why don’t you love me?

i think maybe / you’re leaving me / i think maybe / floating icebergs and cloud castles a billion miles away from me / i think maybe / i’m nothing without you there to validate me / my heart sinking through the floorboards / because why don’t you love me? / vanishing into the walls with the hope i used to always carry on me /  never to be seen again, i guess, maybe / because it feels like a disappearing kind of day / because my chest is empty and the world is on fire and i sort of want to ruin something, okay / so better start with my health / and i miss the things you made me feel / more than i actually miss you yourself.

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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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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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what if i do something wrong

bolts of panic and underslept eyes. and i don’t really feel motivated to do anything, but i don’t have a choice about this tonight.

and my heart won’t stop pounding, and my thoughts won’t stop racing, and maybe i should have taken my as-and-when-needed medication.

and i can’t breathe. i can’t even think clearly. it’s been a long time since the anxiety has gotten this bad, honestly.

and i just want to feel happy when i’m supposed to feel happy. and scared when i’m supposed to feel scared. and angry when i’m supposed to feel angry. i want to know when i’m supposed to feel angry. i don’t know when i’m supposed to feel angry. i don’t know what’s going to happen to me.

because what if i do something wrong? what if i mess up for the whole world to see, like this is your moment. this is your chance to etch your name into a small footnote of history. so let’s watch as you fall. let’s watch, as you make an idiot out of yourself in front of everybody.

because they’re just using you. i’m honestly surprised you haven’t figured it out already.

I don’t really think this poem was written for a specific thing in my life–just my fears surrounding being supported in general. 

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october 28th, 2019

this is the perfect time to stop answering my text messages. as i’m clawing myself out of quicksand. screaming for someone to help. but no matter how hard they try, no one can save me from myself. 

because i’d rather be sad and alone than out of control. rather be respected for a lie than infantilized for a truth buried deep. down. inside.

so call the lightning bolts a show of nature. ignore the cities burning down across my cheeks. let me cry in the corner and please just ignore me. i’m begging you to ignore me.

because i never asked for you to love me. and if this is how you care about me than maybe i don’t want you to care about me.

maybe i was right all along. maybe i’m just… one of those people who’s made to be lonely.

I’ve been really struggling with cutting myself off of late. I’m normally not that kind of person, like I’ve probably said in earlier posts–communication is one of my strong suits, so it’s weird to be struggling so much with it. This was written and shoved in my queue ages ago, probably around the date the title says, but even a month after having probably written it, this still hits really close to home for me. 

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