My heart’s a mess
and my mind’s the same.
But moving onto another day
Knowing I can’t have you
Brings me such dismay.
I’m not adequate, it’s such a shame
That you seem so perfect
In every way.

I need to shatter
this rosy image.

My laptop reads 13%
And oddly enough I relate to that
It’s a staple of our generation to relate to others obscure references.
With agreements such as “same” being used to reference themselves to a cup lying on the side of the road.
I don’t quite understand and yet I find myself relating to these obscurities rather frequently.
I’m stuck.  
Truly a dead end of the creative kind.
And sincerely it’s been literal months since I’ve created something I’m even mildly okay with.
Why? Is it because I’m depressed?
Is it because I am empty inside?
What can I find to blame my inactiveness on this time?
There are so many things I want to do.
I want to sing
I want to act
I want to fall in love
I want to make videos
I want to lose 30 pounds
I want to travel the world.
I want to come out to my family
I want to die but usually only at night, which is an improvement
I want be a lawyer, a doctor, a writer, a zoologist, an actor.
There are multitudes of things that I want, enough to fill up all of the oceans. Simultaneously
There is one that is noticeably more prominent than others and that is that
I want to be happy.
And yet here I am it’s 3 am and I’m nothing but empty
And even now, more than ever now, I need to have a voice.
I don’t want to be heard I need to be. But the words they just don’t come like they used to.
How am I supposed to pursue my dreams if I can’t even take a shower?
I’m falling. Again.
Life is messy. Life is a ******* **** show.
I’m trying to make the most of it. And honestly, it’s ******* difficult.
I want to write. I say that about every three hours and yet nothing.
More than anything, I want to live lives other than my own,
Not because of self-hatred but because of my desire to explore and to experience.
I want to fall in love with characters who help me to love myself.
I want to be more than a 16-year-old typing her life away hoping, praying to live other lives.
And just because I don’t know how to get there right now.
Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop trying.
I want to live for myself, I want to stop apologizing and go for what I want.
My laptop reads 2% and as it is powering off so am I.
I’m going to sleep in hopes of inspiration striking me while I’m floating between consciousness.
It’s unreasonable to ask for. But please.
I miss creating. I just want to live.
I just want to be happy.

Mess in my room and mess in my mind
Lately I've been obsessed with making these islands out of clothes on the ground
If the room is ***** that's how you know I've been depressed
and that's how I've been feeling for a long time to be honest

So please don't judge me I'm not lazy
The thoughts that I have are just making me crazy
and I am sorry I can't deal with my **** right now
I wish I could but I don't know how

Anxiety is a cold, lilac purple.
It sounds like a care siren going off on a brisk September morning
It tastes like orange peels from yesterday's lunch
It smells like burning rubber
Anxiety feels like motion sickness from being trapped under impeding waves, with you hands tied to a post