november 17th 2019

maybe i’m broken. maybe life just made me this way. and maybe i would have been sick regardless.

maybe this is stupid. maybe there’s no point trying. maybe i should never have started this.

maybe i’m just sand in the wind. background noise to someone else’s performance. maybe it doesn’t matter. maybe in the end, i’m just gonna be forgotten.

maybe i’m an empty shell by the ocean. maybe someday, you’ll find me, and take me home. let me fall apart under loving eyes, in your garden.

i’ll draw pictures of myself until i forget what the real version is.


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“people with self-esteem are stupid”

trigger warning: self-harm, general heavy and potentially triggering content

i. self-destruction is the only worthwhile thing about me. so i’ll smile wide as i tear myself apart, and then take a selfie. because it’s cute, right? totally.

and my past rolls out behind me. and the future looms before me, and someone say something please tell me i’m not  making this up, because everywhere i look all i can see is the world ending–

ii. it’s been a while. and the self-harm marks are finally fading. which should be a good thing. but even the idea of not having physical validation of the fact that i am sick is terrifying. 

the idea of being better is terrifying. because i’ve never really seen myself without this anxiety, like the cat who came back constantly trailing behind me. 

iii. and it hurts. and it hurts. and it hurts. but it also leaves. and i know who i am.  i know who i want to be.

i am the first step forward. i am a shaking hand, extended toward yours. i am thunder, and rain, and lightning, and words like a snowstorm. 

and i am not anxiety. i was never anxiety. or any of the other shit you liked to tell me. i’m me. i always have been, and i always will be. and you can try. but i don’t think you’ll ever be able to take that away from me. 


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the night wears on

fingers on the glass. it’s raining, again. and i want to throw up for no apparent reason.

and maybe this is what the future means. i don’t know.

i remember being ten. i remember when all of this felt so far off in the distance.  a vague cartoon of the world i live in. and maybe that’s horrible. but i still miss it.

i remember reading the news. and how it’s almost always bad. how some days, it just feels like the world is coming to an end.

how static whispers through my head. and i close my eyes. and i let myself drown in it.


I live in Canada, and I wrote this poem the night of our election–October 21st. I was feeling really anxious about it, and I guess–this helped a bit.

an empty space nestled deep inside me

the hollow cave of my skeleton. fake conversation. and the weight of your expectation. and the moment you realize there are some things that there are no answers for, even when you google it. and even though most of the time, i can trick myself into thinking i’m fine, i know perfectly well i’m just lying to myself about it. and every time i close my eyes, all i can see are the fissures, slowly growing into fault lines, and it’s all in my mind. and it’s all in my mind. and it’s all in my mind… and there is a storm i am numb to, raging on outside. and there is a storm i may never escape from, raging out beyond this night. and there is a world, burning down on my shoulders, and i don’t know what to tell you when you cry on my shoulders, because i don’t know what to tell myself when my tears dribble down my shoulders… and maybe… maybe this doesn’t matter. maybe i’m just a kid, shouting out her feelings into nowhere. or maybe that’s just today. because half of me is okay, but half of me feels like i’m underwater. i’m underwater. i’m underwater… and i’m not okay…


just a little sad poem for you all. hang in there. mental health resources post is here.


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a recurring issue of mine

thoughts shift in and out focus / and i can’t quite make my mind understand this and i’m so tired / but it’s 1a.m. and i miss you for no apparent reason / and i’m getting sick again / but what does it matter because in general i think i’m just a fucking sick person / and my eyes slam closed / and closed / and then open / and everything is broken / and the words shift out / and out / and then into focus / and i keep writing / and i keep going / because i have to do this / i have to do this now / i have to get this over with / and i have to keep spinning like a broken record / and keep going / keep going keep going / and nothing makes sense / but everything makes sense / and / nothing is beautiful / but everything is beautiful / and maybe that’s the issue / and maybe that’s why / i just want to stop these thoughts / and stop these feelings / so i can breathe / or something / and get it off me / get it off me / get it off me / make it stop / flick every single light in this room / off / off / off me / and make my mind get / off / off / off me / and make me not feel like an alien in my own body / off / off / off  me / and where / is / my / gravity?


sleep is tough for me. i’m just gonna shove this here in case someone reading this needs it–if you need to talk to anybody, no matter what you’re going there, find a crisis line in your area here.


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