"hypochondria" poems
You don't see me but I am
There, I have numerous ways
To take you,
Hold you,
Control you,
You'll not even know
I was there,
I am a conqueror of flesh.
Feeling...
Sickly, siphoned, strained
Both body and my brain
Doctor said it's just a cold
Nothing but a passing pain
Is this hypochondria,
Or is there something in my veins?
Your insides are my playground
To cause you much anguish & pain
I'll infect you slowly at first,
Have a little fun within your
Organs
Muscles
Thoughts
I aim to control, invisible
To the eye, but you know
I'm in here, your losing control.
Today I coughed up blood
Cold sweats come in floods
I'm drowning in my own bed
As I clutch my feverish head
There's an inferno in my skull
I'm taking Vicodin to null
Whatever it is eating at me
I know I'll be better in a week.
You apes think size is intelligence,
This was your undoing from the start,
I replicate myself, as its my time to move on,
I leave apart of myself here
As its time too
Infect
Multiple
Spread
My gift to those around,
You sneezed
You coughed
Upon your sweat, I am
Now on everything you touch,
Time to end the play,
"Business calls"
Be Proud of your self
Patient Zero, dear human
You were my first,
But its time for me to move on...
Oct 20, 2014
Oct 20, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
Strep throat. Out of nowhere really. I went to a meeting on Friday, interviewed at PaperSource on Saturday afternoon, and then just slightly later an awful toothache. I never suspected anything so out of the ordinary to occur. Saturday night, two to four a.m.ish, i thought it was caffeine pills, or not drinking enough water, or even, worst of the worst, an attack of hypochondria. I kept lighting up Marlboros though, tasty red branded things that make writer's mouths happy. Two days in and I'm pretty sure my ***** are a fever below my body, droopy like snoopy. Super soft droopy ***** that's a sure sign of a fever or a great BJ they taught us in 6th grade science, and I wasn't getting my favorite ice cream social.
I hadn't talked to the gf in a couple days, and missing her company I made the phone call only discover that my voice had turned into a baby turtle shouting English from the bottom of a stuffed baked potato. Garbled. Discussing. Useless. I promptly hung up, and began texting. But it was too late she heard me and called back, and I had to give it all I had to put together a few words.
An hour later I was dropped off at the ER, the benefits of Medicaid at 30 is never being able to just go to the doctor's office. Within 2 hours they told me it was strep. Four nurses, two residents, one first day resident, and a 2nd year resident, and the ER doctor for a swab and a spray, and the take home Z-pack.
Then she said she'd come over even though I was sick. That's real love. "If I get sick from you, it's still worth it." 3 days on antibiotics, no more sore throat, I feel great- I think tomorrow I'll be having an ice cream social for someone who I love dearly. Maybe we'll even skip the ice cream.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 9:24 AM UTC
Who's **** about their **** You are, Virgo. In fact, you are so **** about your own *** hole that god forbid you ever run out of baby wipes or are unable to scrub-a-dub-dub after your daily **** But of course, that will never happen to you because you have planned out exactly where and what time you are to take a **** If you're working overtime, so is your **** No one can tell your *** hole is throbbing because you have perfected the art of the, *No, a **** is not slipping in and out of my *** hole right at this very moment* poker face. Not only do you have an irrational fear of a ****** *** hole, but you must examine every inch of your **** for any sign of potential disease or parasites.(with gloves on, of course.) Your ruling planet is Mercury, which means you probably know exactly how many times you have taken a **** in your life up until this point. **** *** Your worst ******* nightmare.
Advice: Chill the **** out. The only condition you're suffering from is a mental one and it's called Hypochondria.
Jul 1, 2015
Jul 1, 2015 at 3:23 PM UTC
As the wet wind hums its way through our two tower six-cylinder apartment complex. Birds fall from their naked winter wept branches, braced by stiff bones, mapped out in Alexandria, carrying notes from El Salvador. The corner market is closed, never opened. A hair salon stands in its place, it wrings out the "R's" from a Philadelphia warshing.
And like every night, hot air cakes on an extra layer of indecipherable red dots up the arms and around the neck, minute pustules of hypochondria that steal my finger tips from the keyboard. I scratch and tip them, looking under their fiery scarlet caps for, I-don't-know-what disease. Paul says It's that magic school bus melanoma, typhoid drip, it comes at you from a computer screen and eats at your nervous system until you've got the wambles.
Tuesday's used to be the worst, until I OWNED THAT **** I make a pronoun out of aluminum foil and wear it as a hat on a first date. Tinder is not bad for conceptual art projects. I carry it within me like an anodyne complex, out into the frozenness; into my mouth the air comes around my teeth, behind my uvula until winter freezes my voice and I am breathless.
I abandon my miniature house to enter the pyramidal pinetum to the North. Wild paradise shrubs gather with songless animal noises watching as I take naked photographs of my father to preserve his body from anything less than his great immortal end. He lives on black moss and water from a nearby pond,
he authors the face of Anthony Hopkins, thrown about, another casualty of fervid and blurry dreaming.
May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 3:30 PM UTC
pap
pap
pap
I can't breath
my stomach is bubbling
like hot cheese
on an fresh oven pizza
my legs feel skinny
I want to lean into a wall
the floor looks spinny
the wainscoting is squint
my vision is blurry
because...tears?
Why is there worry
in my middle?
I feel fine,
my mind is sound
this fear isn't mine
what’s it doing here?
What is this panic?
Fight or flight I understand,
but this is plain manic.
I need to go
at top speed
or maybe hide?
Either way, be freed
from this distress.
pap
pap
pap
Push someone over,
human shield that ****
reduce my exposure
to hyperventilation.
Shallow in,
shallow out,
I feel akin
to sprinting Mufasa
Pure distress
acute discomfort,
a proper mental problem. Nonetheless,
it’s strange to foresee the diagnosis.
It’s as if I’m watching
from someone else’s skin
as alligator clamps are botching
holding my physiology in.
A sunburn on my innards,
a paperweight within
you’d think I’d feel pride
for finally having something wrong.
Hypochondria being accurate
the years of inventing doom,
suddenly isn't aberrant
those fabrications had substance.
Or maybe all these thinks
are symptoms in themselves
after sifting through piles of shrinks,
maybe I can finally get some help.
pap
pap
pap
Look at my pretty framed prescription,
doctor certified, messy handwriting,
this will take some decryption...
don’t worry, take your time,
this pathoreaction won't go away.
I’m told desolation
is a temperament set to stay
until after eighteen simple payments.
I’m inclined to reject treatment
of drugs that fiddle with the mind
I’d rather stay present,
continue inconsistency.
I would like to try narration,
see how many kilometers I can recall.
I can deal with frustration,
so let’s talk about my childhood.
Public transit without destination
sends me on a revere,
an absence of crippling desperation.
I've found peace before
it was between yellow poles,
in the outside pocket
of a backpack on parole.
It smiled at me quietly.
pap
pap
pap
Apparently, it’s the small things
that help you deal with anxiety.
Jun 23, 2013
Jun 23, 2013 at 6:10 AM UTC
My friends a hypochondriac,
doctor twice a week.
He looks so strong and burly,
but feels so sick and meek.
He heard there is a cure out there,
that heals what ails him so.
I just don't have the heart to tell him,
he's taking a placebo.
My friend is big and mighty,
and the sugar pills do work.
He says he's never sick now,
no aches, and nothing hurts.
I'm happy for him, really,
though I wish he'd known much sooner,
that sugar pills have what it takes,
to heal the kids of boomers.
Our parents taught us to be weary,
as they had had no means,
to heal themselves in the time of war,
when they were all just teens.
But times have changed, and we can now,
heal most every sickness.
But still there are hypochondriacs,
needing sugar to cure weakness.
Dec 5, 2014
Dec 5, 2014 at 3:10 AM UTC
*She's a firefly; so fragile and weak,
but her light shines brightly, always.*
**She refuses to see
why she should fix her
Anxiety; Hypochondria
and other things**
*I only want what's best for her
so that maybe someday she'll see the embers*
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 11:02 PM UTC
Health anxiety.
You google one thing and it says another.
You have a headache and it says its cancer.
Countless trips to your family doctor.
The test was negative, you will recover.
Everything is fine but you’re feeling awkward.
Maybe everything IS fine, perhaps you’re like an actor.
Acting out the symptoms you should get an oscar.
Sue me for feeling like somethings not right, get me a lawyer.
To everyone around me, i’m like a destroyer.
I need to rebuild my life from being an over reactor.
Theres a fine line between normal worry and anxiety.
Theres a fine line between being labelled from society.
Theres a fine line between being sick and being healthy.
But even those who are wealthy are not protected from being unhealthy.
And thats where this fear has developed.
Knowing the highest of classes still are not protected.
CEO’s can get cancer.
The president can get Alzheimer's.
Investors can get tumors.
Is it really so peculiar that I fear that this will occur.
Occur in me? Effect my family? Increase mortality?
Maybe i’m not a clinical case of a hypochondriac, but I feel that sometimes I can be.
Maybe i’m not a maniac, but I know I over worry.
These thoughts don’t keep me up at night, but when I’m sick I always think...
What if its this, what if its that, what if this thing can **** me.
But I guess thats just normal anxiety.
Evolutionary instinct.
Our human kind won’t go extinct.
I don’t need to talk this out with a shrink.
So this cold is lasting more than a few days, maybe i’ll just go to a doctor.
Stop fearing that this is the end, see someone and you’ll feel better.
You can get sick from being stressed, or even change from weather.
Its not strange if you catch a cold, no need to worry it won’t last forever.
When you feel like the doctor is wrong, please try to remember.
A runny nose isn’t cancer, forgetting to check the mail isn't alzheimers, and a headache isn’t a tumor.
Those are all just internet rumours.
Google isn’t your doctor.
Worrying isn’t hypochondria, no need to add that to your self diagnoses list.
While disease is a real thing, worrying is the real *****
Feb 14, 2016
Feb 14, 2016 at 3:33 PM UTC
my roommates are plotting tonight.
"oil wrestling," says Tookah.
"mud fights," says Darby.
"let's be strippers!"
in unison this time.
they fake enthusiasm well enough. so well i'm not sure if they're kidding.
i put in my headphones and disengage.
it's electric, combined with some pseudo thinking.
but i have to admit, my hypochondria subsides
when i'm overtaken by their banter.
Broken Social Scene is in my head.
smoke between my lips. American Spirits.
coffee on my tongue. tea will come later.
Lauren will get off work soon and i'll feel
complete again.
but until then, i will sit here and record this ****
needlessly clean my vinyl,
maybe clean the apartment,
consider buying a new guitar,
immediately dismiss the idea,
fiddle around on the piano,
pick up the fourth and final roommate from work,
wait for my heart to stop beating in my head,
and for her to come home to me.
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 2:42 PM UTC
Everyone is high
On self pity and
Hate
Self diagnosed with
A terrible
Fate
No one knows
How to be sad
Without writing it off
As extraordinarily bad
Happiness isn't
A permanent gig
It's always there
If you bother to dig
Everyone is sad
Because the world is ****** up
And no one dares
To see the good stuff
A world of pessimism
Breeds angry babes
And they all start to believe
Theres no Other way
So load up on drugs
Get high in the rest
Because that's when the world
Looks its ******* best
No one was taught
How to smile
Despite the world
Looking dark for a while
So we all slit our wrists
And demand sympathy
From a world that never cared
If you were down on your knees
Jul 22, 2015
Jul 22, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
Do you ever get deathly afraid
of your heart exploding?
Maybe you haven't felt like yourself
and you worry maybe you're nearing your end.
You sit up at night thinking about
this phantom illness that chills you.
You crank the heat, but you shiver in fear
at the thought of leaving this world.
In times of sadness, you thought
it might be okay to be dead.
That in comparison to the suffering
darkness would make it all okay.
But as you think this sudden change
could by some percentile mean your death.
You long for all the years ahead of you
and shed tears for your children you'll never meet.
You cry in terror until finally spared by sleep,
and maybe feel better when you awake.
You may even get some long-term relief
by way of some doctor assuring you that you're fine.
But it will only be a matter of time
before your anxiety convinces you yet again
that you are not long for this world.
And you feel stupid
for essentially worrying over nothing.
But you do hope with all of your being
in spite of past suicidal thoughts
in spite of the heartache you've experienced...
You hope with all of your being
that you might just manage to live a long, happy life.
Apr 9, 2021
Apr 9, 2021 at 1:58 AM UTC
It starts with a thought
My body tense familiar that
feeling of anxiety in my belly again I
Eat half a bowl of rice at 9pm my meal of the day and
You're gone again for the summer my life is starting i am ready
It starts with a thought
I clean the scissors off they are sticky i
check the mirror for evidence of fat loss i
Try to go jogging up the hill but i am too tired too starved
My faulty heart thuds and my lungs shrink i can't do it
i'm not healthy enough
It starts with a thought
I count up my days calories one coke half bowl of rice
I am disappointed with the number i
can do better i can
really starve and then i'll happy
It starts with a thought
I think of HPV hypochondria lymph nodes pregnancy I
grab the scissors tie the band around my hair
It starts with a thought
the blades close around my hair long blond natural soft shiny crowning glory
10 inches down my back I hear
one last snip and the ponytail is free
I shake my head the hair is short
so short and happiness wells up in me i
feel so light i
feel invincible
It starts with thought and
I'm not ******** you
I did it
I did it.
Aug 17, 2014
Aug 17, 2014 at 10:47 PM UTC
"Run down the list, if you please."
"OK. Doc, let's start with these:
An earwig with shin splints,
a worm with heartburn,
A cockroach with a cold-"
"He should have wrapped up like he was told!"
"-A bee with hay-fever."
"She never listens either..."
"A centipede with a migraine,
A fly with wing sprain
And a woodlouse with suspected vertigo."
"Is that them all?"
"Well, no. There's an elderly spider with a blister on his *** He can't spin a web to build a trap or home.
There is a grub with possible depression,
A slug with a stomach bug
And a ladybird with gout."
"Too many greenflies, no doubt."
"There's a butterfly with signs of hypochondria due to a swollen antennae,
no matter what I say he's certain he is going to die.
Now, the last is a delicate imposition: the Queen ant wants birth control,
Because she is sick of her pregnant condition."
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
As the wet wind hums its way through our two tower six-cylinder apartment complex. Birds fall from their naked winter wept branches, braced by stiff bones, mapped out in Alexandria, carrying notes from El Salvador. The corner market is closed, never opened. A hair salon stands in its place, it wrings out the "R's" from a Philadelphia warshing.
And like every night, hot air cakes on an extra layer of indecipherable red dots up the arms and around the neck, minute pustules of hypochondria that steal my finger tips from the keyboard. I scratch and tip them, looking under their fiery scarlet caps for, I-don't-know-what disease. Paul says It's that magic school bus melanoma, typhoid drip, it comes at you from a computer screen and eats at your nervous system until you've got the wambles.
Tuesday's used to be the worst, until I OWNED THAT **** I make a pronoun out of aluminum foil and where it as a hat on a first date. OKCupid's not bad for conceptual art projects. I carry it within me like an anodyne complex, out into the guzzling wind, the air that comes into my mouth and looks for any breath within me that it can go out of me with, and I'm breathless.
I abandon my miniature house to enter the pyramidal pinetum to the North. Wild paradise shrubs gather with songless animal noises watching as I take naked photographs of my father to preserve his body from anything less than his great immortal end. He lives on black moss and water from a nearby bourn,
he's the mien of an Anthony Hopkins, living in a hologram I saw in my dream last night.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 6:25 AM UTC
Stay in bed
Close the blinds
**** the lights
Listen to your breathing
Listen to a faint pulse
Listen to blood gushing through your ears
Listen to your head
The thoughts you can't describe
The blood in your ears
And try to breathe
But anxiety lays on you like a heavy blanket
And your chest heaves to no avail
Blood in your ears
Get up and move but there's no where to go
Limbs are too heavy
Blood in your ears
Pulse elevating
Suffocating under some invisible demon
Gasping, gasping
***Blood
in
your
ears.***
When you're on the hunt for your own blood,
You'll beg hypochondria to **** you.
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 8:51 PM UTC
HYPOCHONDRIA
The feeling so real
So disconnecting:
the mind and body surreal
So encapsulating:
the connection of fear to the assumed infirmity
So enchanting:
The assuring gestures of certain saneness
"I'm ok. Its ok."
James GIBEK Jude.
Apr 20, 2015
Apr 20, 2015 at 1:57 PM UTC
A sharp pain
origins unknown
surprise in the disguise
of keeping it cool
am I to die from this?
I look to you for comfort
the reality of us in a dream like state
a fear that it will all go away
disbelief in your eyes
an incredulous smile
dying to escape
the lips I hold dear
something about your face was cold
this is all too familiar
and the fear reached a point
I just could not take
could not keep my heart
safely in place
it leapt in my chest
at the sight of that face
and the sharp pain came tenfold
pinned me down to your bed
woke up groggy
pain faded
fear instilled
wish to stay frozen
to have just been killed
I am alright
body is better
mind is in trauma
wish my heart was a feather
so I left it in your bed
tortured and tethered
Apr 28, 2014
Apr 28, 2014 at 8:59 AM UTC
Get drunk any morning you like
or afternoon or evening.
Enjoy unlimited naps.
Never be a wage slave again.
Take up knife throwing.
Don't worry about climate change,
you'll be dead before you have to swim.
Learn to juggle just because you can.
Become a Professional Poet.
Forget the difference between night and day.
Get discounts on **** you don't need.
Squeeze the taxpayers for all you can get.
Never help anyone move again.
Stop worrying about dying young.
Act the curmudgeon; people expect it.
Revel in hypochondria; any pain could be terminal.
Begin every sentence with "Back in the day..."
Remember: there is no 'future,'
only the 'near future.' Act accordingly.
Don't worry about getting drafted.
Constantly forget what day it is.
Say "I'm too old for this **** often as you wish.
I've forgotten: did I mention the unlimited naps?
~mce
Dec 15, 2015
Dec 15, 2015 at 9:29 AM UTC
and if the myth be true, that the devil tempted with a fruit of knowledge, that man then was able to fathom like the ancient greeks atoms, then god tempted the devil by placing a mirror in the devil's domain, turning the devil's solipsism into narcissism, and thus devolving three dimensions into two, subsequently making the evil one a hallucinogenic.
hypochondria is the
weirdest kleptomania,
you never steal anything
but you're adorned
by such prizes as non-existent
cancers, headaches, itches,
gnats of conscience, flu &
irritable bowel syndrome; etc.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 6:04 AM UTC
I can’t seem to catch hold of what’s next
I’m digging in year old treasure chests
to try and help me find a map
to adapt along society’s throng
the one I was born into and will die out of
All of the questions being asked in my college classes
pertain to inner opinions and oppositions
I guess I struggle with this because in philosophy
I learned self-love is the only superpower I have
and I don’t want to talk about finding the balance
between good and bad anymore
my apologies Socrates, you’re the opposite of a bore
but I’ve had enough of this question everything crap
that I cannot even appreciate how simple this class is
In English, I know writing will always be my salvation
but motivation, I lack in motivation
maybe I need my ritalin back
but that’s a question for December
that’s a question in whether I’m human enough
to get up off my ***
and ******* do something
but every time I try to “do” something
I feel like it’s ********
Oh Haley, that’s just your depression talking!
and my self doubt and hypochondria and my eating disorder
that I’ve been teasing with for months
Recovery is a beautiful fallacy
and honesty is for pages and strangers
My apathy disgusts me and I’m stuck
between an insatiable thirst for the past
and appreciation for the luck I have
Sep 16, 2014
Sep 16, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
What is true surrender?
How to stop fighting?
I only know the why.
My heart is aching
Because I try and try and try ...
Constantly starving myself
From love
Permanently thinking
That I am not enough
"Oh my poor self"
This is self-pity
"Why can't I be as
Beautiful or pretty?"
"This is so selfish
You're superficial"
This is the judging voice
Sounds like an official
"Making yourself dependent
On looks. On other's opinions,
On not your own truths"
"Of course, you know best"
-that's the submissive one.
Digging deeper a knife
Into one's own throat.
"Whatever it takes
I will express myself"
-this is the fighter,
Not giving up.
"We need to stop,
This is too much"
The fearful voice
Afraid of touch,
"Uh you're so pathetic"
That's the *********
Self-hurt multiplies
When it arrives.
"Let's do this again!"
The optimistic tone,
And there's the naive one
"I'm in, yes, yes, yes!"
"You can't be serious"
The everlasting anger
Trying to diminish
Whatever one thinks
And disappointment
Arises and lingers
In the air,
One is thrown into mist.
"I am so lost. I cannot see"
That's overwhelm
Coming over me.
This is where all the voices at once
Scream at me, talk to me,
Not one by one.
And overbearing with the emotion
One starts to drown in the dark and deep ocean,
Foggy the vision, nasty the mind,
One deeply lost, blurry and blind.
"Now are we satisfied?"
That's the expectation,
To make something outstanding
Out of every creation.
"Nah, could be better"
The perfectionist,
Trying to please...
Forgetting ease.
"My chest is burning"
Hypochondria churning,
Maybe the pressure is
Simply too much.
"You're so incapable!"
The inner critic,
Makes one feel hateful
Towards oneself.
"Wow, that's a lot"
Finally self-compassion,
Emerging slowly,
Comes into action.
"Burning" - exhaustion,
The energy released
And the heat in the body-
Increased.
"Is this awareness? What's my next step?"
Carefully wondering,
Still full of regret,
This is distrust,
Losing patience fast...
Helplessness howls,
Fear kicks in deeper,
"I think I can't breath,"
Anxiety croaks.
"When will it end?"
I ask and reply:
"It will not end,
Until I die."
Jan 6, 2025
Jan 6, 2025 at 11:44 AM UTC
I can't breathe. My heart is beating five times a second.
I'm dying, help me, please, please, I can't breathe.
...
..
.
The doctor in emergency said it's just anemia.
The lady in emergency said it's just anemia and heartburn.
The man in emergency said my heart is fine, fine, fine.
I don't believe it, I'm dying.
There are bumps in my throat and my nose is running
I'm sneezing and coughing and fatigued
I don't have a fever but my chest is killing me
My jaw, throat, and head hurt periodically. How can I not be dying?
...
..
.
"Psychosomatic."
.
..
...
**** you. **** you for that.
I think I'd know **** well if I'm panicking by now.
This is real. This is what death feels like.
This isn't in my head. I'm not crazy.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 10:15 AM UTC
well, a bit sidewinder a bit of anything,
fast pace on daddylong legs on the guitar,
pitch perfect translation
instruments on the legs...
played the harmonica with my heel
and played the panflute with my toes...
foxes running, shadows running,
english suburbia... the perfected example.
hypochondria costs the n.h.s. more
than alcoholism...
don't mind me, i can defrost cheese
and make a **** good curry with original ingredients.
that "self harm" on my right hand
is actually from fighting with my cat...
so i told myself... listen to the whole album
while skiing with a six pack and get the gem out,
the link's there, it's called: jackie mittoo's drum song.
there was something else i might have
neared to in the necessity of mention...
but then... there isn't...
there's cold whiskey... the cold orb surrounding
the moon in custard cloud blotches...
and me thinks... had the sun
been closer to the earth requiring the distance
of the moon to the earth as translated...
it'd be as big as the orb of light exfoliated by the moon...
otherwise the designated synchronicity
before sunset... or sunrise.
well the loon transgressed the laws of noon
by dancing to the sight of solitary streets,
and said against nietzsche the ******* without the cheese
that there are to maxims worth forgetting
if not worth implementing other than:
modesty extinguishes vanity -
apathy breeds no known pathology -
surely enough i'm not looking for god
like nietzsche's madman looking for god
with a candlelight in broad daylight in the marketplace...
no... i'm looking for diogenes... who's looking
for an honest man!
Nov 24, 2015
Nov 24, 2015 at 7:55 PM UTC
do you think that you are beautiful?
the question filled the room
the question mark,
so stark
digging into my ribs
like a phantom pain
that everybody else calls hypochondria
that i call invalidation
i grab the question mark
with a fierce fist of indignation
i change the words around
an attempt at self love promotion
i throw the question mark away
pull out my bold persona
YOU DO THINK THAT YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL!
EXCLAMATION POINT!
CAPITAL LETTERS!
BOLD!
do not question my beauty.
do not question my existence.
do not fill the space that i dare to embrace
with a question mark
when you could be making magic
when you could be dancing in the light of your own healing
yes,
i do think that i am beautiful
you shouldn't
have
to
ask
Aug 8, 2021
Aug 8, 2021 at 4:14 AM UTC