“You Should Write A Novel About Your Life”

no one actually reads this blog so I hope my casual writing dumps here & there somehow, somewhere get appreciated. 🤍 xx

My mom’s worried

my mom’s worried that I haven’t eaten for the last 24 hours, she’s right— I haven’t.

probably even longer.

she’s right to be worried, I mean, if I was her I’d think I was starving to d!e. she’d be right.

I think she knows.

Does a mom know? Does she want to know?

I’m at a point where I don’t care. I just want to end my misery— by hoping I drown in a pool of my tears, waiting for the water to burn my skin until it uncovers the raw bone that’s peering out of my elbows every time I breathe a bit harder.

Just let me end it already.

I write letters that never get written back.

I write letters that never get written back. I send love that is never received. I say thank you to those that don't appreciate it. I say things that don’t mean as much to the person they’re said to. I run when things get hard. I’m quiet when I feel out of place. I roll my eyes when I’m too scared to speak my truth. Maybe it’s time to burn those letters. Leave those rooms. Speak with my chest. Run into the fire and face everything head on. But here I stand. Quiet. Alone. In my own head as it’s always been.

When will it be my turn?

when will it be my turn to get a call, a text from you saying you appreciate me?

I don’t know. But these days seem grim, and my solitude is my only solution, resulting only in sadness.

maybe I’m a monster on a hill, a teddy bear trapped in a dollhouse, a ring settling for a pinky. and everything I do isn’t enough for us

I hope— one day I won’t overthink this like I always do.

comfortable with being forgotten

I’m getting comfortable with being forgotten, at least, I hope I am. There are moments I stay up late at night crying, wondering if you’ll ever be the first to text me if I’m alright. But then again, I don’t know if I even come across your mind.

I wish— I wasn’t this way. I wish— you cared when i needed you most. And I know you say you do, but I don’t actually feel it, see it.

So now maybe it’s time to be comfortable with being forgotten by you. I hope wherever your new path takes you, you’re happier than when you are with me.

Depression makes me feel like a dull knife, you know you can still use it but it’s still dull even after it’s sharpened. Try as much as you can, use as much force as you need but the knife will always be, dull. Maybe you’re too lazy to sharpen it thoroughly, maybe you’re too attached to let it go. So it sits there. In your drawer beside the newly sharpened knives, unused, useless, and there in memoriam.

your eyes are swollen.

yes I know, I’ve always been this way.

your wrists are scarred.

yes I know, they’ve been holding my pain.

your cheeks are hallow.

yes I know, my stomach has been turned inside out.

your ribs are showing.

yes I know, they poke out of my shirt.

Now you know, I’ve just always been this way. and this is how things have always been.

I remember

I remember how he looked, his hand on my bed and the other on my shoulder. His yellowed thick smile laced with the smell of beer and sweat.

I remember the words whispering out of his mouth, silent and slow— as the door remained locked. My anxiety creeping up above my shoulders and staying constant in my bones.

I was four, I was nine, I was ten, I was thirteen, I was twenty-one.

I was twenty-two,

I remember a cop ever so silently looking me up & down. My anxiety shaking my hands and reeling my stomach into itself.

I remember, everyday, I remember.

I believe in you! And unicorns, but mostly you! Just wanted to send you a smile today :)

Thank you lovely!

every time

every time I think I’m doing a bit better, someone has to stay something ten times worse that makes me regress back into the depths of hell that took me so long to get out of.

or maybe I’m just blaming everyone except me. so like always, the guilt eats me up inside.

I wish you were nicer, I wish I was too. But it’s funny when I speak like you do, then I’m the b!tch instead of you.

Your eyebrows raise with questions that are rhetorical. But when I follow suit I’m suddenly the b!tch that gained an attitude.