Dear younger me,

The person i am now?
you would be so ashamed.

A shell of a person,
a burnt out flame.

Wasted potential,
unfinished poems.

Crushed dreams,
a broken home.

A fallen flower,
a disturbed mind.

To myself,
I am so unkind.

Dear younger me,
you would be so ashamed.

sonder.

the realisation that each passerby has a life as vivid and complex as your own.

sonder.

the realisation that i am selfish to think i am the only person in the world who feels lonely,

as if i am the chosen one who the world has thrown her worst battles at,

as if i am unique in any way, shape or form when there are exact replicas of my being walking around,

with their thoughts and hobbies and feelings and emotions and experiences imitating mine.

exulansis.

the tendency to give up talking about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.

exulansis.

the moment i finally built up courage to come forward about what you did to me.

the moment i told my parents and was only met with anger as i refuse to name my abuser.

the moment as i freeze up anytime the experience is mentioned.

the moment i still haven’t been allowed to heal from this excruciating trauma as you are still in my life.

the moment i cannot talk about this experience as those who attempt
to console me only meet me with pity and sadness.

the moment i realise i am alone in this recovery.

you didn't have to say anything.

the look in your eyes said enough.

the way your eyes no longer looked
at me like i was the very thing that made you believe anything was possible.

the way they glossed over me,
no longer able to get lost
in the oceans of my own.

that said everything i needed to hear.

-a.n.o'h.

my roommate, dread.

i have a roommate in my head.

their name is dread. i can’t remember where they came from. they just arrived one day and never left.

we don’t talk. i don’t think we ever have. i’ll be honest. i don’t like dread much. whenever they come out from their darkened, cold, sad room, they bring this intense aura of stomach illness, loneliness, anxiety, stress and depression. they stay around me for a while, spreading this aura all over my head until it is almost unbearable. then they leave. back into their black abyss and lock the doors.

i’ve tried to kick them out. tried to explain it’s not working out, us being roommates. they just promise to be better. it works for a while. they’ll leave the home that is my mind for days, even weeks, at a time. i always wonder what they’re up to. i can’t help but feel worry. i worry about their safety. i feel a deep sadness when they leave.

because even though they bring me such misery when they’re around me, i can’t help but feel comfort when i know that dread is still here and just a few feet away locked in their room. maybe one day i will be able to move on and break free from the shackles that dread has on my life.

»a.n.o’h.

for as long as i can remember,
the image of you sitting there with a bottle of alcohol at your lips,
almost glued there,
will forever be etched in my mind.

each drink out of that bottle is a sharp knife,
the  blade chipping away your soul,
piece by piece,
drink by drink.

at this point,
i have to wonder if there is any part of your soul left,
do you recognise me?

loneliness.

a disease that plagues the mind, body and soul.

a disease whose silence is deafening.

it brings a sickly feeling
as it reminds you that there isn't anyone else.

it laughs in your face
while also comforting you.

the worse it gets,
the harder it is for me to get out.

it's my fault though.

i isolated myself and loneliness saw it happen
and took advantage.

i'm the one who locked myself in the room
but loneliness is the one who took the key
and never gave it back.

altschmerz.

the weariness with the same old issues that you've always had.

the same boring flaws and anxieties that you've been gnawing on for years.

the 15 year old with the hopefulness in their eyes that one day they won't have to look at themselves in the mirror with disgust at what they see,

hoping one day that they can gaze upon their being in any reflective surface and look with amazement at the way they look,

with the realisation having settled in that our body is our true lover,

the lover who tries so hard to keep us alive even though we plague it with the  negative thoughts from our minds,

she will always love you, even if it unrequited.

those goodbyes to friendships where you never actually say goodbye,

you just drift into a state where it’s too awkward to even say hello,

the glances you share after the realisation sits in that you aren’t that close anymore but there’s still an unspoken bond

a bond which even the sharpest sword couldn’t split.

the pain in your chest when you see them with their other friends and reminisce on how you used to be the person who caused that horrible laugh that you loved so dearly,

the secrets that you shared and told each other you would bring to your graves now find their way into the ears of another who, also, promises to bring to their graves.

the impulsive thoughts to just call them up and invite them to coffee to catch up even though neither of you know what to even say so you just delete the message.

years go by, but there’s still that hope that the fact we never said goodbye means we still have our bond.

words are words. they can be simple, funny, powerful, dangerous.

But yours, your words are worse than danger.

They are thick with poison. Thick enough to form a rope.

This rope latches itself around my neck every time you release your army of poisoned words at me.

They haven’t killed me yet but every time you hurl them at me, the rope tightens and  chips away another part of my soul.

i’ll be gone soon.

»a.n.o’h.

i often hold hands with the moon.

i call on her for comfort and guidance
and she extends a shimmering branch down to me

almost like a stairway to a permanent escape from my reality of despair.

she doesn’t say anything.

the silence between us is loud enough to power a stadium and somehow
we understand each other like i have never understood anyone before

she knows me better than i know myself.

she knows the way i only call on her when i am desperate yet she doesn’t seem to be upset.

her embrace feels like the warmth of the sun on a hot summers day where the trees are resting and scattered loose paper lays still.

i often hold hands with the moon.


»a.n.o’h

it’s been 7 weeks. 7 weeks since we last had contact. i should be over you. i should be forgetting that you even exist. i shouldn’t have these feelings anymore yet i still find myself wandering back to our fantasy. the one where only you and i existed. i still create new plots and stories to add to our fantasy. do you?

do you long for even just an acknowledgment from me? like i do you? or have you forgotten that i even exist. did everything you say mean nothing? how could you hold such poison in your mouth without burning your tongue.

i am a broken soul longing to go home.

i feel like a fraud living on this earth.

home.

my house isn't my home.

my real home is somewhere not in this realm.

it is a place where my soul no longer feels the coldness of an empty being.

the house i am in is this world. this world is a prison cell and i am unable to escape even though the doors are wide open with the keys sitting in my own hand.

Hear the storm,
Acknowledge the waves,
Embrace the piercing cold,
smell the salty sea.

See the water crashing
against the hardened shore,
Feel the raindrops of tears covering your body,
baptising you in the realm of your soul.

Only then will you be able to go forward.


»a.n.o’h.

the feeling where my mind is suddenly engulfed when you entered my life


the feeling where i suddenly am unable to fathom how i lived a life with you not in it

the way i crave to be the thing that inhabited your mind

the way your words of sweet nothings etched itself onto my skin like you were marking your territory.

i am yours

in mind, body and soul.

we are the creature separated by zeus and were bound to spend eternity searching for our other half

a soulmate,

who’s exact thoughts are the same as mine, making me think we are the same person.

are you even real?

are you sure you’re not a fake body to which my mind so cruelly created?

god i hope you’re real.

i look in the mirror,
i don't recognise the person staring back at me.

"An impostor!" she yells at me.

she tells me how she took over my body,
poisoning my mind with the worst things imaginable.

"What did you do with the old me?" i ask her,
tears in my eyes,
defeat in my voice.

"we killed her. you and i." the impostor says,
reminding me that we are still the same.

i recognise the person in the mirror.

i knew my ability to trust was crippled the day you first lied to me.

it was always “i promise to stop the drinking” or “i promise i’ll cut down”.

i watched you turn into someone i would’ve never recognised had i walked past you on the street.

i watched your addiction tear you apart for the last 19 years and i couldn’t do anything to help.

i listened as your empty promises turned into another night of being drunk and falling everywhere and bloodying yourself.

i watched as you started to forget.

i watched as you learned your favourite phrase of “i don’t remember” when i would recall our favourite memories together.

i listened as you began to tell me that you are an example of what to avoid becoming.

i listened as you said things that no parent should ever tell their child.

i listened as i disregarded every mistake you ever made and trusted you each time another empty promise escaped past your lips along with the smell of alcohol laced with your breath.

you watched as i began to build my walls up and shut everyone out.

you watched as i, too, became unrecognisable.

you listened as i stopped caring about everyone and their little lies.

i watched as you had completely shattered the glass that held our bond, without even noticing.

i hate myself because, despite everything, i still believe your empty promises.


»a.n.o’h.

i was never one of those children to believe in monsters under my bed.

luckily for those kids, their monsters weren’t real and disappeared at the feathered touch of comfort from a parent.

every monster i encountered was someone i knew. someone real.

so real that their existence is still here, in the shape of a sickly cold shadow in the corner of my memory that oozes the events of the worst battles i have ever faced, drowning me.

real monsters aren’t the ones we see in movies or here in books or tales.

real monsters are the ones who promise to protect us but treat us way worse than anyone else ever could.

»a.n.o’h

when one is born
with a vial of poisoned love
already clasped in their hand,

when one is told to drink from this
never ending vial of poisoned love,
told by those who surround you
and love you,

when the memories that came after
drinking from this vial of poisoned love
are the only memories you have,

how is one meant to leave the addictive vial of poisoned love behind them?

how is one meant to go searching the dusty shelves filled with other glorious vials,
looking for an escape from the cage of the alchemist?

»a.n.o’h.