but it’s just human nature

and so brush off the red flags with positive affirmations, and a flick of your finger. you’re being dramatic. it’s just human nature. and i don’t think you’re supposed to have something to live for.

pounding drumbeats, and angry music, and standing on the edge, and footsteps against cork floor. and what are you doing? you shouldn’t feel angry like this. shouldn’t be losing control like this, and please stop telling yourself there’s nothing you can do about it.

you did something wrong. and you deserve to be punished. clenched fists, and a churning stomach.

they did something wrong. and they deserve to face your wrath for it. fast breathing, and a throat sore from screaming.

and look at this hole you’ve dug yourself into. look at the fires you’ve lit, and the homes you’ve torn up from the ground, and good god. what have you done to yourself?


I wanted this poem to feel really jarring and, I don’t know, rhythmic? A little like a heavy metal song in poetry, if that makes any sense. I don’t really know where it came from, it was just an empty file on Google Docs I opened up at school and then a couple days later I wrote this just based off the file name. Of late, I haven’t really been struggling with anger like I have in the past–but, well, I’ve been in some pretty bad places in terms of anger, and I wanted to just try and write that out.

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hold you

i wish i could hold you. wish i could turn the pain into beauty, and lay flowers on your shoulders and slowly wind the clock forward to a time when cars fly, and the sky dances, and we’re no longer broken. and i know things wouldn’t be perfect, but i’m tired of stitching myself together, scar by scar. tired of looking at myself in the mirror and falling apart on the bathroom floor.

i wish i could suffer the blows with you, and wipe away your forestfire tears, for as long as you need me too.

i wish i could write you a happy ending, where you don’t have to deal with any of this. because i hope you know every single day how beautifully imperfect you are. how you are so much more than any wound or scar. 

i wish you knew how much i care about you. because maybe i don’t know your name, or maybe i do. but i do know that you’re human, and you’re worth it, okay? you’re worth the space you take up. you’re worth all your flaws, and bad days. and we need you here. so please.

stay.


Listen to the spoken word version here.

the slumber party

trigger warning: self-harm. need to talk? crisis lines are here.

let’s make up secret languages, and i’ll bury my head in your shoulder trying to cut out the world from existence. self-harm thoughts and little wounds, but it’s all right. i keep band-aids on me at all times.

let’s stay up late or watch tv or get lost in the forest. and when you’re not looking, i’ll sneak out back and let the panic crush my skull, because i can’t handle this. all right? but it’s okay. i don’t want you to know.

and i’ll fall apart without you. because i love you, which means i don’t even know who i am without you. which means i’ll crumble the very second i start to doubt you. 

and you know, when i was a kid, i used to keep the broken things. odd socks, and shattered mugs, and containers without lids. tuck them in drawers in my room, and tell them they were worthy. because maybe, if i could surround something with the same love i wished i could give myself, it would fix me.

i remember, how i used to feel so empty. like a hollowed-out seashell, left behind as some souvenir for another shattered reality. and to be honest, some days, i still feel that way.


This seriously isn’t about anyone in particular–it’s mostly just about something I do in general. When I meet a person who makes me feel loved or accepted, I guess I latch onto them really easily, because of how terrified I am of them leaving. Also, that story about me as a kid is true–I really did used to do that. 

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dial tone

the pulsing groan of the dial tone works its way through my mind. and if i watch enough tv, maybe i’ll still be there to see the world vanish softly, and melt into my tired insides.

go away. go away. go away. just leave me alone in my fucking garbage dump of a brain. because i’m not a person anymore. i’m just a diagnosis, or a label, or something like that. and if this illness defines me, then does that mean i need to be sick to be happy?

does that mean no one really loves me? does that mean i can’t even trust one fucking word you’ve told me? or is this all just my mind, messing with me?

just make it all stop, okay? i’m not ready yet. i’m not ready for any of this. i’m not ready for time to exist, and i’m sorry.

but i don’t think i can do this.


I wrote the original draft of this poem really late at night, and I’m not sure what it’s about, but it’s definitely a pretty good picture of the weird mental state I’ve been in of late.

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ash

and / i can’t breathe / and my stomach twists / and my capillaries fracture / and it all crumbles slowly / and i know what you think but can you really trust them? honestly? / and my chest shatters awkwardly / and my body catches fire / and now i am dust in the wind / and i’ll try to scream / but i don’t think anyone’s gonna hear it / and i am broken-down bones and deserted lungs /  i am the epitome of trying to pour from an empty cup / and you must be so proud because / you did it / you really / fucking / did it / broke me apart / tore me down / fallen trees and power’s out / and all i want in the world right now is to get you out. 


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