july 13th, 2019

please capitalize / please use / more frequent spaces / spaces in my heart spaces / and my heart pounds / and my heart pounds / and this worry is kind of all i am right now / all i am now / all i am now / newspaper article i hate the look of my face i hate myself / i hate myself right now / so i am redesigning all my book covers on wattpad because i hate myself right now / and i hate that i gave you everything i had and it still wasn’t enough / and you still didn’t understand / and good god it doesn’t even matter but right now it feels like it / and i try to brush past it but my mind / snags / just a little bit / which is better than my skull caving in i guess / which is better than me hurting myself again i guess / and i’ve been through this before / and i know this story off by heart the one / where i destroy myself because for a second / i can pretend i’m destroying someone else / because i just get so angry sometimes / the kind of anger / that feels less like anger and more / like fire / and your whole body is a bomb and you’re inches away from falling apart / please capitalize / like i asked for your opinion on this subject when i fucking didn’t / except i guess i kind of did because the second you gave it to me i instantly defined myself by it / but if you were looking for a sign / i just want you to know / that i’m stronger than my worst days / because i’m strong enough to tell you i have worst days / i’m strong enough that i didn’t ask for you to rewrite my poetry for me / i didn’t ask you to tell me who i am / i do not want you to control me / and you don’t control me / and i understand you have an opinion / and i’m not going to be angry / but i am what i am / and i am going to speak / and i am going to smile / because i’m proud of myself / and because my emotions are not defined by you / and i’m going to try / whether or not you want me to


i’m really bad at dealing with criticism. which is ironic, since, you know, over the  years, i’ve gotten a fair bit. but i kind of think that’s why it’s so hard for me to deal with, to be honest. when you’ve been given so much of something–especially in an unconstructive way, and you don’t know how to process it, the only other option left is to fear it. i’ve been that way for a long time. little incidents are enough to send me over the edge–even being teased in a nasty way, or being touched when i wasn’t expecting it. (i wrote about this a little more in “landslide.”) i didn’t write this poem to be an instruction manual. i just wanted to process these feelings, even in a really messy, panicked form, and get them out in the world somehow–even if i’m the only person who will ever understand this poem completely. so… here you go.


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out there

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you know, when i was younger, they told me i could be a hero i just wasn’t prepared for it to feel like this. like standing in the middle of a tornado wondering how the hell you’re not falling to pieces. and when i was younger, they told me i could do big things in the world i just didn’t realize it would feel like this though. like bleeding on an open stage. like curled up in a silent room trying your goddamn hardest to concentrate. like trying, and trying, and trying to lift the darkness away but it doesn’t feel like it’s gonna ease up more than a little today.  and i wish my head wasn’t broken shards on the side of a highway, and i’m trying hard but it’s just difficult to pretend that everything is ok. because i know its just cat fucking with my head but sometimes, it feels like i’m not even that good at this. feels like this is just another way to pass through the small empty hollow of space in my chest unnoticed. and i’m standing at the edge and the wind whistles past me, and i don’t know how to get it right. get it right. get it right. as in, capture this feeling perfectly. because i’m not perfect. i’m not. which is not the same thing as worthless, i guess. but right now, the roar in my head is so. fucking. loud and at the same time so completely silent. and when you’ve been alone with yourself for so long i guess it’s hard to to fraternize with the voices in your head because even poisoned apples look beautiful right before you fall. you fall. you fall. you fall. and it all feels like it’s coming at me a mile-a-minute.  and i’m standing at the edge of a cliff, with no idea what happens next. and you’re watching. and i guess… this is it.


i wrote this right before a performance i’d spent months planning for and then finished it after, honestly just as a way of processing everything that happened. putting your feelings out in the open period is honestly really hard, but putting your feelings out into the world when you have anxiety is really hard. for the record, i did really well, and it was the first performance i’ve ever done that i didn’t have the profound desire to run for my life. which is, you know, a plus. 😉


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i am on a rollercoaster

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i am on a rollercoaster that only goes up. i am on a rollercoaster and i will make mountains rise from my fingertips and i will goddamn make something out of myself. i will mould statues from my sweat blood and tears and yeah i’ll probably watch as they collapse. and i’ll watch as my organs flake apart. and my lungs puncture. because i don’t know how to breathe and i can’t do this and. i’m not sure whether i can handle this. and i’m not sure whether or not i can do this without something collapsing. this is a suspension bridge and right now all i know is that i’m the first person to ever have walked it and everything is wobbling. i am on a rollercoaster that only goes up, only i’m not sure how true that is. and i’m not sure when you’ll leave, but i know you’ll run. i know you’ll run, and when you do i will know in that moment that every word you say is true. i am on a rollercoaster and i’m not prepared to fall again. because it hurts, and i’m not prepared for this because my mind is an open wound. i am on a rollercoaster trying to tape together the broken pieces of ceramic but they’re slicing me to pieces but please. don’t look at me. don’t look at me. don’t tell me that i’m covered in scabs because last night at 1a.m. i had a breakdown. don’t tell me there are crack lines scattered across my cheeks and i look like a broken doll or something. please. because i am a rollercoaster and i can feel my blood sugar crashing, but somehow i’ve got myself convinced this is happy making mountains out of molehills because that’s all it is, really. because it’s just a meal. just a stomach sore from exercise but somehow it feels more right than anything. i am a rollercoaster and the past is the wolf at the door and i don’t know what i can do to keep it away. i am on a rollercoaster and goddamnit. please. just. get this over with.  just deal with it. i am on a rollercoaster wrapping my arms around my fractured heart as i’m collapsed like a train wreck on the floor. i am on a rollercoaster and i’m staring up at the skylight trying to catch the slightest fractures of the stars, stabbing in through the tears in my eyes. because for a moment, they make me feel loved. accepted, i guess. like everything i am is all right. even though it isn’t.


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how to cure a headache

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so i try to write it out. but the screen light is burning into my eyes and i’m so fucking fed up of this mind. and i don’t want to be tired but it’s all i’ve ever known for a long time, and there’s not enough time. there’s never enough time crumpling your skull like all the things you’ve ever hated about yourself slowly coming to life. so i drink water and have caffeine because the internet says then i’ll be able to think. desperate attempts at any kind of relationship because someone would be better than no one and when your standards are nothing it’s hard to see clearly. and i’m tired of answering questions, and honestly all i want is to sit in a quiet room and not feel like the whole world is shaking. like no monster can pull me out of myself and make everything go numb and dark and a little bit hopeless. and is that a realistic expectation? or am i being too soft again? because i feel like little red riding hood, walking straight into my own mind thinking that it’ll actually be on my side, only it isn’t, because it’s never on my side, and i’m curled up in a ball on the floor of my bedroom. my problem isn’t that i don’t tell other people my pain, it’s that i tell other people my feelings too much. it’s that sometimes i look into the mirror and i’m already acting out conversations i haven’t even had yet. and i just can’t believe i spent my whole life thinking i could actually trust you. and they say it’s so simple, and they say it’s not simple. and the traffic lights keep flashing at me black and white and grey and yellow and stop and go and stop and go and i don’t know what to believe which is probably why my skull is splitting itself open. which is probably why this isn’t the first time this has happened. and i know it seems so much like a story from the outside. so much like dry-paper skin and something you can manipulate. but. for me, it’s… it’s just reality.


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i’m still drinking coffee

i'm still drinking coffee

and i just sort of want to curl up in a ball and forget about everything.  and i just sort of want something to give way in my head and then it would all be okay because right now, i don’t want to feel anything. and i just sort of want to pretend it’s all fine because then i won’t have to think about the way i play this kind of sick game with my mind where  i stack to-do lists on my shoulders and see how much pressure i can take before something collapses. and my hands shake and my knees wobble. and the feelings mash together poisoned breadcrumbs and made up weather. and i’m playing this game with my mind where i wonder how many cups of coffee it’ll take for you to notice me. how many times i’ll be sitting here alone in the empty before you see me. because there’s a voice in my head and it’s not that i can hear it out loud. and i guess it’s just my self-hatred. which is really just me. which is really just the bent burning embers of tears mixed with staring in the mirror begging the stars to give me anything that looks like talent. because then i’ll know who to be. because then i’ll be more than another kid worrying about money. and i’ll gloss over my face for you because i don’t know if i trust you and this is an interview. and i have to be perfect. so here i go. here’s everything i never thought i’d say to anyone sanded around the edges, rose-tinted lenses because i don’t want to scare you with the pitch-black colour of my thoughts as they stare back at me. blinking, once. ever so quickly.


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