Turning Lonely Into Angry And Angry Into Occupied Was A Coping Mechanism For So Long For Me. I Mean,
turning lonely into angry and angry into occupied was a coping mechanism for so long for me. I mean, what else was I supposed to do with all this empty space inside me, hollowed from the inside out by my own mind? I tried to lobotomise myself, tried to extract all the bad like a field doctor without supplies on the battlefield: improvising, desperate, bloody- willing to do anything to just make it stop.
What is the word for a building that is on fire and that building is ruined and gone and everyone else can feel the effects of the smoke and the heat and that building is not a building but a person and that person is the i in my poetry, except it’s my real body that aches. The depression was physical just as much as it was mental.
All that destruction, pain, all the hollowness my illness brought. The “I can’t sleep but I’m so fucking tired”, “I can’t come into school today because the world scares me and I haven’t showered in weeks” and “I’m so sad and so numb” and “im sorry I have to cancel on you but I just can’t face the day”. I felt like I hurt people more than I hurt myself.
It’s hard to forget that part of my life, sometimes it feels like all the darkness never left. It still creeps on me, on days where I’m too tired or haven’t eaten. And I still write about it in the present tense. It’s still here. still here.
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hey lovely i hope you’re doing okay!!!! i see you and your words and i want you to know you’re worth the world
hi, that means the absolute world to me angel. I’m struggling with my physical and mental health right now and it’s making me feel useless because I can’t function. hopefully it passes soon though, it always does :)
thank you for checking in honey
breaking breaking breaking
I ask for forgiveness,
for a sin I haven’t committed.
bow to the pillar of greatness or madness or whatever there is.
hospital bed number 5,
you’re not here. you’re not here. you’re not here.
(I don’t want you to be).
suicide wraps it’s fingers around my neck and whispers sweet nothings,
flashes of blood and the noose and the pills the rush and the silence
the silence the silence the silence the sil
(I can’t breathe)
i close my eyes and wait and wait and wait
it’ll pass, I tell myself, just breathe and let it be.
I hope you find yourself whoever you are
I hope you listen to music and fall in love and go dancing
find your happy ever after,
with ur messy hair and teary eyes
hospital bed number 5.
hid my heart in the soil, waiting for it to bloom. I’m so tired of tending to it, so tired of watching and waiting for it to grow.
a little love, wash with tears, leave in the sunshine. repeat.
there’ll be a day where all this doesn’t hurt anymore. there’ll be a day where I bloom all the way.
When Alexa Demie said “You think a girl like me gon be single for long? You wrong. You think a girl like me gon be trippin for long? Dead wrong. You think a girl like me, fuckin girl like me, goddess like me, gon be tripping? You’ll see, with a girl like me.” I felt that.
“Don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me. My words in the dream are like Hamlet’s ghost, the prophecy spurts old blood, one hundred Ophelias of thought have died. Don’t talk to me, please don’t talk to me.”
— Moikom Zeqo, from ‘Don’t Talk to Me’, I Don’t Believe in Ghosts: Poems from ‘Meduza’ (trans. Wayne Miller)
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love you all it means the world anybody reads my stuff!!!!
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