the flowers still grow

and honestly? maybe the worst part about this is that i don’t know anymore. what’s me, and what’s just my brain. and what does that leave you with? when you can’t trust your own judgement? when there’s so much doubt in your head that you feel like you’re going insane?

so i’ll paint the sky a cerulean blue and i’ll smile, and draw stick figures and cute flowers and pin it to our fridge and be your perfect daughter, and it’ll all be for you.

and our tears will melt across our cheeks and i’ll call you, at 11:00pm in the bathroom and i’ll tell you how much i love you, but i don’t think you’ll ever truly know.

and i’ll try to write it out. i’ll try to show you, even with my shaking hands. and my broken bones. 

and honestly, sometimes all i know is that the wind blows through the leaves and at least for now… the flowers still grow.


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january 10th, 2020

looking down on my own cage from far, far away, and dear god, why can’t you just leave me alone?

slipping out of my own skin, ever-so-slow. and it’s all so stupid, and messy. and i don’t want to go outside, okay? i don’t want to fucking know.

because there’s nothing i can do anyway. because my mind is on fire anyway. because maybe mental health is just an entitled first-world construct anyway. and maybe i don’t deserve to be happy.

maybe… maybe this is it. maybe this is where the world ends, and the sky collapses, or maybe it’s just my brain being melodramatic. but if it is… i can’t tell the difference.


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stop

trigger warning: suicidal thoughts. need to talk? crisis lines are here.

unfinished shitty poems, and i’m spinning around in circles, and please leave me alone.

because i am sick, and broken.  a porcelain doll, falling apart on your staircase at 2 in the morning and i think i want to die, or maybe i’m just sleep deprived, but either way i can’t stop crying. and either way, boy does time fly, when you stare at the stars after midnight and just want to disappear inside.

and so my head becomes the hamster wheel. and i’m just wondering how long it’ll take before i just lose it. and i don’t know what i’m doing, but i wish i could stop doing it.

and you really don’t need to care like this. because i don’t want to be loved. i don’t want to be noticed. not… not like this.


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avoidance strategies

if i don’t think about it, i won’t have to do anything about it, at least for tonight. and that’s enough for me, okay? just give me one more day, where i don’t have to be afraid of who i’ll become when i turn and face the light. 

if i don’t think about it, i’ll have just a little longer to hold the world in my hands, and let it stir in my chest. let it make me so scared it’s hard to breathe and did i ever not feel this exhausted?

and you see, my mind is feeling like an electric fence today. and every step forward i take is some kind of calamity, and today, my mind is endless pounding gravity, dragging me down, down, down, crushing hopes and dreams into a solid ball of matter until there’s nothing left i remember. 

today, my mind plays guard. and i am its prisoner.


Check out the spoken word version here. Find me on PatreonYouTubeInstagramWattpadTumblr, and on Twitter.

i am tired, and there is so much darkness

trigger warning: suicidal thoughts. need to talk? crisis lines are here.

there are cracks in my skull. there is an earthquake in my bones. i am a burden. i am worthless. no one loves me and i am alone.

and i shouldn’t be feeling like this. i shouldn’t even be thinking about this. i don’t think you even know how much time i spend wondering about this. about what would happen if i vanished. if i went for a walk, and never came back. and would you even miss me? really? because i wouldn’t.

because sometimes. it just feels so heavy. and i just wish i could lift these bricks off my shoulders. wish i could lie down, and close my eyes, and actually go to sleep at a reasonable time. 

but i can’t do that tonight.


Based off some intrusive thoughts I was having a while back that I really needed to let out. I know parts of this poem are a little melodramatic, and to be honest that’s kind of intentional. When I wrote it, my anxiety brain was being really melodramatic. I don’t think it’s true, but I needed to write it out anyway. Just… to see that.

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