because i am a volcano

and the stress piles up on my shoulders. and i run faster, and faster, and faster. and i set myself on fire, and then wonder why i don’t sleep so well anymore. and my thoughts are shattered glass, and i don’t know what the truth is, and i am a volcano. so i close my eyes. and fake a smile. and try not to cry. because i am a volcano, and villains don’t cry. so i blow my chance, and tell you everything is fine. and i keep going. and i keep going. and i keep going, despite everything that’s happening. and i think myself to nothing, and i get good grades, but i don’t learn much of anything, and i hide in the corner believing pointless things, waiting for someone to rescue me. or something. and i tell myself over and over again how much i deserve this, until i start to believe it. bit. by. bit.


a vent poem i wrote after a really stressful day. because i just in general feel like i’ve been really over-extending myself of late. (oh yeah, and because pretty much everything i post is heavy these days, find a crisis line in your region here.)


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bury me

trigger warning: implied self harm reference

i can only think at night for a reason, okay? because when it’s light out, everything just screams at me. and the sun stabs into my eyes, and i just want you to bury me. in food, or stories, or music, or anything that will make the time pass more quickly. bury me. because i don’t want to feel anything. i don’t want to be anybody. and i don’t want to think about what i’ve just done. because who was i, to kid myself that i could take care of anybody? and i can’t think, and i can’t breathe, and i can’t comprehend what’s happening to me, but i want it to stop, okay? i want all of this to stop. and i want to curl up, in a room with no lights and no people and no wifi. and i just want to write this all out. and breathe, until i’m okay. but i guess you don’t understand that. so let me try to explain it a different way. i’m tired. i’m tired of all of this. i’m tired of being at war with my head. i’m tired of not getting it. and i don’t want to hurt myself. i just want to feel nothing for a second.


sometimes i feel like i’ve spent my whole life hiding from myself. running from who i am and who i might become, and the relationships i might have had if i hadn’t been so afraid of letting them blossom. this poem is pretty heavy, so just in case, here’s a list of crisis lines just in case you need them.


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midnight

trigger warning: self-harm

and my heart pounds in my chest like the world’s gonna end. and for some reason, i feel like throwing up. and i want to cut myself. and i want to explode, but i can’t say no. because it’ll never be as good as it was. and because i will never be as good as i was. because i will never rise up, like i’ve always dreamed of being able to rise up. and good god, can you just try to act something like an immature grown-up? because there’s no time to be confused. even though the world is turning black and white. and i won’t let myself go to sleep until midnight. and i’m drifting out of my skin. because i’m not in control. because who said i was ever in control? and i want to scream, but there’s no room in this world for my voice right now. and the moonlight screeches through the window, and the world turns black and white. and for a moment, i forget everything i’ve ever wanted. everything i’ve ever stood for. and i stand in front of the mirror… and i don’t even know who this person is anymore.


i wrote this at just after midnight on a really, really bad day a couple weeks ago. i’m not sure, but things feel like they might be getting a little better now. anyway, this deals with some heavy stuff, so just in case you need it–find a crisis line in your area here.


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something like an empty head

trigger warning: blood (used as a metaphor)

this isn’t romantic. how i close my eyes but no matter how hard i try i just. can’t. stop. thinking about it. this isn’t romantic. how my head is a washing machine that won’t stop spinning, and spinning, and spinning, but i’ll never let go. and i just want to breathe for a moment. but i’m picking myself apart. and i don’t know what’s true and what’s false anymore. and this isn’t cute. this isn’t trendy. this is a crack in my skull. this is the parts of me that refuse to let go. this is the spiderweb fragments spreading wider, and wider, and wider. and my stomach turning to stone. and maybe i’m going to fall. and maybe i’m not good enough. and maybe i’m a shitty person. and maybe i’m going to die alone. and the leaves fall, fall, fall. and my heart will fall. fall. fall. and my thoughts will spin into overload. and the warning lights flicker in and out of this world. and don’t you fucking get it? this doesn’t make me any stronger. this isn’t a superpower. this isn’t who i am, even though half the time i believe it. this is an illness. and why is it so hard for me to understand that?


just a quick piece i threw together yesterday. because the last couple days have been hard for me. just in case you need to talk to anyone, find a crisis line in your area here.


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september 1st, 2019

and i’m walking home, just a little after sunset. and it’s the kind of day where i can’t help but think that maybe someday, i’ll be free of this. or maybe someday, i’ll at least know how to manage it. maybe someday i won’t have dreams, i’ll have goals, and goals will be real. and my thoughts will be known. and maybe someday i won’t feel like such an idiot for having hope. maybe i can do something in the world. and maybe someday, all of this will be distant. and my lungs will be clear. and… maybe someday, i’ll be able to really say that i’m happy. and even if every day in my life is only ever spent just working towards being all right like that, it will have been worth it. all this pain, and suffering, and stepping of shards of glass and nights spent crying alone. because it’s the kind of day where you try to breathe, but it’s so hard not to feel alone. the kind of day where you just want to run and hide from everything you’ve ever known. and every time you look ahead, the trail feels just a little longer. and the shadows just a little taller. and you can’t help but feel alone. and you can’t breathe, as the sky unfolds above you. but somehow, you find it in you to let go.


this took so ridiculously long to write and edit and stuff. im so glad it’s finished now.


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