all i want is to go home

trigger warning: implied self harm

fields of quivering yarrow. shaking fingers, and the burn of rubbing alcohol.

and if you listen too closely, you can hear the crickets scream. so i’ll try not to focus on the pound of my heartbeat. i won’t let myself sleep.

because i won’t be vulnerable; i won’t be weak. i won’t not let you in. because to do so is to accept defeat.

so i am the shriveled-up dandelion, crushed beneath your busy feet. and maybe it’s better that way. because i shouldn’t be make a scene.

but… i’m not built for pain. for eight-hour hikes through the pelting snow, or the pouring rain. and this body was not designed to sit still and watch, as the knife falls. because i’m not a fucking piece of meat. and i hate that… but it’s true. you know what i mean?

My mom has a really insanely high pain threshold. This is probably TMI, but when she gave birth to me, she didn’t take painkillers at all, and instead got through it with this self-hypnosis technique she learned. Which I respect the shit out of–honestly, I don’t think I could handle something like that.

My point is, I’m not like her. I mean, not now, anyhow–maybe when I’m fifty, I will be, but to date, I’ve always been sensitive. I’ll notice the moment I think someone’s breathing gets heavy, or when they slam down a bag of groceries, or any other hint I might be falling out of their favour… and sometimes, that’ll be enough to send me into a panic, even though I’m not in danger. I cry because I lost my keys, because I don’t know what to make for lunch, because my bike tire is flat… and because of more serious things, too. Because I’m scared of the world. Because I’m scared of myself. Because I don’t know what to do… and no matter how hard I try, I can never keep those feelings quiet from my friends and family for very long. I’m just not one to suffer in silence.

Sometimes, I think I’ve spent my whole life wishing I could be like my mom–able to put up with that much pain with no help at all. But that’s not who I am. I can’t just sit and ignore it, when I’m in pain, and wait for it to resolve itself. I seek help when I need it, because that is the kind of person I am. And I’m glad. Because, as frustrating as it can be to be this emotional, it’s also saved me from doing a lot of really dumb things before.

Lots of love,


when it comes down to it

tiny sparks. drifting into the night. and as the smoke clouds your lungs, you tell yourself that this is all right. if you just don’t think about it…

about the books going up in flames; precious word by word. let your hopes and dreams slip out of your hands, and onto the cold, hard dirt…

but i have to be dreaming. i have to be imagining this. and any moment now i’ll wake up, but this time…. it’ll be worth it.

beautiful. and perfect. as the birds chirp, and the sky begins to grow. and i am carried forward, by a thousand hands of people i don’t know. but as the heat grows stronger against my cracking cheeks… well, i think it’s pretty obvious how this ends.

but hey. maybe it’s not the worst way to go out. when it comes down to it.


there is a hole in my head. dripping out onto the floor. there is a hole in my head. and i don’t know what i’m going to do anymore.

there are forestfires, burning down my cheeks. and oh my god, does it sting…

there is asphalt in my stomach. wet, and placid. ruminating on all the wrongs i’ve done, as reality warps and bends in the midsummer air… and i just want to forget. could we please just forget?

because even after all this time, i still don’t know if i honestly deserve to be here.

and because there’s something controlling me. i can feel it. because i’m nothing more than a puppet on a string, even if these joints are weighed with the mistakes i’ve made. even if these strings are fraying, slowly.

there is a tunnel. a spiraling maze, you can die trying to follow. there is a grove of trees, surrounding me. their leaves starting to whisper sweet nothings, ever-so-softly. there is a tally mark on my wall, of all the things no one should ever have to know about me.

and there is a little closet in my room. where i like to pretend… that the cracks in my skull are something you can remedy.

Guilt has never been an easy emotion for anybody. Has it?

The summer of sixth grade, I lost three whole months to it, over a tiny error that plunged me into one of the darkest places I’ve been in for a long time. I never really got over it, in the conventional sense–there was no moment when I chose to forgive myself. Eventually, I just had to force myself to move on with my life. I did learn some pretty good coping strategies though, which I guess is something.

I haven’t had intense episodes of chronic guilt/self-loathing/what-was-probably-depression-but-I-don’t-know-I-was-eleven since, not to that level of severity where it was making it hard to sleep, and consuming my every waking hour. But it’s still continued to be a difficult emotion for me. Sometimes, I can’t even tell, whether I should be feeling guilty about something or not.

Other times, I know it’s ridiculous–I shouldn’t be beating myself up to the extent I do for such small, inconsequential things as forgetting to answer a text; apologizing to someone as though my life defends on it. And I do it anyway. Because… well, because I can’t help but feel that it’ll keep me safe. I guess that’s just anxiety for you. Sometimes, I do fuck up. I make a mistake, and I learn my lesson from it, and I apologize, and take all the steps I can to make sure it won’t happen again, and then proceed to cut myself off from all social interaction for two weeks because I’m the scourge of humanity now, apparently.

It’s something I and many other people never learned to regulate properly as a child, is what I’m getting at. But I’m working on it.

I don’t have an easy answer–and I don’t think there is one; the process of learning from mistakes is yours and yours alone. But I hope, wherever this post finds you, it brings you some form of relief–from whatever you might be going through.

Lots of love,


butterfly; pinned to the cutting board

you’ll cry out for help. just like you always do. and just like always… no one’s coming to save you.

you’ll rest your hopes, and dreams, on those neon-bright wings and maybe this is all one big dream. maybe you’re going to wake up, because you have to wake up, any fucking second

but you don’t. and instead, all you can feel is the knife poised against your fragile, trembling abdomen. the burning heat… the smoke starting to engulf you… and this is it, isn’t it? so go on. sing me one last beautiful, effervescent song.

but don’t bother trying, little girl. because begging for your life isn’t going to work out for anyone.

Inspired by this prompt. I never pegged myself as the “prompts” type of gal, but I guess I’ve been having trouble writing poetry that does just fall into the same themes I usually choose to write, and just really pushing myself to branch out, and sometimes prompts can be really helpful for that, just in terms of forcing me to step out of my comfort zone. I was considering writing a little note at the bottom of this about what was going through my head as I wrote this, but honestly, I’m really not sure, and I’m still processing a lot of the feelings in this poem–and I think it kinda reads better when the reader is left to interpret it however they’d like to. So yeah, I guess if this was relatable in any way for you, feel free to leave or a comment, and otherwise, I hope you enjoyed. 🙂

Lots of love,



i don’t know what’s up with me tonight. but i just wanted to say that, well… as bad as i am at saying it out loud, i love you, all right?

just in case… i die. or maybe you’re feeling sad, and you just needed to hear that tonight. because i know that everything feels scary right now.

but for what it’s worth, i promise… it will pass. somehow.

and someday, i’ll be able to hold you in my arms, and let that feeling last. without the slightest hint of fear sneaking through my brain.

and we will walk along the side of the highway, eating candy from the general store. stop by the farmer’s market, wander through the graveyard, and make it home just before dark. because god, is some small fragment of normalcy overdue.

but for now, just know that on may 12, 2020, at 12:32 am… i love you.

God, editing this really takes me back–I wrote this what feels like ages ago. I just remember feeling really lonely, and not being able to sleep, and really wanting to get some writing done at 12:32 at night, only I couldn’t think of any good titles–so I just put in the time my computer said, and kind of went from there. During quarantine, reflecting on my relationships was both really healthy and helpful and really unhealthy and destructive–since reflection and nostalgia can pretty quickly lead to obsession for me.

For a bit of context, this piece was written right before we were officially allowed to widen our social bubbles (I think that’s what they’re called but I don’t know, I’m tired) in BC, Canada, my home. But there was a two week period between when that was announced and when it actually went into affect, so for those two weeks I was just feeling really torn and scared and excited, and thinking a lot about my relationships, and what it means to be a good friend. And then… this piece was born.

Anyhow. I’m gonna watch a studio ghibli movie, because they’re on Netflix in Canada now, and I’ve been working pretty much all day today and I want to do something nice for myself for a change–so I should probably get going, but I hope you guys enjoyed this post, and make sure to keep updated on the blog, because I have a big project coming out in the next couple weeks that I’m super excited about, and I’m not telling you guys any more yet, but just know that it’s really close to my heart, and I can’t wait for you to see it. 🙂

Lots of love,