In this episode, I spend six minutes geeking out about my fandoms and how much I love writing while talking way too fast, beauty standards, and sleep. (Also, freaked out about having to go into quarantine and was incredibly naive about how bad things were going to get, feel free to laugh at me in the comments because I’m laughing too tbh.)

Song is “My Friend Jason” by smallertide. It is found here (https://freemusicarchive.org/music/smallertide/All_Along_the_Northern_Evening/smallertide_-_All_Along_the_Northern_Evening_-_06_My_Friend_Jason) and used according to this license (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/). It has been edited by me.

“Mimos Menguados” from patrickdeartegea.com

Find me on all my internet places here: https://linktr.ee/dragonwritesthings

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All songs have been edited by me.

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.

girl; lost at sea

i don’t remember… i don’t remember who i am anymore. so scribble out my name, and everything else you desperately tried to explain on the worn-out chalkboard. as the summer heat melts into my brain, and the lavender fumes sweep me up, up, and away …

to land of the strong, and the free, and the brave. to an island of broken toys, where you have to stay.

to late nights, and long drives. and i try to get to sleep, but somehow, i just can’t close my eyes. so instead, i’ll play connect-the-dots with the traffic lights, searching desperately for polaris. because all i need is a map tonight.

and as the years go on, my skin wrinkles. and my hair starts to grey. my bones go brittle, and you have all but faded away.

i don’t remember where i’m going.

but i do know i’m gonna be okay.

I don’t know what’s really going on right now, honestly. I’m confused, and lost, and scared and alone, and I don’t really know what I’m doing, honestly.

These days, I’ve just been questioning everything. Whether I’m a good person. Who I want to be. What I want to do. What the right choices are in my life. It’s definitely not easy. And honestly, sometimes it just makes me want to cry, because it never used to feel like this.

But, I mean… I’m starting to think that might just be a part of being a teenager. Something that comes with the territory, I guess. And what other time in my life am I going to feel this free again–have the options to turn over like this? I don’t know. As hard as it is, I’m doing my best to find the silver lining in it.

Lots of love.



hold my hand. dress my wounds in white lies and false confidence. go ahead. butter me up. make me pancakes for breakfast; drizzle syrup over gentle clouds of whipped cream. kiss me on the forehead.

bind my stories together with borrowed time, and scraps of thread. walk for miles through the stormy weather, and say it’s love. but we both know your intent.

sit beside me on those long, cold nights by the fire. and i think i could just stay by your side forever…

because if i sunbathe in the archipelago of your eyes, i am cleansed of my regrets. so tie me up to the sailboat, and shove a gag in my mouth right where it’s supposed to be. let the sirens sing their song; let them come for me.

because in this pretty red dress, all i know is that you love me. tonight. and i am so desperate to forget…

Sometimes, I get tired of honesty.

Growing up, I always asked people not to shelter me–told them that I could handle it. And so they told it to me, just like it was. No matter how much it hurt. There was a certain pride I felt, in being able to survive subjecting myself to insults, or reading about things I was far too young to know about. In retrospect, I wish I could have just stayed blind for a few more years, blissfully ignorant.

But despite all that talk of honesty and transparency, I’m definitely not immune to using denial as a coping mechanism. With a brain like mine, sometimes I just have to ignore what’s going on around me, and put all the bad things in a little box, so I can keep functioning until they’re over, and then maybe I’ll be able to sit down and process it.

But of course, the only issue with that, is that eventually, all those icky bad emotions just build up into this giant nightmare of sadness and anger and guilt that just weighs down on me. Which is kind of where I’m at now, honestly. I’m so tired of having to patch it up with white-lies and dodge around awkward conversations, both with other people and myself–but I also don’t think I can handle the full extent of what a mess I am right now.

Lots of love,


face in the crowd

trigger warning: self-harm mention

i sit in the armchair for hours on end. alone in my room. my stitches slow, and elegant. you’re going to look so beautiful at the ball tonight. aren’t you?

but me? i’ll scratch bleeding marks down my arm. and i’ll call it a fashion statement. even though it isn’t. lean back on the chaise lounge, and let a strange old man talk to me for hours on end.

and he tells me to wake up before sunrise, the sleepdust sprinkled on your eyelids aching and bold. it’s time to get some work done, you know. and i will good sir, i promise, smiling as i go…

i’ll stop highlighting all the parts of my body i don’t like in the mirror. and never again, will i stare longingly at a pair of cheap scissors. because the dress will fit perfectly, and the shoes won’t hurt a bit…

as i spin around, and around, and around, my hair glossy and gorgeous. and they’re all watching now; yet another lovely face, birthed from the whispering crowd.

but that’s just in my head, of course. none of those things are really going to happen, now.

I’m so focused on fantasizing and glorifying what my life will be like someday that most of the time, I forget about the actual reality. My whole life plan is a thousand blurry black dots spinning around in my peripheral vision, so close and yet so far away. I know that I love writing and making things, and that it’s what I was meant to be doing, as much as anyone is meant to do anything. But that still leaves a lot of options open.

Most of the time, I just sit in my room, paralyzed by exhaustion or indecision or plain-old and anxiety and depression, telling myself that someday it’s all magically going to get better, and never actually putting in the effort to make that happen.

It has been a little better of late, though. I just got a job gardening, and having some kind of order and routine in my life–something I have to do, rain or shine, no matter how sad I’m feeling, has been weirdly helpful. It gets me out of the house, and it’s definitely very nice to be able to save up money and be able to think “yippee, another month of rent when I’m eighteen!” or “oh wow, looks like another week of food I’ve saved up for there, that’s so nifty!” (I know, I’m so exciting.) I’m trying to get out there, as much as one can safely do while in a global pandemic obviously. I’m trying to face my fears. I’m trying to figure out what the hell I want, and stop caring so much about what society thinks about it. I’m trying, and that’s gotta be something.

Lots of love,


vericose veins

you know… on late nights / when the wind blows through my bedroom window, sending shivers down my spine / i can feel the monster swimming through my veins sometimes / baring its teeth / and circling / through my bloodstream / because that’s what monsters do, don’t they? / because you’re getting older / every. single. day. / your skin starting to wrinkle and your hair turning grey / empty echoes of my voice slowly fading away / so i’ll go back to the place it all began / hoping / begging / for a tiny morsel of the past / but it’s not the same / they’re never coming back / and all along / you should have known that eventually it would come to this / on a fine winter’s night / as you run through the forest / knee deep in snow / and the wolves howl / as your hands turn black / and maybe… maybe this isn’t such a bad way to go.