dress, and the fact that I literally had not talked to a kid my age for longer than five minutes in two years and just sort of rotated between the same three outfits. I remember that night, how sleep-deprived I was, how i felt like I was suffocating or something, the walls pressing in closes and closer on me. I didn’t have any friends, so I didn’t even know who to talk to, and just kinda drifted around the room aimlessly. I ended up wearing these hand-me-down pants my neighbour gave me, and this old, worn out, red T-shirt, and my favourite green comfort sweater that actually is really cute if you, yanno, don’t wear it with a clashing colour–and was agonizingly aware of how awkward the whole thing looked all night, and had a whole panic attack in the bathroom about it. Hence, “dressed up like a christmas tree.” Honestly, what I most remember from that night is how paralyzed I felt inside my own body. I didn’t know who I was, or what I wanted, or how to fit in, or if I even wanted to fit in. Which pretty much sums up the first couple months of eighth grade, actually. For some reason, that’s another memory I can recall very clearly.

  1. a girl curled up on the couch

In my elementary school and middle school years, I would spend a lot of my bad days curled up on the couch, just sitting there for hours, reading, or writing, or scrolling through Tumblr on my laptop, my brain just sort of turning to mush. I still do that sometimes. I don’t know, there’s no specific memory that inspired this line, it’s just somewhere I’ve sat and felt really sad, and hopeless, and not really wanted to do anything at all at, for a really long time.

And with that, I think I’ve broken down some of the easter eggs in this poem! Hopefully this was interesting! If it was, please let me know, I’d love to do it again if this is a hit.

What was your elementary/middle school experience like? I’d love to know, I feel like mine was pretty strange, and I’m definitely glad I’m out of that period in my life now.

Lots of love,


Continue reading “bug eyes (spoken word)”


it’s been a long three months. or whatever.

and every day, i tell myself that i can’t take it anymore, and yet somehow i manage to. and it makes me want to cry, but i guess… there’s a certain kind of power in that too. that you didn’t break. even when you wanted to.

and i miss everything about seeing you. miss dancing around your kitchen like idiots, and finding dumb things to investigate on the internet. and finally understanding what the books meant, when they said i felt infinite. because you made me happy. even if only for a moment.

and i miss your hands. holding onto mine. even when i hated myself. even when i couldn’t stop crying. i miss doing the same for you.

miss not being afraid like this. because at this point, i can’t even remember what normal is. and i’m not totally sure that i want to.

but i do know… that you made me feel safe. in a way i don’t think facetime calls will ever truly replace. and i just… i really fucking miss you.

Ah yes, another lonely social distancing poem. I did not intend to write about this stuff as much as I am, but I guess it’s one of the only ways I honestly know to cope right now. I know I probably shouldn’t be letting myself think about this much, but I’ve been… thinking about the future of late, even if it’s bad for me. About if I’m ever going to go back to even some semblance of normal, or if the world is. I mean, I know, I’m probably just being melodramatic and stuff, but it’s still a scary thought. That this could be my life. And that what’s happening now isn’t going to define me, sure… but I also don’t think I’ll ever forget about it either. You know what I mean? Every time I think about things going back to normal, my brain instantly goes into anxiety mode.

I feel guilty for things that we’re allowed to be doing in  my area–like, even though right now we’re allowed to double the amount of people we’re in contact with, all I can think is that in other places, things are worse, and then I kinda start thinking about “maybe I shouldn’t leave the house at all” and then… yeah, it all goes downhill from there. Schools are reopening in June, and I guess… yeah, that’s a thing. I don’t know how I feel about that, or what I’m going to do. Honestly, I feel like school is going to be stressful as hell, and probably won’t stop reminding us about coronavirus literally ever–it’s just a hunch, but with my experiences with the school system, I would bet money that they’ll be making us write essays about this, and stuff like that–when all I want to do, all I need to do to survive this, is forget about it, until it’s far enough passed that I know how to deal with it.

My current plan is to sort of gradually expose myself to the environment and stuff–my therapist thinks that’s a good idea, anyway. Spend some time on campus, just reading on the field or something, and then maybe walk around before anyone gets there, and then try and catch up with one of my teachers for ten minutes, or something like that–since not maybe people will probably be there, and in that regard, I guess it is a pretty good opportunity to deal with my crippling social anxiety.

Anyhow, I guess what I’m trying to get at here is… things have been really lonely of late. And although I’m trying not to focus on it, sometimes those feelings just sort of peek out, and I guess this poem was my best attempt at processing that.

But I have to believe, for the sake of my sanity, that I will somehow manage to make it through. Just like I always do.


so i’m a sad thirty year old now, apparently

the stars are out. and i should be asleep. like every single part of my body is telling me. and i can’t handle this, and yet somehow… i can’t stop doing it. because at least there’s one thing i’m good at, despite everything.  

and there’s something so addicting, about whole worlds sprouting out from my fingers. and maybe if my life in the real world is over, i can just… escape. forever. 

and i should be proud. but i don’t know how to be. and all accomplishment brings me these days is this weird moment of empty. and i’ve been working on this for so fucking long, that i’m starting to hate it, honestly. and doing what i love shouldn’t exhaust me.

but at this point i’m just… i’m too tired to care anymore. so whatever. just let it be. let the jewels of my mind drift down to the ocean floor. let the dust settle on the pages.

i don’t want to do this anymore.

I have this long running joke with my friends, about how lockdown is slowly turning me into a sad thirty year old, hence the title of this poem. Basically without having friends or whatever my life has been reduced pretty much work and only work, as I’ve probably mentioned before. Like, when I wake up, I don’t think “oh, I’m going to do this fun thing with my friends!”or whatever (because there is no fun thing I’m doing with my friends). I think “what do I have to do today?” And I do it, with more like these little quick intermissions for my life to happen–FaceTime calls and watching movies and reading books and stuff. I guess I’ve just been raised with this really toxic, horrible culture, that work is everything, work is your worth as a person, and you’re never going to be able to do the things you love, no matter how hard you work–because most of success is just having a rich family with connections mixed with random chance. And although I wish I didn’t believe that… I don’t know, I guess I still can’t help but wonder sometimes.

And these days, it just feels like work is… kind of consuming me, I guess. Ever so slowly. Like, I don’t know what my life is without it–and I don’t want to. Because I know I can do this, and do it pretty okay, considering my age. But I don’t feel the same way… about being a person. Honestly, I don’t have a clue how to do that. So instead, I just bury myself in deadlines and projects and responsibilities, and… I stay there. Because it’s easier like that.


In this episode, I talk wanting to isolate myself, schoolwork, test-anxiety, and letting go.

Need to talk to anyone? Find a crisis line in your area here: https://www.suicidestop.com/call_a_hotline.html

All sound effects made by yours truly! 🙂

The next episode will be dropping next Friday, 9a.m. PDT–make sure to subscribe/follow/add this podcast to your library/enable notifications on it to be notified when it comes out.

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Okay, music credits here we go!
Credit: Music: https://www.purple-planet.com
“Mimos Menguados” from patrickdeartegea.com


dear diary (spoken word)

I’m really proud of this, despite the fact that half of it was mixed at, like, one in the morning. I’m really experimenting with new things in the spoken word department, and that’s a really good feeling. If you’re a text kind of person, you can read the original poem here, and I should be releasing a video pretty soon in the future, hopefully this Wednesday or so. 🙂

“Она Ангел, Мама, Она Ангел!” is by Kosta T. It is found here, and used according to this license. It has been edited by me.

“film camera #1.aiff” is by mwmarsh. It is found here, and used according to this license. (Which is outdated, so I believe I have used it correctly, but given it is outdated, idk how that affects things–if you’re the owner of this file and want it offline, feel free to email me via my contact form and let me know, and it’ll be down ASAP.)

“Old Tape With Guitar And Warped Talking .wav” is by constructabeat of freesound.org. It is found hereand used according to this license. It has been edited by me.

And the rest is under public domain! Yay! I hope you’re all doing as well as you can during these times, and I’m sending all my love your way.