Friday, August 10, 2012

Food, water, shelter.

She no longer takes care of herself.
You can see the sun through her skin, it's too thin (like eyelids). It won't hold a shadow.
Her hands are soft and pink and splotchy.
She won't stop trying to distract herself.
She won't turn and face her troubles instead of continuing these futile attempts to ignore them.
Somebody tell her to get a grip.
Caring for yourself takes more than this.
It's time to wake up.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Letterhead #16

Dear Jack,
I'm lonely when I'm with you.
Not always, but often.
I try so hard not to be sad around you.
Or if I am sad, not to let it show.

I don't want to tie my sadness to you.
Tie you to my sadness.
I told you that, once.
You said something like:
I'm sorry that you're sad, but it doesn't affect my mood.
You wanted to reassure me.
It did.
But it also made me feel
Sometimes I feel so lonely it feels as though I'm trying to breathe in Carbon Dioxide. 
Because, you're my person, and even you don't understand.
It was different when I was alone.
I was better at caring for myself.
Less focussed on you.
Less soft.
It was better.
I don't know if I can get better with you.
I can't breathe.

It's getting to the point where I am no fun anymore, I am sorry. / Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud, ' I am lonely.' / I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are, you make it hard.
-David Crosby

Monday, June 11, 2012

Letterhead #15

Dear Jack,
I'm petrified. I don't want to look at you the wrong way.
I'm scared because I can't avoid this. You can't see it coming but I can.
When you're thirty, and married, and maybe you have a child or two.
And you think back to me, the first girl that ever counted for you, the girl you thought might be the one.
And you cringe.
The aspiring actress. The sometimes drunken, always depressed mess. An incredibly self-absorbed, shallow, foolish girl.
And you wonder what happened, or maybe you'll know. And you won't be as open-minded as you are now, and you'll know what an idiot I am. For the drugs and the self-destruction.
Ugh. What a cliche.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012


Dear World,
I'm trying to fight.
I want to be a fighter.
So if I fight you,
please don't think it's because I dislike you.
It's because I need to fight myself
                                        my friends
                                        my enemies
                                        my unhappiness
                                        my thoughts
                                        the universe.
It's because I need to fight anything I can to remind myself I can fight.

I'm strong enough to fight this.


my head feels so foggy and thick
i hate this feeling
but i don't know how to cure it


familiarity can eat dick

Sunday, April 15, 2012


"But why acting?"
"I'm not sure,
it's just what has always felt closest to right."
"But it doesn't anymore?"

"No...I don't know.
         I feel like I owe it to myself I guess."

"To your former self or to who you are now?"
"Even if you don't want that anymore?"
...I don't know."
"Let me ask you something, when you were a child and people asked you what you wanted to be when you grow up, did you say an actor?"
"What did you say?"

"I said happy."

Wednesday, April 4, 2012

I need to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying it.
I need to think it through to stop myself from feeling it.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012


There is a girl in my lecture who has blonde hair, and a vulnerable face. She wears pale cotton blouses and cardigans that look like my grandmother's and has a set mouth.
And she has a doll, it must be at least eleven inches and it sits on her desk. The doll has an elvish face, and short, blonde hair and twig-green skin.
In my classes, sometimes I hear girls talk about the girl, how odd she is.
Please, don't listen to them. One week, when I felt upset and uncontrolled and shaky, I saw you and your doll, and I understood why you brought her.
I even pretended she was mine. And I felt better.

I guess I just wanted to say -Thanks.
Stay strong.

Monday, March 26, 2012


my skin
rises to meet your hands
i can tell
i have no control, that
this is unconscious
it's automatic
this is bigger than you
or me
this is chemistry
and nature
and DNA
this is written into my body
into the patterns of your palms
as they glide
down my spine
over my stomach
this is different
and new
and it makes my heart
in time with something
there isn't a word for.
this might not be love but
it makes me believe in it.


Don't forget to look up once in a while.
Force yourself to.

Monday, March 19, 2012

The Apiarist.

there is
a storm of bees
swarming, forming
around her head
on days like this morning
people passing
they can not see
any bees, can not see
the honey
dripping from her
there is no smoke, today

one young man
nears her
does not wear
a beekeeper suit
but still, leans in
and licks the honey
off her swollen chin
and licks the honey
off his velvet lips
i think, maybe,
he knows
today, she doesn't like honey
i think, maybe,
he knows
she doesn't like to be
a beekeeper

she wonders
if he exists
to prove the bees
don't have to.


Today I wore the necklace you gave me and wished I had you instead.
Today I sat in a lecture and tried not to cry.
Today I finished reading a book I started last night.
Today I didn't fall asleep halfway through the day, which I've been doing for weeks.
Today I accepted my emotions.
Today I tried to eat healthily and then ate some nutella that someone left in the pantry.
Today I was meant to edit my assignment that's due today, but I left it.
Today was like all the others in the end.

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Letterhead #14

Dear Alex,
Thanks for the message.
It was sweet and lovely and made me smile.
The nicest part was you don't know I'm feeling sick and tired and sad. But you were still so nice. That message is the first good thing that's happened for me today.
Thank you.
Today might be bearable after all.

Friday, February 24, 2012

I want to feel clean again.

endless field

I have a heat in my chest, the type I get when I am running with my eyes shut, it's spreading through me. I love I love that feeling.
I think I could run for the rest of my life.


In a new room,
In a new city
That smells like rain 
and my favourite 
colour. Friends ask me
if I miss them
How I want to say
yes, but
now I'm away
I feel I've found my self.
And I would not trade
her, for them.
I'm sorry friends
but alone beats lonely
any day.

Saturday, February 11, 2012


The other night:
The way your eyes
looked at mine
made me feel
sick, sad, alone.
Please please please
do not look
at me
that way.
The way the other boys have.
I chose
you because
your eyes
are different.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

i hate birthdays

i wonder
what you thought
when i fell
so many times
(i still blame the shoes).
i hate drunken girls.
i hate me,

Sunday, January 22, 2012


I can feel change coming on again, stronger than before. It's heating up my veins. 
It's the spark in my eyes, the catch in my voice.

Friday, January 6, 2012


Life is so exhausting.
I keep trying to remember the way I used to be, before I was sad and when I was sad and when I was getting better and I can't. What does that mean? I don't know how I see myself anymore. I can't comprehend my emotions and thoughts and actions. I don't know who I am and who people think I am and who I want to be.
When I look in the mirror I can't see my face.

Sunday, January 1, 2012

For now


New Year's Resolutions:
-If I can, start writing again
-Use Tumblr for personal posts or delete it
-Exercise more
-Eat healthily
-Tell fewer lies
-Allow myself to open up to others
-Try to be kind again
-Consume fewer illicit substances, less often
-Indulge my curiosity
-Care for myself again

I miss writing too much. I miss this blog. I am happier with it.
I'm going to fight for it.

A Simple Act

By Renee Yohe

Wake up. Get up. Untangle myself from the fickle sheets, loosen the drunken grip of desperate dreams. I will not wonder, “What if I had gotten up at ten?” today. The what ifs always frustrate me, they do not propel me forward. Disheveled and unsure, tile like splashes of ice water shocks the un-socked as they carry me. Right, Left, I try to be sure I start on the right foot. It’s like an even number, the right side. I dislike numbers in general, though I specifically find odd numbers abrasive and unacceptable. (Besides, the mere fact that it’s typically stated, “left, right” satisfies me inexplicably every time I step with my right foot first.) Simple pleasures. Or neurotic tendencies. Perhaps both. Open wide, despite the spiteful squint and groan, it’s all in your eyes. Wash the dead away, down the drain, run my fingers through my… tangles. Brush them out, like my mother’s hands down my back raking the knots out, like sewing the hole shut in your favorite shirt refusing to throw it out, like words of compassion putting the fire out. Smiling. Not like baiting a trap and waiting, not like febreezing without cleaning, not like holograms or hallucinations, but like colors that tell the truth. This smile is significant. The time on the clock still has those despicable letters sneering,”a” and “m”. The ache in my chest is still nagging, though only nagging now, losing steam from six hours before. And. That. Is. Glorious. I must remember this moment, this moment makes every other moment less fixed. This, “hurting less” moment affirms the potency in the simple act of waiting. This moment was unfathomable just moments before, was in fact loathed in light of the lesions occupying my heart. Yet, it is here and I am in it and I can imagine others far in the distance where I am radiant, and this is just the faintest scar on my healthy human heart. Don’t be fooled by seconds that sprawl, choose instead to wake up tomorrow, and the next day that follows, and wait for a smile that leaves your old sorrow forgotten in dust. Please keep waking up.