Sometimes I hide away from my reality

I wander off into smoke filled rooms and fall into blue screens

I sleep under warm clouds that threaten to smother me

My cheeks flush

I live inside my made up world to escape what I cannot face

I lie in a bed of guilt and despair for days on end

Unable to move
Unable to feel

I lose myself in this suffocating realm
I lose all signs of life

Until I can barely breathe.






Sometimes I escape just for some air

But I found that oxygen runs through my heart, not the wind



I came back to hide again

But this time couldn’t stay

For my smoke filled rooms were full of toxic gas
And the blinding blue hurt my eyes

My clouds suddenly felt weighted
suffocating me in a sick warmth


I guess my hidden world wasn’t made for me
But for my younger self



Unable to comprehend their surroundings
Unable to process



Now I leave it behind and step into today




Breathing in the achingly beautiful

And learning how to feel.

A wise man once said,
if you want to allow yourself a bread,
you need to know how to sell yourself
when he found my dusty grey shelf.

Young Me asked — “What is it that I need to sell,”

and he responded,

“sell your laugh
with a mouthful of pebbles in your mouth,
then sprawl your wings of a moth
and mimic a butterfly,”

“But, that's All I have left!” Young me screeched -
protecting the only vanity I possessed,
which I put on the market so cheap, so priceless
to those who never will to pay,
but I demanded the bidding too high
to those who gave me
a worthless charity,
a careless pity.

‘be careful what you wish for,’ they said.
and i should have taken it to heart.

i asked for change,
for growth,
but i didn't ask to be flooded
with everything all at once.

i didn’t ask for it all to come rushing,
with little time for me to adjust to the weight of it all.

look at the night sky.
see how the stars move,
and the moon changes.

growing and shedding.
cyclical
and never stagnant.

i want to be the same.
moving
and growing.

i am trying to mimic the moon.
but how can someone so limited,
achieve such growth?

how can i endure the loss
and still wait for the bloom?

from chasing butterflies
to chasing *******
that boys could never give to me.

as the years go on
we switch from one poison to another
riding bliss, not bikes
on a path to discovery.

i’m nineteen.
and i’ll never be able to tell you how life works.
or how people exist.
or how cranes build themselves.

i’ll never be able to explain to you how planes fly.
because i know it has something to do with
****** and aerodynamics
but please don’t ask me to explain because truthfully i have no idea.

i’ll never be able to explain the vastness of space.
or what setting to wash my clothes on.
or how to not fall apart.
or the temperature you are supposed to brew your tea at.

i’m nineteen.
but i am able to tell you that life gets better.
and that some people are good.
and that to exist we must learn to trust.

i’ll be able to tell you that despite trying not to
you’ll still inherit things from both of your parents.
you’ll secretly hope that you are more like your mother
and i will loudly hope that you only get your fathers good.

i’ll be able to tell you to keep going.
because one day you’ll look back and be thankful you didn’t give up.
i’ll be able to tell you that it’s important to learn new things.
and that everything goes down a little better with tea (despite the temperature it’s brewed at).

I have shed
My shattered armor
And cast aside
My fractured shield.
Both became burdens
Too heavy for me to carry.
Instead of hiding away
From the darkness
And the turmoil of the world,
I have pulled the sword
From the stone
And I have mastered
My own form of magic.
Now I wield both,
To slay the real monsters
And befriend my dragons.
I am the damsel
Who saved herself.
I am the queen
Who knows her worth.
I am my own fairytale
And happy ever after.

it’s summer here,
and my seasonal depression
slips away with the waves at the beach.
my eyes brighten with the sun,
and at last, i feel my heart warming,

the leaves are falling from the oak outside of my window.
autumn. lets old loves go with the seasons,
stripping itself of the sun damage from summer.
shaking itself clean of scars.
(i’m healing old wounds)

in winter, i slip.
fall along with the temperature.
stiffen along with almost everything
that meets the cold,
why am i so cold?

i sprout a little in spring.
defrost from the frozen winters.
wait for the new.
i see the oaks' new leaves.
i see the flowers in me bloom.

it’s summer here,
and i begin to feel like myself again.
letting my heart thaw
and my limbs stretch.
(the cold can’t bite me here).

Mom says
I'm an inchworm,
but when I grow up
I'm gonna be a f
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