I’m Sorry

It’s easy to say

It’s easy to say I hope you’ve been well, than calling me up and having a meaningful conversation. It’s easy to say I support you, than showing up on the night of my performance. It’s easy to tell everyone that you know me, than actually knowing how I'm doing that day. It’s easy to say I hope you had a good day, than asking how my day went. It's easy to say I hope you get better, than supporting me on each step of the way. But I'd like to think loving me would be easy.

I miss you like

I miss you like the moon misses the waves of the shore, lingering to bring it closer to its halo.

But you miss me like a shooting star in the sky on the brightest night in the city.

I’ve missed you like a dwarf planet yearning to be pulled back in its sun’s orbit.

But you miss me like a summer breeze on the hottest day in July.

It’s not the same, and it may never be. It’s never enough, and I blame myself for it. I hate myself most for longing to be missed by you like winter’s first snowfall.

wanting to fade away

wanting to fade away forever is like waiting for the wall of paint to dry— staring at it until your eyes burn red with dryness, and your legs are cramping with every breath.

it's wanting to solve every problem with the solution of not being here anymore, waiting until you fall and your bones crash with the cement.

it's crying until your throat turns within itself and you can't breathe and you're forced to scream inside yourself. it's crying when you get a breeze of air in your hair, and your cheeks turn cold because they've been hallowed out by being so gaunt.

i've been wanting to fade away recently.

Nightmares

Some nights I have the most vivid nightmares and I can’t tell if they’re memories from the past or wicked hypotheses about what tomorrow will look like if I continue the way that I am the dreams hurt, like cuts on my arm that only I can see. scars burned white with every itch maybe i'm broken, truly, unbelievably broken.

and I have no one to blame but myself

no one actually reads this blog so I hope my casual writing dumps here & there somehow, somewhere get appreciated. 🤍 xx

I’ve gotten used to being treated this way

I’ve gotten used to being ignored, of having my hellos be greeted with rolled eyes.

I’ve gotten used to my palms being stained with ink from letters I stayed up writing until dawn, waiting by the mailbox just to never get any letters written back.

I’ve gotten used to being as nice as I can be, and getting called unauthentic.

I’ve gotten used to you ignoring me as we pass through the hallway, as I sat alone on graduation day holding my own hand because no one wanted to hold mine.

I’ve gotten used to always being the one who messages first, and waiting for a reply until a new moon passes us by.

But maybe it’s time I get used to loving myself enough, to not make myself endure all of this. When will it be my turn to grow? To be apart from your shadow? Maybe it’s time to let go.

like I’m five again

I hear the distinct footsteps across hallway floors, voices ricocheting off thin walls, cabinets slammed with force, and the door of the fridge being thrown off its hinges.

“I thought we moved passed this”, a thought that runs across my mind often. But it seems like we haven’t, and I’m hiding in the depths of my closet with puffy eyes, arms with scars, and knees to my heart. like I’m five again.

Every scream and yell triggers a shake from my bones, clattering from the last meal I had last night. Teeth clenched in aptitude and tears falling down with every hitch. like I’m five again.

I double check if my door is locked & if I have enough blocking it by force. Because words are words and threats are threats, but actions to end my life are much quicker.

So quietly I hide back in the nook of my darkened closet, tears so quiet that only the ants can hear them. Hiding this part of my life like it’s another Tuesday morning, smile gracing my hallow cheeks, and telling myself everything will go back to normal. because it’s just like I’m five again.

My mom’s worried

my mom’s worried that I haven’t eaten for the last 24 hours, she’s right— I haven’t.

probably even longer.

she’s right to be worried, I mean, if I was her I’d think I was starving to d!e. she’d be right.

I think she knows.

Does a mom know? Does she want to know?

I’m at a point where I don’t care. I just want to end my misery— by hoping I drown in a pool of my tears, waiting for the water to burn my skin until it uncovers the raw bone that’s peering out of my elbows every time I breathe a bit harder.

Just let me end it already.

your eyes are swollen.

yes I know, I’ve always been this way.

your wrists are scarred.

yes I know, they’ve been holding my pain.

your cheeks are hallow.

yes I know, my stomach has been turned inside out.

your ribs are showing.

yes I know, they poke out of my shirt.

Now you know, I’ve just always been this way. and this is how things have always been.

I had assumed

My bad— I had assumed we were closer than I thought we were. nights holding hands as the cold air crisped our noses, tears running down my face, arms intertwined, and your jacket on my shoulders.

I’m sorry— I had assumed we were close. nights crying on the phone until the sun rose to remind us to go back to bed. nights on the bench crying until 3am because he dumped you for another athlete.

I fear— I’ve assumed we were close. days sitting on the grass unveiling our fears that we’ve never told anyone else. laughing until we told ourselves it’s not worth it to k-ll ourselves right now.

I didn’t know— we weren’t as close as you said we were. And I’m sorry, I didn’t catch myself sooner.