so… i have a face!

Hey guys! So this honestly is nowhere near a big enough deal to warrant a whole post in its honour, but here I am, making one anyway, because, I don’t know. It feels somehow like a pretty huge milestone to me.

Yesterday on my Wattpad, I did a face reveal–because I’m at the point where, I don’t know, I’m tired of being ashamed or embarrased of my appearance, and the things I do online, and because this summer I’m planning on just working really hard on growing this platform and making not just more content, but different content, more quality content, maybe starting a more typical YouTube channel with vlogs and book reviews and all those things–and probably by the end of the summer starting to run this platform under my real name. This is just a first step, but it means a lot to me, and it’s taken a long year of working on myself and this site to get there. So without further ado, here is my face! (ft. terrible lighting, and very frizzy hair but oh well, at least I tried)

And of course, no face reveal would be complete without the 1am work selfie I don’t actually remember taking ft. my room

Anyhow. I guess…. that is it? Wow.

Lots of love,

dragonwritesthings

february 27th, 2020

to be honest, maybe i’ve spent my whole life like this. wondering if there’s anything in the world that could make me forget that i exist.

and to be honest, maybe i don’t know who i am if i don’t hate myself. but… maybe it’s time i figured it out.

because there comes a point in everyone’s lives when the past is not enough anymore. when i have a choice. to let it define me, or to let me define it. and i refuse to accept that this is all there is.

so for all the times i’ve said it, i’m not sorry any longer. i’m not your damsel in distress, i’m not your punching bag, or your little kid, and i’m not perfect, or invincible.

but i’m not fucking helpless. 


So… to explain the origins of this poem, basically, for a solid four years, I was bullied in school, and I’d be lying if I said that’s why I have anxiety, but it definitely messed me up, and I guess this was just my best attempt at talking back to that part of myself. 

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photo album

and in the photo album, it all looks so perfect. doesn’t it? hallmark smiles, and christmas card messages, and maybe if we keep going at this we can just pretend there’s nothing off about it.

in the photo album, i do not have mental illness. i am just a smiling little girl, with freckles on her cheeks, and the wind in her hair, and in the end, i am nothing more than a pretty face. sitting there.

in the photo album, maybe i am just being stupid. and dramatic. but i still can’t help but feel the fault lines wracking through me, except… maybe this isn’t really me. maybe this brain was never mine, and maybe i am out of place inside this body.

maybe i made it all up. maybe i don’t remember it correctly, because if i was so miserable how can i look so happy?


I went through all my old childhood pictures and videos and stuff on my laptop a couple days ago, and kind of broke down a little afterward. Not in a loud way. It just triggered this chain of denial inside me–like, I’m just lying, I don’t really have anxiety. I guess this was what I wrote to at least attempt to deal with those feelings.

lonely nights, which are only slightly better with sweaters and radio

trigger warning: self-harm

and tomorrow, everything will be different. and tomorrow, i will feel things again. and tomorrow, i will not feel so abandoned, even inside my own head. and tomorrow, you’ll be with me again. but you won’t be with me again. but you won’t even see me this way again. and the self-harm marks are turning into scabs, and i refuse to let those scabs become scars, but in the moment it’s just a lot… more… hard… and tomorrow, i will get on the phone. tomorrow, i will not cry in the closet with a pillow like a blindfold because that way you don’t have to fucking know. because that way, i can just walk right past you, and try to look as much like nothing as possible. but for now, i’m stuck. so for now, i’ll just make myself tea. and put on a sweater. and open google docs, and plug in my headphones, and wait out the storm. as i listen to the radio.


i wrote this one on a really bad night, a couple weeks back, as a way to try and talk mysel f out of a particularly bad wave of loneliness. i really did listen to a radio broadcast while i was writing, and somehow the sound of another human voice, just talking about music and their feelings and the world… it was really calming. and i guess it just reminded me that there were other people out there. and that the world wasn’t ending, and that it would be all right, and in that moment, i needed that reassurance more than anything. for spoken word version, click here.


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august 15th, 2019

there’s a certain way the stars look, when you’re crying in your backyard at 10 o’clock at night because everything is broken, and because i’m falling, and because you don’t understand, and because the sky is blue, and because you’re dying. and because there’s a way that it feels to laugh and cry and slide into tired nothingness, all at the same time. and there’s a way to love you so much my heart breaks in two. a way to love you, so much i can’t handle even being in the same room as you. and there’s a way your eyes feel, after you’ve spent half of today crying and the other half dying inside. and if i were sick in a way people actually understood, maybe i wouldn’t be hiding under the stars trying my hardest to conceal the deepest battle scars. and maybe i wouldn’t have to hate myself under your arms, because everything is spinning. and because it was so stupid, and because i don’t know how to process any of this. and because there’s a way your mind looks when you realize how fucked up it is. and when you realize how sick you are. and when you realize how recovered you are. and when you realize how empty your eyes are. and when the whole world is spinning out of control as you stare up with tears in your eyes at the stars. and when you’re on stage, but your hands are shaking, and your voice wobbles, and you just want to run away. and when your mouth hangs open, and your heart starts to race, and your stomach starts to tear itself apart, and you pinch yourself to stop the pain, and you said it all wrong again, and the floor drops out beneath your feet, and the wind whistles in your hair and you don’t know what to say…


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