just let the deep breaths wash away all of it.

because maybe it’s healthy. maybe it isn’t. but i’ve bottled up the memories in old jam jars and packaged them up in battered amazon boxes, stuffed them to the back of the closet, and i just want this to be over. i’m done with it. 

so we’ll toss my mind out to sea, okay? walk miles and miles just to find the ocean, balancing the past on our shoulders. and why can’t you get out of my head? i thought i was fine. i thought this was over.

and we’ll sing songs around the campfire, and watch as the past starts to burn into the sand. because i don’t want anything to do with it anymore.

scatter the ashes. throw them in the garbage, stomp them down to nothing on the kitchen floor. and never bring it up again.

because i told you. i don’t want to think about this anymore.

I guess repressing stuff is a lot easier than dealing with it. And, well, of late, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been struggling with that of late, more than a little bit. Being distanced from the world, like most people are right now is giving me a lot more time to dwell in the past and worry about the things that happened to me then repeating themselves. It’s been a little better this week than it was when I wrote this, but, um… yeah. Anyhow, how are you guys doing? Has anyone else been feeling like this of late? I’d love to know your experiences in the comments, and I’m really glad to have this blog as an outlet during these times ❤

i don’t want to think about it

i’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, but hey. at least i can drown my thoughts out with high quality television. or books. or youtube. or anything. anything to make it stop. because when you hit the pause button, how come it all comes to a stop, and the thoughts in my head start to pick up, and suddenly i’m falling off a cliff so watch me drop



because i don’t want to think about all the things in this world i don’t know. about the emptiness thrumming in my bones, or about how no matter how much i accomplish i still feel like i’m 11 years old, not sure who i am, and drowning in my own lack of self control, and god. could someone please just call me beautiful?

and i’m having trouble keeping my eyes open, but that’s all right. i mean, i’m pretty sure it’s normal.

and it’s all healthy, teenager stuff. you just need to learn to let go, let go, let go. jump off the ledge, and feel your hair whip in the wind, feel your mind start to bend. and just… just try to forget about it. because it’s not going away any time soon.

Wow, reading and editing poems I wrote ages ago is… a trip. It’s weird–how everything has changed and yet still stayed the same all at the same time. It sounds dumb, but I miss even feeling like this.

don’t fuck up / finals day

and i don’t want to be here / ok / and i honestly can’t wait until high school is over / these days / because don’t fuck up. don’t fall, okay? don’t let them see you crying on the floor / like the weak thing you are / just hold yourself together / try to look for the sunny weather / even though you forgot to care what you looked like today / and you slept in / and you’re a fucking mess / and this whole thing is just one fucking mess / isn’t it? / and i am so tired / of trying to make everything look seamless / and beautiful / and perfect / tired of pretending this is true / because it isn’t. / and i feel like crying / and i look like shit / and i’m sweating nervously / and i feel like the world’s biggest idiot / and my cheeks are on fire /  and i. am. so. exhausted.

I wrote this on the day I wrote my math final–which actually went super well, but I also had a massive panic attack before that happened, which lead to me not being able to breathe for a good half an hour and kind of feeling paralyzed. In retrospect, now that my school is closed and I can’t even see my friends, I miss it like hell, but at the same time… it was hard and stressful and scary. And I guess it helped to put it on paper, at least a little bit.


some fucked up kind of lullaby

hey. it’s ok. i’m not sleeping either. but can’t you remember? when they used to treat you like you could shatter? when your mom would make you lunch, or drive you to the bookstore, or sit outside your bedroom door and sing lullabies for hours.

you’re older now, of course. no one does that anymore. and i guess i’m really that easily manipulated, because i’ll do anything to feel that way. even just… for one moment more.

and i don’t… i don’t know who you are. but the sky is clear tonight. and as the moonlight streams through my window, it’s hard not to miss the stars.

and isn’t it so strange? how something that used to mean so much to you when you were little can seem so dumb and fucked up under the light of day? 

and don’t you remember? when you were six years old, and everything finally fucking shattered?

or the time you tried to run away, 2016, pouring rain. and your neighbour found you, and walked you home again. and don’t you remember? how embarrassed you felt. and how hard you cried, and how much you hated yourself…

it’s okay. you’re safe. it’s over now.

I really like this piece, I might turn it into a whole spoken word thing! I’ve been thinking I’ll probably start posting a lot more YouTube content soon. Um, I think I wrote it at, like….. probably midnight, after my light was off, on my phone, too wired to sleep. That’s how I imagine it anyway. I often get really emotional late at night, and for some reason it tends to bring back a lot of really… I don’t know, tender and pretty raw memories. When I was little, my mom really did do that. I couldn’t sleep, because of my anxiety, so she’d sing me lullabies at the doorway of my room until I nodded off.

I just… being a kid sucked–but I just miss those  little things. That somehow, for a moment, amidst an ocean of fucked-up-ness, made it okay.

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acoustic version

i think that’s what i saw in you. because they were autotuned, but we were the real version. internet memes and nights with five hours of sleep, dumb text messages and yesterday’s outfit.

you are acoustic. you’re the most lovely version of a song we’ve all heard over and over again only this time i get it

and whatever it means, i think our little group feels like home to me. and sometimes, i still don’t know. what it means, to love someone for what they are, and how to be a good person, and i know that sometimes i do a pretty shitty job at it. and i know we’re all a mess. and i know i’ve written this stupid poem before, and i’ll probably write it again.

but i think we’re gonna be ok. in the end. and i don’t know what’s going to happen, but… we’ll get there eventually.

no matter how hard. and long, and shitty the road is. and i know. i know. i know. i’m not gonna try and romanticize it. 

but we’re gonna be ok. i promise.

This is somewhat tooth-rottingly fluffy, but I kind of like it anyhow to be honest. It brought a smile on my face, there really is nothing like some sappy friendship poetry to cheer up your 11:49-at-night-while-editing-face. I’ve been writing a lot of heavy vent poems too lately, and going into some really dark places, so I felt like we could all use… some light right now. I’m actually thinking about doing a video sometime soon where I, like, literally just hang out with my cats and talk about books and movies I really like and maybe answer some questions if you guys want me too.

I’d tell some really big story about this poem’s genesis, but to be honest there really isn’t much to say? I think I wrote it on a school computer, probably after listening to “I Lived” by OneRepublic or another one of those mildly cheesy motivation songs that make me feel for about three minutes like everything is right in the world. It’s been in my queue for ages, so, um… here you guys go. 🙂

Lots of love,


Find me on PatreonYouTubeInstagramWattpadTumblr, and on Twitter.