Hello!! I wrote this SO FAST but hopefully you guys like it! I think I do, but at the moment I am rushing to make sure it actually uploads in time so sorry for the short preface!!!

This is my name; it’s barely mine.
This is my house; a place I’ve run from.
This is my body; not that I’ve ever let it feel
like mine.
You are good. You are
good and soft and
happy at the worst of times. I have lost
the love you seek, and I’m
So Sorry,
I must have misplaced
it or dropped
it, maybe it shrunk
in the wash but
I swear I didn’t mean it.
I didn’t mean to.
This is loneliness; something I’ve broken in.
This is tiredness; and it’s broken me, in.
This is nothing new; I am nothing new.
There’s nothing here for you.
I’ve forgotten how to feel,
I think.
It keeps moving further
and further away and
I don’t feel
like following it
anymore.
I don’t feel like anything, anymore.
I’m sorry I don’t feel anything anymore.
This is giving up; I never got going.
This is a mess; as am I.
This is an apology. That’s all.

Hey guys!! I’ve got another thing which is kind of long but like… we’re just going with it, it’s fine. I think I actually like it!

This is me: clearing the air.
– I still think about you sometimes.
Sometimes I think about you more than some of the times, and
sometimes every word I say tastes
a bit like you.
– I haven’t talked to you in almost
three months.
I hold that number up like a trophy
above my head, but really
I’m afraid of losing you, even though I know
it was always me who kept us
tethered
together.
– You don’t care, but to me
this feels like a hardcover ending, someone’s
fist in the air after evening detention.
Is this healing?
Is it supposed to feel
this lonely?
– I remembered you were my first
kiss
today.
It’s strange, isn’t it? That doesn’t seem like
the kind of thing I’d be wont to
forget, and yet
– Seeing you feels like ripping myself
in half.
It’s gotten better, it used to be
sixteenths of me
drifting in the wind.
Looking away feels worse.
I don’t know what to do with myself
when you’re around.
– I don’t think I should still
have things to say
to you.
I wish I didn’t, some days.
Most days.
Not all the days, though.
We are fossils in the ground, and yet
I still find myself
digging us up every other
Tuesday to pull myself apart
again.
– This is the sound of my heart
breaking.
This is me: clearing the air.

Hi!! I’m back!! I just fully stopped writing for a little bit, I’m not really sure why, but I’m back cause I was not about to ruin my streak of posting every month. I actually really like this one though, it’s softer than most of my stuff but still a little bit heartbreaking. Like me!! Bad joke, bad joke. Anyways… this is welcome. It was originally prose but then I chopped it up and I’m… not sure if I like it better? But it exists so… here!

I think you’re doing something wrong.
I left and found hands softer than yours, air
lighter than the kind I’ve become accustomed to
choking into my lungs.
They’re loud, you know, but
not like you. Their house sparkles with the messiness of relearning
to love,
of fixing cracks so they don’t show
in someone else’s porcelain. The silence
is never angrier than the person,
and my head had misplaced its smog before
I came back into your arms.
Welcome,
welcome, you say.
Welcome back
home.
I look down at my stinging hands.
I think I’m doing something wrong.

This is the other one I wrote just this morning I think. I have completely lost my perception of time. I don’t mind some parts of it but I think certain parts could be better. I’m still glad I was able to write something though, it is a feat.

I am a small insanity from a sad place.
I’ve been going back
to madness, rebuilding bridges.
I don’t remember
when it got so bad.
I know
there’ll be a tomorrow,
I’m still waiting on yesterday,
but all that exists is
here
and now
and the enormity of my unhappiness.
My hands should be shaking,
why aren’t they shaking?
I’m waiting
on deaf ears
to hear my voice quiver.
See my hurt. Help me, please.
I’ve never felt more empty than I do
when music sounds like noise, when artwork looks grey.
Hi,
I think I’m falling.
Love,
you need to catch me.
Please.
Please.
Don’t let me down.

Ughhhh I have the worst case of writer’s block. The good news is that I think I know how to fix it… the bad news is that it probably won’t be fixed for a while. I managed to squeeze out something mediocre in three hours though, so that’s good? I guess?

1. Sit up in bed. I know it’s been three days since you’ve felt alive, but your phone has been blowing up from people who care about you. Answer them. Don’t look for texts from him.
2. Look around. Your room has never looked as much of a disaster as it does now. In the corner you see the outfit you wore that night. You don’t remember pulling it off. Throw it in the wash. Or throw it out. Or throw it back on the ground to deal with it later. They’re just clothes.
3. Go eat something. If the smell of anything decadent makes your stomach churn, eat a banana. Don’t think of that time you both got a banana split at the ice-cream shop and you dropped it seconds after he paid for it. What a waste of seven dollars.
4. Clean your skin of that night. I know you want to hang onto the last time he touched you, but watching it wash down the drain can be cathartic. Scrub as hard as you can. Rub yourself raw. Scour your lips, your cheeks, your collarbone, your neck, every placement of every kiss. They’re gone now. That’s okay.
5. Decide to go outside. Fresh air is going to feel much better in your lungs than the stale air you’ve been breathing. Besides, your room has started suffocating you with the memories anyways, it’ll be good to see walls that don’t remind you of him.
6. Tie your shoes. Over, under, pull it tight, pull it through to do it right. Blink away his shadow, tying your shoe when you broke your leg and couldn’t reach it. Open the door. Take a breath. You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay without him.

Ahhhh okay so this was inspired by this poem I found on Tumblr called 5 steps to letting her go while she’s still yours! which I absolutely loved. I also needed something to post for this month, but I have no time whatsoever, so I decided to post this, even though I wasn’t originally planning on it. It’s okay. I like the first few lines. Oh, also I do have a new song that I’m really proud of, but recording and posting it takes time which I won’t have for a while. I’ll post it as soon as I can, but for now enjoy this meh piece of writing!

1. Kiss them slow every chance you get, let them know they’re the person you fall asleep thinking about.
2. Leave too many texts unread on their phone, they’ll read them eventually but you’ll never get an answer. Come to terms with that fact.
3. Sully their body with too many touches, you’re not marking them as yours, you’re giving yourself something to fall out of.
4. Bring them to the quietest place on earth, where no one can hear the chaos in your head, and tell them.
5. Close your eyes when you say it, so you don’t see their eyes going wide and filling up with something that’s either reassurance or pity. For some reason you hope it’s pity.
6. Hold their hand while you try not to meet each other’s eyes in the silence that follows. Let go. Let the silence go on.
7. Kiss them one last time, a memory of what you once thought was, and turn away. You knew this would hurt.

Hey look I wrote poetry for the first time in too long! (I refuse to make a Frozen reference, even unintentionally.) Anyways… uh… yay poetry.

I call myself the girl who flinches
(quite noticeably)
at sudden movements,
someone who is soft and quiet and broken.
Kiss me until my bones ache from wanting you, I say,
Don’t worry, I’m not the kind of girl who breaks hearts, I say,
but how can I tell?
Because I grew up in a place where
the earth only turned when someone was yelling
(or maybe it was the other way around)
and I carry the blood of those who spilt that of others in my veins.
I am built of destruction, made in a room where
the sheets were stained with false love.
Who am I to call myself a saint when all I’ve ever known are demons?
Who am I to say I’m not a heartbreaker
in lover’s clothing?
I am a product of angry words and silences,
in all of which I ask myself:
What if there’s a monster hidden within me?

The inspiration for this was literally just fall=fading. I started writing July first, so it’s possible that it gets worse from there, but I really do like the idea for this. I think the whole thing is pretty cool, but I like August the best.

January

January brings the New Year and promises I whisper through my teeth. The earth turns with the lies people tell themselves. It’s cheeks white with frostbite and the ground white with snow. Nothing changes. It’s just another year to trudge through.

February

February is red and pink and nothing at all. It’s greenhouse-grown roses that smell of perfume and valentines no one ever really means. It keeps going. It’s a 4th birthday for some and a sixteenth birthday for others. The roses wilt and life goes on.

March

March feels like a new beginning, all pastel and floral. The world seems brighter, the days grow longer, and the air is crisp and cool. Things settle, and my days are spent watching the snow melt into the ground. A flower peeks through. Things are good.

April

April is rain and blue skies. The pavement’s dark with water, and little kids hop around avoiding earthworms. Things are tired again but a soft, refreshing kind of sleepy. The curtains blow in every once in a while, and the brown grass begins to turn green. It’s wet, warm, and wonderful.

May

May doesn’t exist. It feels like a glimpse of a road sign, a 31-day blur. It’s the idea of spring, a blink of warmth, and a night I don’t remember. Time passes, the world goes on, but I forget the feeling of waking up to the showers it brings.

June

June is splash pads and towels and the sweet smell of cut grass. It’s warm, and it envelops me when I step outside. The air tastes of the puffy white clouds in the sky. I’m wide awake. We skip rocks in the lake and lay on the deck.

July

July is hot and muggy and a blur. It rushes by me and all I remember are memories of the 9 ‘o’ clock sun in the sky and sitting on the front porch reminiscing of better times. It’s full of unhappiness and the sheer wrongness of being unhappy in the summer.

August

August feels like mahogany and melting chocolate. It’s slow and sleepy and trods along day after day. Spending them like molasses on a spoon, I laze about and stay up until 3 in the morning like a challenge to my burning eyes. I sleep until 12 and pretend the night was spent on the town with my friends.

September

September breaks the spell I feel I should have been under, and the guilt for the lack of magic is swept away. Nights grow longer and lazy days cease to exist. Things pick up, and I forget what summer air tasted like. It’s back to the real world.

October

October tastes like mulled apple cider and warmth. The leaves change to bright shades of red and orange until I forget they used to be green. I notice one day that I can see my breath in front of me. It’s friends and sleepy nights and a new kind of happiness.

November

November sneaks up on me. It’s a month of fading. Nothing slows down, things just seem to disappear. There’s no newness, but instead everything seems to recede and ignore me. It’s muted and faint and time seems to melt away from the world.

December

December appears in shades of peppermint and piles of snow. The sky turns grey and the air bites back. It’s not Christmas, just cold, and growing old catches up with me. The world is white and green and the colour of memories I shouldn’t have forgotten. This should feel important. Why doesn’t it?

Ehhhhh, I don’t know if I like it. It’s very meh. I was just playing with formatting and this came out, so it’s not really as much my style as usual.

Hey honey,
;;;;;;;;;;;;;Do you still remember how I pointed at the ocean
;;;;;;;;;;;;;the exact colour of your eyes
;;;;;;;;;;;;;and told you that that was my favourite colour?
Hey honey,
;;;;;;;;;;;;;How long ago was it when we first touched lips?
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;It wasn’t seven months
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;Fourteen days
;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;And three hours
;;;;;;;;;;;;;Was it?
Hey honey,
;;;;;;;;;;;;;Do you wonder how things might have turned out?
;;;;;;;;;;;;;If only,
;;;;;;;;;;;;;Right?
Hey honey,
;;;;;;;;;;;;;Where did all your love for me go?
Hey honey,
;;;;;;;;;;;;;Do you still think of me?
Hey honey,

;

Hey,

;

Meh. Don’t love this one, but I like the concept, so it’s going on here. Notice how I don’t actually say the word red in the whole piece of writing? You would have thought it anyways.

4

The colour of bloody knees and scraped elbows, falling off her bike and band-aids.

5

The colour of silly secrets and pursed lips, mistakes and punishments, and a swirling childish mind.

7

The colour of the words being thrown like weapons downstairs while she cowers, hanging onto the railing, watching them clash angrily in the air before her.

8

The colour of her cheek after she misbehaved, waves of heat and humiliation radiating from her face, the colour of a silent promise to herself, “This is the last time.”

10

The colour of the whispers heard from her pillow, hours after she was supposed to be asleep, furious and weighted, hearing the same words again and again, “But what about them?” and knowing they were never really asking.

11

The colour of her puffy eyes after the news, being told again and again not to tell the other, perhaps to make certain she picked a side, the wrong side.

13

The colour of sunsets and slow adjustments, frustrations and wrathful words flung like bullets in the midst of a war.

14

The colour of passions and lips and flushed cheeks and unwanted roses, the colour of heartbreak and feeling smaller than ever before.

15

The colour of the words written in bloody ink, emptying the hurt from eyes that have already seen too much, felt too deeply, cared too much.