and i never realized it. but home was never a house. it was the smell of book pages fresh off the shelf and the sound of your voice as we talked each other straight through hell.

never realized that comfort was board games and stories, and leaning into your shoulder, and trusting you to hold me.

or long walks through the forest, playing pretend like little kids, because out here there’s no one to judge me.

and snuggling with your cats while watching netflix. or hanging out in the kitchen making tea.

and i know it’s been said before. and i know it’s stupid. but i guess, home never was a place. because despite it all… you felt like safety.

I don’t now where this came from. But I guess I’m in a pretty nostaligic mood tonight, so, uh… have another fluffy friendship poem that feels vaguely sad and is written in past tense because–this is dumb and melodramatic, but bare with me–but most of my life feels like past tense right now. Hopefully this is over soon.

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hanging in there

spinning in circle, like an idiot. cliffhanger endings, and the whistling wind. 

a world on fire, decked out with picture-perfect sunsets, and cheap pop music. and i hate myself, but at least i look good while doing it. and maybe my skin is made of plastic. maybe my bones are cheap knockoffs about to shatter. but let’s face up to the music: does it really even matter?

and i can’t remember anymore. why i ever wanted to get better.

so let my brain rot away. let my hands wither away into the sands of time and my bones crumble into the ground.

because the truth is… no one’s gonna stop you now.

It’s been a really busy, hard two weeks, and I feel like that’s really been taking a toll on my mental health. I mean, I was up until 2am last night trying to get out content on a deadline. It’s probably going to get easier in a couple days–I just have a lot of different ongoing projects right now, all reaching their peak at the same time, and it’s been really hard to handle. So I guess that place of just feeling like my brain is overflowing with stress, like I’m being ripped apart by all the things I need to be doing, that heavy exhaustion even caffeine can’t fix is kind of where this poem came from. How have you all been doing? How were your weekends? I hope you’re all doing okay.

Lots of love,




just let the deep breaths wash away all of it.

because maybe it’s healthy. maybe it isn’t. but i’ve bottled up the memories in old jam jars and packaged them up in battered amazon boxes, stuffed them to the back of the closet, and i just want this to be over. i’m done with it. 

so we’ll toss my mind out to sea, okay? walk miles and miles just to find the ocean, balancing the past on our shoulders. and why can’t you get out of my head? i thought i was fine. i thought this was over.

and we’ll sing songs around the campfire, and watch as the past starts to burn into the sand. because i don’t want anything to do with it anymore.

scatter the ashes. throw them in the garbage, stomp them down to nothing on the kitchen floor. and never bring it up again.

because i told you. i don’t want to think about this anymore.

I guess repressing stuff is a lot easier than dealing with it. And, well, of late, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been struggling with that of late, more than a little bit. Being distanced from the world, like most people are right now is giving me a lot more time to dwell in the past and worry about the things that happened to me then repeating themselves. It’s been a little better this week than it was when I wrote this, but, um… yeah. Anyhow, how are you guys doing? Has anyone else been feeling like this of late? I’d love to know your experiences in the comments, and I’m really glad to have this blog as an outlet during these times ❤

better than nothing

i don’t want to write anything. and i don’t want to move, and i don’t want to breathe, and please. just leave me in peace.

 i don’t want to write anything, so i’ll write you this. this depressing piece of shit. this empty list of words, clunking around my head.

because it’s better than nothing, right? because if i’m not gonna write anything anymore, then… here. have this.

 have the remains of my heart after a late-night panic attack because of course something went wrong. and of course i couldn’t stop thinking about it.

have the wind biting into my cheeks, and blowing through my hair. and the voice in my head, that just wants to get the fuck out of here.

and take it. take all of it.

i don’t think i’ll be needing it anymore.

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