september 1st, 2019

and i’m walking home, just a little after sunset. and it’s the kind of day where i can’t help but think that maybe someday, i’ll be free of this. or maybe someday, i’ll at least know how to manage it. maybe someday i won’t have dreams, i’ll have goals, and goals will be real. and my thoughts will be known. and maybe someday i won’t feel like such an idiot for having hope. maybe i can do something in the world. and maybe someday, all of this will be distant. and my lungs will be clear. and… maybe someday, i’ll be able to really say that i’m happy. and even if every day in my life is only ever spent just working towards being all right like that, it will have been worth it. all this pain, and suffering, and stepping of shards of glass and nights spent crying alone. because it’s the kind of day where you try to breathe, but it’s so hard not to feel alone. the kind of day where you just want to run and hide from everything you’ve ever known. and every time you look ahead, the trail feels just a little longer. and the shadows just a little taller. and you can’t help but feel alone. and you can’t breathe, as the sky unfolds above you. but somehow, you find it in you to let go.


this took so ridiculously long to write and edit and stuff. im so glad it’s finished now.


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howl

lighting in my belly / and the sky starts to bend / as i raise my hands / and i just want to make it all stop for a second / and maybe i am not human / and maybe i am just playing pretend / and i will slowly walk towards the edge / and there is no moon / and there is no sun / and there is only darkness / and my head / and the scars i’m tired of wearing / and a number i am fucking fed up of bearing / and i just want to be alone for a second / and i just want to forget / forget / forget / but i can’t forget / forget / forget / and i just want the silence to ring through my ears / and for peace to exist / because i’m tired of being at war with this / this constant buzzing anxiety / and it’s not cute / it’s not trendy / it’s stealing my last ounces of control away from me / and i’ll call out / because i want to get out / i want to get out / i want to get out of this cage / this place / and i’m tired of being sick / i am so tired of being sick / and i’ll scream out / because i can’t handle being alone / and i’ll dig my nails into my arms / trying to get it out / trying to twist it out / trying to stop hurting / this loud / but it won’t really help / and there will be no escape / and i will bang at my skull / trying to get out / because i don’t want to be sick / because i am tired of being sick / and i will grab onto you like a lifeboat / and i don’t know / and on days like this / all i want is to run toward the storm / and let go


pretty sure one of the first poems i ever posted here was called “howl”? so consider this a vaguely sentimental comparison poem and please no one find my old writing and read it! also, i know this is really heavy, so… just in case, find a crisis line in your area here.


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september 30th, 2019

i took you to town on our lunch hour. just the two of us. in the crisp autumn air, touring vintage shops and bookstores like typical high school students. with typical jansport backpacks. laughing, and looking at books and geeking out about things i bet no one else would even notice. and maybe this is what meeting your soulmate looks like. like finally finding someone who speaks your language. someone who lights up every room they’re in. because i took you to town, and showed you around, and… i was happy. for a moment. i was okay. i was the eye between the storms, and i was okay. and i know it’s such a small thing. but it meant the world to me. that day. i hope you know that. i hope you know how many of my favourite memories were made with you. and i hope you know that the falling leaves did not feel like death omens as long as i stayed there. beside you. and i hope you know how much i love you. because i do. i love you. like a sister i never got to have. like the first real friend i’ve ever had. like one of the best people i know. i love you. 


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drain

and i watch you fall. yet again. and even instagram filters can’t make your situation look any prettier. because nothing will ever make it prettier. because… it’s nothing. i mean. whatever. just another year spent in suffering. just another mind went crazy in this fucked up society. as i watch you fall into oblivion, but only from a distance. because i don’t know how to be near this. and because i’m tired. and because my mind is about to explode. and i don’t know. and right now, i can’t handle this. and i’m sorry about that. i’m sorry that i don’t know who you are. i’m sorry i’m always tired. i’m sorry i can’t carry anything else on my shoulders. and i’m sorry this is happening to you. i’m sorry this is happening to all of you. and i’m sorry i can’t take the pain away; can’t lift it up off all of your shoulders, and carry it for a while so you get a break, even if only for a day. i’m sorry i never knew you. i’m sorry you weren’t a happy person. i’m sorry it all ended up this way. and i’m sorry we’re all standing at the edge of the bathtub watching the water slowly circle down the drain. and watching the last fragments of you slowly circle down the drain. and trying our best to avoid the moment when i can’t help but imagine myself just like you, someday.


my grandmother has dementia. occasionally, i’ll write a poem about it as a way of trying to process it. i won’t pretend to understand fully what she’s going through, what it must be like to be the primary caregiver for someone with this illness. i’ve always been the outside perspective, because i never really knew my grandmother that well growing up. the one who saw things logically before they saw things emotionally. it’s not so much a stabbing grief, as a slow, vague sadness that even now, i don’t really know how to process. that’s a simple explanation of what this poem is about, but… i think it’s about more than that to me. it’s about suffering, and illness, and… not knowing what to do about it. i don’t know if anyone will even relate to this, but i just wanted to shove it out there anyway.


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a night with no stars

because it’s foggy, now. and every time i go out, it’s freezing cold, and i don’t remember when the sky fell. and i don’t get it. where my mental illness starts, and where i end. and where my mental illness ends me, and where i end it. and if i can ever really end it. and if i can ever really think like a normal person, or something like that. and i am a puppet. and i can’t breathe. and it’s foggy, and you’ve never felt further away from me. and so i try to run away but the dark just sort of keeps following me, and if i’m being honest some days i don’t want to bother fighting it. because i can’t even see the sky above me. can’t fucking stop taking myself so seriously. and making mountains out of molehills, and somethings out of nothings. because that’s pretty much what it means to have anxiety. and so i’ll call myself anxiety so i can look into the mirror and not have to see myself anymore. and you’ll find me lying there on the floor. begging for help as my ribcage starts to crumple and my soul catches fire. even though i have all the help i ever could have asked for. even though i know no one can save me from myself. but i can’t feel my chest. and my hands have gone numb. and it’s so cold out. and i don’t know how to do that. and i don’t know who the old me was. and i don’t know if she could have handled this or not. but i can’t see myself in her anymore.


a sort-of sequel poem to “a night spent looking at the stars.” (which you can read by clicking here.) because… i don’t know. i use that line a lot in this poem, because it reslly represents where i’m at right now. i thought i was doing better. i really thought i was doing better. i thought i was going to be all right, for a while. i don’t know what it is exactly, but i don’t feel that way anymore. just in case you need it, my mental health resources post is here.


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