recovery (spoken word)


“Helplessness in Kowasni” used according to license, from the amazing https://patrickdearteaga.com/
“Ice Skating Sound” by Daniel Simeon on http://soundbible.com/ (http://soundbible.com/2198-Ice-Skating.html)
Both of these have been lightly edited by me.

Read the text of this poem here. Find me on PatreonYouTubeInstagramWattpadTumblr, and on Twitter.

little red

be small. soft voice, cute sweater, and aren’t i so adorable and useless? and oh big bad wolf, please don’t hurt me. because i’m not sure i can take it.

but it’s fine. feel free to treat my heart as your shooting range, my head as your punching bag. because kids will be kids, and it’s just to be expected, and it’s fine. this is fine.

and oh, am i taking up space in this room? or am i asking too many questions, or making you think about the things you wish you knew? i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to. 

i’m sorry, fuck you. honestly. you don’t get to tell me who i’m gonna be. or what i’m gonna do. i’m not your victim. i’m not seven years old anymore. so go ahead. try to push me around, just like you did back then. pluck my lungs right out of my chest. tell me i’m ugly, and stupid, and useless. tell me i’m nothing without you.

and don’t come crying home to me when the old threats don’t work like they used to.


This poem is based on some things I’ve been thinking about a lot at school, and feeling a little myself. Because of the bullying I went through as a kid, I tend to immediately go into this victim-mindset–that I’m useless, paralyzed, defenseless, that I can’t do anything to fight back against any future threat, whether physical or emotional. I actually wrote the first draft of this while procrastinating on an assignment on a school computer–I guess I just wanted to explore those thoughts, understand them, and challenge them a little bit. As always with poems written like this, I just want to say that these things are not true. Whether because of your gender, a mental illness, a past experience–you are not weak. You don’t deserve to be pushed around. This poem exists to map out those thoughts as a way of processing them and–not because those things are actually true. I hope you can remember that. ❤

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breathe in, breathe out

breathe in / breathe out / you can do this. / breathe in / breathe out / come on / you were made for this. / breathe in / breathe out / you were born with a voice for a reason. / breathe in / breathe out / it’s ok if it’s hard. / and all you have to do today is write one sentence / take one step forward / and that’s enough. / it’s ok. you’re allowed to be tired. / and you can do this / and you will make mistakes / of course you’ll make mistakes / but the sun will rise / and the wind will blow the leaves away and the seasons will change and i promise you there will be another chance like this, even if it doesn’t come right away. / now speak / one sentence after another / you have something to say, and there are people out there who want you to be heard. / be brave / be the loudest thunderstorm / be the roaring ocean / be the wind pushing the clouds away / now rise / rise without looking back / rise, despite all the times you hate yourself / despite the illness / despite the cracks in your head / despite all of this. / and yeah, it takes strength. but i know you can do this.


A spoken word version of this poem will be releasing on Friday, so if you liked this, keep your eyes out for that one. 🙂 Find me on PatreonYouTubeInstagramWattpadTumblr, and on Twitter.

right now, i just want to fit in

angsty teenager thoughts, or whatever the fuck this is. and yeah, i know you’re going to laugh. but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to feel like this.

and i’ll try to be honest with you, okay? right now, i do not need anything else to worry about. i don’t need to second-guess my outfit to the point of panic, or shrink into the walls, because someone’s going to hurt me, and i just know it. and it’s stupid, and cliche, but if it means i don’t have to be this afraid, i want to be normal. even for a day.

because i hate this, enough to claw off my skin. hate my fucked up mind. hate that i’m human. and i’m just a kid, and no matter how hard i try there’s still no avoiding that. 

and you know, sometimes i think i don’t even know what it’s like to like myself. and i’m still not over it. even though goddamnit, you were so little. you know you should be over it.

because forgive and forget. because close your eyes, and wipe away the scars of what you’ve been through like the morning frost on your windshield. you shouldn’t have been so weak as to let it get to you. 

and yet here you are again. spinning through the same thought cycle as always, pounding at the glass, begging for rescue and never getting it. and here i go. here i go. here i go again.


I get really anxious around other kids my age, I guess. Of late, even going to school a couple days a week (it’s complicated, I’m not a truant I promise, I’m just semi-homeschooled) has been really hard for me.

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