Tuesday, June 28, 2011

if you are sad

the good people don't make it worthwhile
but they sure make it easier

let them

Sunday, June 26, 2011


I want things again.
And I really want them, I care about them, I have enough energy to try and get them.
So this is about all the things I want, to remind me if I ever forget again.

I want to dye my hair hot pink
I want to appreciate people and personalities
I want to finish the HSC and do well, not because I need to but so I can be proud of myself
I want to kiss someone who I actually care about
and when I do I don't want to be numbed
I want to act
I want to read
I want to write
I want to travel
I want to meet people
I want to experience
I want to fight for who and what I believe in
even if that means breaking the rules sometimes
I really want to remember the inherent goodness of humanity
even if it's hard to see sometimes
And honestly, part of me
wants to go back
but not for a bit
And until then, I want to remind others about what I so easily forgot
Thank you for everything
You all helped me a lot.

Saturday, June 25, 2011


The thing is, she had realised she was asleep. After more than 6 months, by an almost-year, she had realised and often consoled herself with the fact that all sleeping things must wake (and if not it is said to be the best way to go, dying in your sleep). And I know that when you realise it is a dream you are meant to be able to control what happens, and she tried -I swear she did- but she found the dream slowly fell into a nightmare around her. And a part of her relished the fact that she was slowly losing faith, that she had lost control. So she dreamt.
She dreamt she was running from something she couldn't escape
                               being torn apart
                               lost in the wind                              
                               and the whole time falling, falling, falling,
and then, just before she hit the ground, she woke up.

Friday, June 24, 2011


It's funny because the whole time she slept, she felt tired. 
 I don't know why she fell asleep, or when, but she did.
At first it was sporadic, but as time wore on she would be unconscious for days at a time, and then one day, she didn't wake up. And it stayed like that for a long time.

Weeks passed. Months.
She was unaware of the exterior world, instead tuned in solely to this battle raging within her, these dreams and thoughts and emotions that swelled internally. And on the outside, people tried to wake her, first casually and then in frustration, by the end they could not hide their panic.
Eventually, she began to sleep-walk, and that eased their worries. Allowed her to sleep in peace.

Letterhead #10.5

Dear Bella
Last night
(at the mexican fiesta)
there was a moment,
when i looked at you and thought
"why is she doing this?"
and the only thing i could think was
-i know why i'm doing it.
but i didnt think you were unhappy.
what aren't you telling us?
are you okay?

Sunday, June 19, 2011

i promise

                                             OF YOUR WRITING
                                             OF YOUR APPEARANCE
                                             OF YOUR WORST MOMENTS
you are so much more
i promise
and even if you can't see that now,
please, just hold on to it,
hold on to it until you can.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


There is a small smile playing on her lips, and as your eyes follow her you get the feeling she's smiling at her own private joke. She walks, head high, long strides across the stage to accept her award. Smiles as she shakes his hand. There is an air of unashamed intelligence about her, a calm manner that suggests not shyness, but a level of confidence in which attention-seeking is not necessary. That is probably what is most appealing about her, that wicked smile and quiet air -it makes you wonder what she's thinking, because that's all you can do, wonder.
I suppose she's pretty, in a dark-haired, olive-skinned way. In a sweet-smile way. But what makes you look at her is her eyes, not because they are beautiful, but because they are deep and dark and steady. Because, she has this way of looking you directly in the eye without ever meeting your gaze.
And you wonder if she's slipping away from this world as you speak to her, like gradually she's distancing herself until all she needs to do is pull the trigger.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Letterhead #11

Dear Bella,
I've been listening to hurt by nine inch nails/johnny cash all night
you're right, it's incredible.

I just want to say, the times i've shown you writing and said
it was from another blog,
i lied. i don't know why, maybe you can relate.
i mean, you lie,
you lie all the time.
you say no one knows you're sad.
but you tell them, you tell me.
they just don't know what to do
when you say you want to die.
they're scared and (you're right) they don't want to believe it,
they want to believe in the bright, smiling bella,
not this hidden, broken, lonely person who we've never met
because you've never introduced us.
(can you blame them)
it's your fault.
it's their fault.
it's nobody's fault.

they do care,
we both know it, but they don't understand
they are innocent, unstained, happy fools
and you can't expect them to save you.
That is, if you even want saving.
I don't know if you do anymore,
I don't think you know either.

Thursday, June 9, 2011




I think the worst thing about it was the light in his eyes. It seemed to reinforce everything I've lost.
And I found myself wondering if i have passed the point of no return,
if there was a way to claw back the goodness that seems to have disappeared from myself.

It's a funny thing, goodness. You don't notice it until it's no longer there, and then you can feel its lack of presence taking over.
It seems to gradually suck up everything that you had defined yourself by, and leave you with this.
This, which is so uncared for, so desperately unneeded.
Which makes you selfish and self-centred and lonely.

More than other things, i find myself thinking of myself from three years ago, and admiring her, missing her. My mind may have grown but my hearts has shrivelled up.
I could learn a few things from her, but truthfully, i can't even remember her.
I can't even remember who i was.

"People are lonely because they build walls instead of bridges"
-J. F. Newton

And don't i know it.

Monday, June 6, 2011

face it

i blame the days.
it's a bad day, i say
just wasn't a good day
how was your day? shit.

but it's not the day
it's my fault
it's me
it was always in me
sometimes it feels like it always will be

Sunday, June 5, 2011

the seacret

As a child, she already understood the concept of sacrifice, of having to give up things in order to hold onto yourself.
As a liberated five year-old she threw handfuls of sand into the ocean, thinking that's what the sea ate. She scared herself with the thought that, if she stopped throwing clumps of sand into the ocean, she would pay.
So she called out to it, reassured it, tried to calm it almost. This raging, out-of-control, passionate monster that constantly threatened to engulf her sandy self.
Sometimes, she thought it was fighting a never-ending battle with the shore, the quiet, passive shore. But mostly she thought it was just lonely, that it was really fighting itself -punishing itself for a deed so old it had forgotten all but the hatred.

not for a while now


How do you feel?

Friday, June 3, 2011

yes, but do you ever get the feeling


we aren't drowning in our misery anymore,
we're bathing in it.

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

bad day

on days like these,
it feels like i'm rotting from the inside out.
my skin is yellow.

Excerpt #8

She sits at the kitchen table. The worn wood is soft beneath her fingertips. A large window behind her lets the light filter through, creating melding patterns on her pale skin. She breathes softly, her gaze lingering on the figures that traipse in and out of the kitchen and dining room, down the corridor, up the stairs, her mother and brother.
They are so full of life, she can almost feel the extra slipping out of them. She isn't jealous of their careless happiness, it makes her smile. And as Jacob slips into a chair beside her with his meal he exclaims in such an exuberant voice that she finds that rare, genuine laughter bubbling up inside of her and with it comes a peace she hasn't felt in a while.
She thinks of all those that care for them and now comes the inevitable, forbidden thought that they might be alright when she leaves. You can see her now with a faint smile caressing her lips and you can almost read her thoughts, the quiet, persistent ones which are planted just beyond the high fences she has built. She's thinking, "I hope things stay like this when I'm gone".