the question we must come to ask ourselves is this


at the end of the day am i addicted to the victim role or am i actually a victim

you know what’s worse than killing yourself


failing at it

Th greatest tragedy

is that someone who has been loved
denies it

I picked up a photo from my childhood. It was of me and my sister. We were in our little jackets, smiling and giggling. We we’re definitely high off of sugar, always. I saw happiness and innocence in their faces, a type of radiance only kids carry because of their ignorance. They don’t see anything except their own little world. I wished I lived there again. Even for a day, to bask in the pride of my mother before she lost it because now she is only ever disappointed. To easily make friends minus the social anxiety. To walk confidently without wondering if I look too fat or chubby in my jeans, or if my ***** look saggy. To eat food carefree without a second thought. To play in the snow and not wonder if my hair will be ruined. To have a crush and think I actually have a chance. To dance my heart out as if I no one was watching.

These are the things I could go back to. The times people say to savor. The ignorance.

i read that book
about flowers and the moon
i don’t remember
but what i do remember is that
a lot of people don’t love me
their just insecure and see their
insecurities in me

and that



that made me feel more lonely than
ever before

i became who they were
so maybe they would like me

people called me a “pick me”

but all i wanted was a friend

I tried to be like them so they would accept me
but it didn’t work

I got used to the feeling

of being loved

because that’s what that random magazine I found online told me I have to do in order to receive it