november 18, 2019

2a.m., and the world rolls out before me. city lights and a pounding heart and trying my best to forget that the future exists because i’m not ready for this. i’m not ready for anything.

2a.m. and i’m trying to believe in myself, but what does that even mean?

2a.m. and goddamnit, when will this be over? because i just want to sleep. want to close my eyes, and feel nothing for a while. but i guess with a mind like mine, that’s not really possible.

2a.m., and for my birthday i would like to live. i would like to not feel the weight of anxiety constantly bearing down on me. black, and white, and black, and white slowly suffocating me.

2a.m., hotel room, and i’m stranded in the foreign city, and it’s all so big, and ruthless, and maybe life is too fast for me.

2a.m. and i can’t believe this is happening. can’t believe that people care this much about me. that this is my moment in the spotlight.  this is my chance to prove it. but after all i’ve done… i’m still not sure i’ll be able to do it.


Wrote this about the night of a big performance I was feeling really nervous about. I was really up at 2a.m., I kept waking up in the middle of the night I was so scared about it. It actually turned out amazing, and I’m so glad I did it, but, well, anxiety sucks, and my brain isn’t always reasonable about things, and also it was the kind of situation where I think most people would have been at least a little jittery about it. Listen to the spoken word version here. Find me on PatreonYouTubeInstagramWattpadTumblr, and on Twitter.

1a.m.

i don’t know how to talk about this part. the part… where i’m not perfect. where i am a kid and i am tired. the part where sometimes, i just want to curl up, and close my eyes and let the darkness bury me for a really long time.

and i am falling, i am falling, i am falling. and maybe i pushed myself off this cliff once upon a time, but it’s not a decision. it was never a decision. it was you, all along, wasn’t it? squirming through my thoughts, and fucking up my head. 

i don’t know how to talk about this part. the part where i am a person. with limits, and flaws. a person who doesn’t always know what the answer is. 

so keep going. keep going. keep going. keep working, and working, and working, like if i grind my own marrow into word count it’ll build the future they never believed i could have from nothing.

until i can barely keep your my eyes open. and i’m not sure, but i think it’s 1 in the morning.

and i will hide in the darkness, and pretend nothing is wrong with this, and i am and productive, and functional, and everything is fine, because if i sacrifice enough pieces of myself, i can still compensate, all right…


I really did write this at 1a.m., for the record. Listen to the spoken word version here

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november 16, 2019

trigger warning: self harm mention

oh god. not again. could you please just shut up? no one has the time for another stupid teenager being dramatic about her problems like this. 

and if it’s passive, we probably shouldn’t worry. because you wouldn’t actually hurt yourself or anything. right, baby?

darling, you don’t have mental illness. you’re not even a writer. i mean, who are you kidding? this is just a phase, and i’m sure you’ll grow out of it someday.

so stuff cotton balls down your throat. ignore the gag reflex. it’s not your job to talk. so would you just goddamn shut up? this is a normal, happy society, after all.

and things are the way they are for a reason, you know. even if they’re stigmatized, and stupid, and horrible. and you’re just a kid. it’s not your job to interfere in the world like this. it’d do you some good to just learn to let go.

let. the. fuck. go. 


I’ve been berating myself for talking about mental health a lot of late. As always, though, I just want to say that this isn’t fact. None of the things in this poem are things I believe, they’re not even things there’s any reasonable evidence for. It’s mental health stigma, and it’s irrational, and it’s stupid, and I’m not sure where I picked it up from, but over the years, it’s something I’ve really internalized.

If these are thoughts you’ve had about yourself, I know not much I say will really change your mind, deep down–you have to do that, not me. But just know that for all the times it doesn’t feel like it, your voice matters, and there are people who would love to hear it. So whatever you’re going through, please keep fighting. And find a crisis line in your area hereif you need it. ❤

-dragonwritesthings

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i don’t want to think about it

it’s not that i can’t keep up. it’s not that i’m lazy. i’m just… tired. and sometimes, the idea of getting up and just doing this whole thing all over again makes me want to collapse on the ground, and stay there. broken.

it’s not that i’m selfish. it’s not that i’m being dramatic. i’m sorry. i don’t understand a lot of things in my life at the moment.

it’s not that i’m scatterbrained. i just have a lot of monsters in my head that really need to be tamed. and i’m just trying to get by. trying to shoulder the stress, and swallow my pride, and somehow make it through the day. all right?

it’s not that i want to hurt you. it’s not that i’m a bad daughter, or a bad friend, or a bad student. and believe me, you’re not the only one who wishes things were different.

and i’m sorry i’m always like this. i’m sorry i run myself down to nothing, and then wonder why i feel like shit. i just… right now, i am beyond exhausted.


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stardust

sweaters and night air and distant traffic, and maybe if i try hard enough i’ll find some way of romanticizing it.

eyes half closed. downing another cup of coffee, and pinching my forearm, and hiding in the 12a.m. darkness.

and what does it say about me? that even after all this time, i’m still trying to figure out what’s an illness and what’s just my personality?

i hope this is not my personality. but at the same time, the idea of being separate from it… it terrifies me. because i don’t know who that person is. because i don’t know where i could fly if i could let go of even a fraction of the weight of it.

and on nights like this, i would like to think i am made of stardust. i am wind in your hair and campfires by the ocean, or anything that makes me feel like i’m not hopeless.

i am not the end of the world. i am not panic, or fear, or the deadweight of loneliness.

i am the sunrise. staring back at me in the mirror. because for all the times you were blind to it, the beauty has been there. just waiting for you to notice.

always.


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