Write poetry until you feel like every inch of yourself is being devoured by your thoughts. Let yourself get lost in self-loathing. Scream until your lungs give out and you cough out blood. Let emptiness swallow you whole, invite it into your bed, let it claw your eyes out, but treat it like a lover. Let it drive you mad, remember emptiness is the closest feeling to love you will get in a while and at least it will make you able to put beautiful words on paper, unlike love you which will keep you in a trance, when emptiness will keep your eyes clear and your mind awake. Remember love isn’t what you ******* want. It isn’t what you ******* need, it will take all you have, ****, it will take every single beautiful thought out of you because love doesn’t last. Love never lasts and when you’re empty, ****, you may feel like your chest is collapsing but ******* your mind is becoming s garden and you realize how your eyes hold stars and how ******* beautiful your brain is and I really don’t think anyone else can make you fully realize your self worth, ****, you are the only one who could do that. Let yourself go mad for a while. ******* do it. No pair of arms could ever produce your thoughts. No one is exactly like you. No one writes the exactly the way you do or speaks the way you do or acts the way you do and ****, APPRECIATE YOURSELF. Because when everybody’s leaves you, your brain and your body are the only things you’ll ******* hate left. Lovers are temporary for you. But self love, self love is something you need to make ******* last. Remember that the next time a person breaks you.

Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain,
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
If I might teach thee wit, better it were,
Though not to love, yet, love, to tell me so,
As testy sick men, when their deaths be near,
No news but health from their physicians know.
For if I should despair, I should grow mad,
And in my madness might speak ill of thee,
Now this ill-wresting world is grown so bad,
Mad slanderers by mad ears believèd be.
    That I may not be so, nor thou belied,
    Bear thine eyes straight, though thy proud heart go wide.

somehow this has all gotten lost in translation
people come and people go,
just like the dew on the morning grass.
yet we find ourselves
still trying to get used to it.
the impermanence of it,
arms lay stretched on your sofa,
records scratching against the needle,
none of us ever feel at home.
it is as if we have turned the act of care
as an excuse.
We are just two sad girls *******
to feel like we aren’t lonely.
this is not right and we know it.
but it feels like it
when i am pressed up against you.
i am lonely
and you know.
i have dreams of falling in love
in fountain square,
and when i wake up to you facing away from me
i feel a sense of disappointment
because i know
if i had tried harder
it could’ve been different.

dear friend,
trying to participate
falling and failing epically
perks of being seemingly invisible
to the only one you see

don't want to wake up on your own
so you accept the love you think you deserve
put them first and now you know
this is how a wallflower grows

your friends they see it, live it, breathe it
smokey parties and poorly lit rooms
synthetic happiness, the only way to get by
fragile hopes and dreams

you know everyone and no one
watching their daily lives happen
but nobody stops it takes a second look
at your wilting petals and falling leaves

below average, psychos together
"welcome to the island of misfit toys"
somehow a place of belonging
and now in this moment, you feel infinite

love always,