i wrote this at 12:40am, and i kind of hate it

i’m a broken girl now, aren’t i? watching my back, and following the crowd. because you know perfectly well what happens, when you let yourself stick out.

i’m a broken girl now, aren’t i? ripping up my skin like old carpet, tired of these bones. angry, and lost, and alone.

i’m a broken girl now, aren’t i? covered in tiger stripes, and leopard spots, nothing more than a nice fur. a prize to be won. and i’ll sit here, and smile, and kiss your cheek. two for one.

i’m a broken girl now, aren’t i? now i can’t keep going. and the idea of tomorrow instantly makes my shoulders ache, and my eyes slip closed. but watch me. watch me smile for the crowd. watch me grab some duct tape, and say that it’s art as i slap it onto my mouth. because i know what i’m doing. and i will do it well.

even though i want to be happy. and i don’t think i can take this much longer, now.

because i want to be happy. but i don’t know how.

24 degrees

the humid air snuggles up close to me. and stays there. and my blood starts to come to a boil as i look into your eyes, because i hate you even more than i hate myself tonight. furious tears, dripping off my chin one. at. a. time.

and you know, they say the skies are rife with disease. say it’s never going back to normal. not completely. and some days, i can’t help but wonder. if this step could be the butterfly that causes the tsunami. if this is going to be the last time you get to see me…

they say i’m withering. like a parched august flower. and you know, maybe it’s time to empty out the vase. rather than just changing the water.

they say i am parched soil after a long, hot wildfire. crumbling under the slightest pressure. 

and the steam seeps into my lungs, air too thick to breathe. and little girl, is this too much for you?

because if this is enough to scare you… then you haven’t seen anything.

distant memory of a good day

it was a good day. i think. and we went to the city, and we felt like big kids all of a sudden. didn’t we? took deep breaths of the fresh blue air, and ate fancy macaroons, and pretended there was not a problem in the world we couldn’t fix, even though that really isn’t true. 

went shopping, and dressed up  like the people we wish we were. and tried to swallow down the panic. and that was one of the last times i saw you. wasn’t it? 

but it was a good day. a really, really good day. and if i had known what was coming, i wouldn’t have spent it any other way. 

and i just want to go back. want to bury myself in the past, and stay there forever. where things were okay. where every day, i didn’t wake up, and feel this fucking afraid. 

because now i’m just alone. and scared. and unsure. and sometimes, it feels like the floor is crumbling beneath me. and it’s just not like that anymore.


So apparently now I literally only write semi-depressing nostalgic poetry about all the things I miss pre-quarantine. But, I don’t know, I am starting to learn how to cope with this, and make something semi-productive out of a really hard time for me. I haven’t had a complete breakdown in a while, and I’m functioning. I’m surviving. I can’t say I’m doing “good” honestly–although I don’t know if I ever have been able to honestly say that, for a prolonged period of time. But I am doing okay, which I think is kind of all I can ask for right now. I hope you all are doing okay, too.  We’re going to get through this together. I have to believe that. Oh, yeah, and on a completely different note, the first episode of my podcast is hot off the digital press and literally just came out! You can listen to it here.

Lots of love,

dragonwritesthings

hush

purple fog. strobe lights. and the stage unravels slowly. hungry fireflies, closing in around me. and what are they thinking? and are they even listening? and will anyone ever truly understand me? 

booming heartbeats. loud music. high heeled boots. and the bustle of an old, tired city. skyscrapers built of broken bones. and isn’t it all so pretty?

all-too-fast, the future rolling out before me–and i’m just a kid, just a kid with anxiety, and that doesn’t mean i can’t do this. i just need a moment. to catch up, and breathe through the rush of panic. because i’m not perfect. and i don’t think i ever will be.

victory waffles, giddy laughter, and god knows where we are, but i feel like i could lift you up in my arms and carry you to the sky right now. so honestly, whatever.

neon sunsets. and i lie awake at 2am, searing statistics into my skin. i signed my name on your arm, and i still don’t know if i loved or hated it. and i tell myself that all of this means nothing, but it doesn’t.

and i bury myself in layers of tissue-paper curtains, and watch the traffic roll out below me like an unfinished story. because i’m tired. god knows i’m tired.

and right now, i just… i don’t want to think about it.


I spoke at a pretty big event in November–which I’m planning on talking more about later, but, um, all you need to know right now is that there were 20,000 people, and it really impacted me for sure. I’ve been thinking about taking this blog to the next level in a lot of ways of late, and I feel like… I’m at the edge of some pretty big, pretty scary decisions. And that’s equal parts scary and exciting–which I hope were embodied in this poem. I’m definitely going to turn this into a spoken word track over the weekend, so get excited for that, I have some plans for it I’m really excited about putting into action! 

 

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

              drop

                             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.