distant memory of a good day

it was a good day. i think. and we went to the city, and we felt like big kids all of a sudden. didn’t we? took deep breaths of the fresh blue air, and ate fancy macaroons, and pretended there was not a problem in the world we couldn’t fix, even though that really isn’t true. 

went shopping, and dressed up  like the people we wish we were. and tried to swallow down the panic. and that was one of the last times i saw you. wasn’t it? 

but it was a good day. a really, really good day. and if i had known what was coming, i wouldn’t have spent it any other way. 

and i just want to go back. want to bury myself in the past, and stay there forever. where things were okay. where every day, i didn’t wake up, and feel this fucking afraid. 

because now i’m just alone. and scared. and unsure. and sometimes, it feels like the floor is crumbling beneath me. and it’s just not like that anymore.

So apparently now I literally only write semi-depressing nostalgic poetry about all the things I miss pre-quarantine. But, I don’t know, I am starting to learn how to cope with this, and make something semi-productive out of a really hard time for me. I haven’t had a complete breakdown in a while, and I’m functioning. I’m surviving. I can’t say I’m doing “good” honestly–although I don’t know if I ever have been able to honestly say that, for a prolonged period of time. But I am doing okay, which I think is kind of all I can ask for right now. I hope you all are doing okay, too.  We’re going to get through this together. I have to believe that. Oh, yeah, and on a completely different note, the first episode of my podcast is hot off the digital press and literally just came out! You can listen to it here.

Lots of love,


a poem practically written by my inner critic

they’re all watching you. you know that? and they’re all going to see you when you fall. because you will fall. and someday, you’re not going to be able to glue the shattered pieces back together and they’ll laugh. and they’ll kiss their lovers, and they’ll have a big, fancy ball.

and oh, my little whipping girl. you’d better be ready, when they come for you. claw, and tooth, and all. 

because it’s a scary world out there, you know. and is this really what you want to do for the rest of your life, until your body turns cold?

because i can feel the tremors in your hands. the scars spreading across your skin. and you had better fucking know that not a shred of your self-esteem is making it out alive from this.

and i know you want to tell them to truth. but maybe a little girl like you just… isn’t strong enough to.

With the upcoming release of my podcast, I’ve really been struggling with anxiety and self-consciousness. It’s scary, releasing this big project you’ve been working on for months–to people who may or may not even like it, and knowing full well that no one could even look at it, and although you can advertise the heck out of it, ultimately, you can’t control what people think of this thing you poured your heart into. And maybe people will hate it. I’m in no way a stranger to that feeling, but… well, with all of the other added stresses of a podcast release, plus keeping up with schoolwork, it hasn’t exactly been great.


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,