Me? Posting on the very last day of the month so I can say I’ve kept my promise? I would never!!

Jokes aside I’m kind of proud of this one, I think it turned out pretty well considering how little I’ve been writing lately. I really need to get back into it but I’ve been incredibly pressed for time. I’ll work on it, promise. Anyways, enjoy!!

You don’t ask me how I’m doing anymore, and that’s probably for the best. It means you’ve got more interesting things happening in your life than wondering exactly how fragile I’m feeling on any particular day of the week, and isn’t that something to be thankful for.

A lot’s changed in the last while; I’m relearning how to talk to you without losing my mind, and you’re telling me half-truths about the life you’ve been living. It’s okay, I was prepared for an unloving—just not how much it hurt. 

We talk about the weather and I cringe at the cliche, you’re changing your address and I’m breathing through it. We flinch at familiarity and at the newfound awkwardness between us; I can’t figure out where to put my hands and you’re talking instead of conversing, playing with your drink instead of looking at me. 

It’s been a while, and you don’t remember to ask me how I’m doing. 

Better. 

I’m doing better.

I think this is my seventh anniversary of this blog, so here’s a post I wrote just recently!!

How much do you remember from that night? I still wake up sweating sometimes, seeing my own madness stare up at me, knowing without a doubt that it will be my job to save you. I always thought you were going to be the one to make it out unscathed, and feeling you writhe in my arms ruined that fantasy. You’re doing better these days, I think. You don’t need to be held down anymore, you can see the future come at you without flinching, and you are braver than I think I was before you came along. Even so, I am terrified of waking up one morning to learn that you have once again started to clench your fists with each breath, to learn that I am loving a person you can no longer stand to be. I need you to know that every time the darkness comes down, it will lift again. That there are ways to keep the fog at bay, to make sleep come more easily, to make breathing less laborious. I need you to know that if there is one thing I do before I go, it will be to save you. I will save you. Please, just let me save you.

Oh my goodness, I am so very sorry but it has been almost a year since my last post. My life has changed quite a bit in that year, but hopefully I can bring this blog back to life. I haven’t been writing as much as I used to, but that’s definitely something I want to get back into; it provides so much catharsis. This piece is inspired by a random Tumblr post about how Mary must have felt after watching her son be sacrificed again and again. What about her sacrifice?

I suppose this was always how it was going to be; a mother losing her child, over and over and over again. Is this what it means to be chosen? I have been folded over by grief many a time, is this the true reward for faith? I am tormented by images of him strung up and suffering—I am falling to my knees yet again. Oh, God, is this how you protect us? I am at the edge of understanding, I need some sort of reassurance that you are still there. I have been good—I can be better. Open your arms to me and I will give him up yet again. Make yourself known to me and I will bring this lamb to the slaughter myself. I am an obedient witness to you, I will trust that the plan is in place. My pain is simply a test, I know. And his? His is a blessing.

I am a breaker of promisessssss, but that’s okayyyyy! I have these songs I desperately want to post but putting them up takes EFFORT and I am supremely unmotivated. I will try though! I really will!! Until then, here’s something fun I wrote!

I think I have more kindness in my heart than you deserve, but that speaks more to my character than it does yours. I want to help, to fix this confusion between us, to right all the wrongs you’ve littered on my way to you. I will build this bridge for you, haul the bricks back and forth until my arms give out, but I will not hold your hand as you cross it. I will stand on the other side with love and understanding, and I will wait for you to meet me here. I will not watch you stumble, I will not wait to see you change your mind. I will congratulate you if you make it, and I will busy my hands if you don’t. This is my bridge to build, yours to burn. And you’ve got a match.

Ahhhhhh I broke my record of posting every month!! I’m so sorry guys I realized at like 8am this morning, jerked awake and grieved a little bit. To make up for it I’m going to be posting more often this month because I do have a backlog of things to post, I just kept putting off the actual posting of them. I know, shameful.

There are many things I should be drowning in, but here I am, safe, with sand between my toes. It’s not easy to be here, I can feel my lips try to cough out a sob and come back dry. I am breaking open, but it is a peculiar type of destruction, something cosmic, liminal. I am a black hole, dissolving inside myself and leaving only emptiness in my midst. I feel myself staring at the shipwreck of me and misplacing my grief, averting my eyes. This is painful, right? This ache inside of me… where is the ache inside of me? What have I lost?

Hello hello I have very little to say except that I hope you all enjoy!!

I feel like I’ve lost my ability to write, like nothing that spills out of me is a truth I want to put out into the world. Yes, I am angry, but I am also deeply, horribly sad. Yes, I am lonely, but I am also learning what real love feels like, and it tastes sweeter than the honey you coat my lips in. I am afraid of bringing more pain onto this soil, but I feel like I have breathed in enough smoke to light a fire of my own, if only just to keep myself warm. I think I deserve to be warm. This is a poem about confusion. There is no one word I could say that would sum up the insanity of existing in this moment, but I am trying. I’m trying. 

I’ll keep trying.

Hey guys! I know it’s been a while and I’m really sorry, things have just been completely insane here. School has been beyond hectic, and I’ve been struggling just to keep myself functional. However, we are nearing the end of the month, so here’s something I typed out a couple weeks ago. I hope you guys enjoy!!

We are all filled with words we refuse to say. I wonder how some people can scream theirs with such confidence, shoulders squared and chin up, daring the world to bite back. It took me four years to notice they were there, six to learn to pronounce them, eight to finally wrap my tongue around the sharp edges and spit them out into the world. I want to break apart the ugliness into letter fragments, throw them away and bury them somewhere no one will ever find them, hide the evidence of the crimes that have been committed. I want to walk away from that cowering girl in sparkly silver shoes and let her fall apart, let the years separate us. I’m a flinch away from becoming that girl again, an angry word from relearning her name, her weakness, her flaws. I want to wipe her from existence, take her voice and throw it into the void. There’s no room for this here. I refuse to tell you what happened to her. Hers is a story I refuse to repeat.

Hi everyone!! I haven’t been writing so much lately, but I wrote something! Finally! This is about something that happened recently, and I think I did a decent job of putting it together. Anyways, here we are! Enjoy!

This is lonely, and I am lonely, and this is no one else’s burden to bear but mine. I will close myself off and keep the poison from spreading, wrap a belt around my collarbone and keep the darkness to myself. But this is not a game. You grew up happier than me, safer than me. You still trust the world not to bite you, and who the hell am I to tell you it’s eaten me up in my sleep? But this is not a game. We are not in the same boat, we do not drown the same. When the world makes us angry, you will fight while I will cower. I will fall apart and wring out the ugly parts of myself, the unacceptable parts, the parts I’ve learnt to hate. This is not a game. We don’t laugh, here. It is too dark to light up with happiness. I love you, I love you, but this is not a game. This is not a game.

This has never been a game.

Hello hello everyone!! 2020 is almost over and DEAR GOD are we ready for it to be in the history books and over already! I know I am. Geez I really really hope 2021 is better because I don’t know what I’ll do if it isn’t! Here’s something I wrote for the new year!

I have been here before. It’s always the same story with a new ending, someone’s final hope at redemption and my longing for salvation. This is the last time I will be here, in this chair, waiting for the clock to strike twelve, painting my lips red with ambition for the new year. I will not stain anyone else’s lips tonight.

This time might be different, I think. There is no boy on my arm tonight, and I’m not wishing on behalf of anyone but myself. I think that’s a good thing. I’m happier this time around, some colour’s come back to my cheeks and the world feels softer at the edges. I don’t need to sully some boy’s collar tonight, I’m taking myself back from the world, sitting up. I have fought through sixteen and seventeen, watch me keep going. This is my fight. See me smile.

Hello!! I wrote something!!! It’s a little bit different from my normal vibe, but it’s probably because I’ve been inspired by other people. I just attended a poetry reading and the people who read were absolutely ELECTRIC, I loved all of their styles. That’s kind of where this came from, it let me unlock some stuff that I really did need to write about.

I was fifteen the first time I looked love in the mouth and seventeen when I stepped away from its challenge, declaring myself unworthy. You are all the reasons why. It is one thing to step away and be cruel, look someone square in the face and take a swing. It is quite another to experiment; keep pulling farther for longer, trying to see which one of us was going to snap. It was always going to be me. You’re still my definition for love; I think of tears and stretching when I think of you, reminisce. Sixteen was a breaking down, you know? A canvas of black and white, staring at the ceiling and forgetting how to breathe. It takes a special kind of robbery to steal air from blood, withhold it and ask me to get on my knees. Such foolishness, what a mistake. This was not love, this was a pulling-apart, a reckless jerk at something vital.