The pain would split me in two if I let it. If I gave it access to my insides. Split me right open. Turn me inside out. Leave me no safe place to hide. I can feel it coming in around me. Closing in on me. I can feel it surrounding everything. When it feels hard to breath. When you turn the music up a little more loudly. All I know is suffering. I don’t want this suffering. All I know is suffering. Not this time. I won’t let you in. I won’t let you win. I don’t want to grieve anymore. I’m so tired of it. My body has dropped down on the floor, as I sit and write this. My body isn’t with me anymore.

small town

My city is plagued with guilt. For all the souls it’s hollowed out and all the children it’s seen grow into sick adults. And all of the people who are bored. So damn bored. Bored out of their minds (they’re out of their minds). They’ll ingest every and any drug known to mankind. Just to FEEL. Oh they’re starving for something real. But keep feeding on artificial. And my city sees it. Sees it every day. And sleeps with it every night. Knowing it will never change. This is the town where every body stays the same. 


I think about dichotomy a lot. I urge to understand it. The more I do, the less I do. Another dichotomy. We are filled with them. Our insides and our outsides. Our insides are our outsides. There must be a view where it all looks like a dance, perfectly choreographed.

The beast who feasted on me.

I can never get away from you, can I?

I never really got away.

All that running and I still ended up back in the same place.


Still dreaming of your face.

I never thought of you as the monster you were.

Never allowed myself to feel the hurt.

It was too much to bear–

what you did to me was too much to bear.

I would’ve crumbled into pieces.

I would have become nothing. I already felt like nothing.

“He was just lost”, that’s how I explain you to people.

What a fucking joke.

All the abuse, and all the lies, and I still lied for YOU.

Maybe it was for me. Who knows. That’s the thing with abuse,

you get so confused.

And it still haunts me.

At night.

In my dreams.

You come alive.

It all leads back to you

My monster.

My truth.


I love you. I’m scared you’re going to die. And I’m scared that I’ll never say this to you before you do. I worry about being too dramatic. How pathetic is that? I worry more about being over dramatic— while you remain killing yourself every day. Playing Russian roulette with a crack pipe. Which line will be lethal? Which relapse will be the last time?

alone, together

Your stomach growls. It shakes the walls it’s so loud, reminding you that you’re running low on food. I hear it growl, drowning out every sound, and think of all the meals I’d cook for you.

Your baby is crying. Your other sons hiding. And your husband isn’t helping you. I sing lullabies from a million miles; I sing them loud for you.

You’re sick with worry, the thoughts never end. All of the doubts that make your world spin. I combat each thought with one of my own. I send you my strength and send you my calm.

You wake up to your boyfriend apologising again. As you reach for the bruise on your eye, I reach for the tear that runs down mine. I would stand and protect you from every throw. I’d make winds so strong he’d never get up from the blow.

You don’t recognize your body anymore. So frail and old, so different from who you were before. You just want to eat but you’ve grown too weak, and you haven’t been able to make it to the store. You just want to bathe but your legs start to shake every time you try to stand tall. I would be your legs and walk you to the store. Help you to your bath and finish up all your chores. I would tell you how beautiful you still are.

we’re all building our own forts

I keep thinking about this fort I built once. I shared a room with my stepsister, and I had to get away from her the only way I knew how, so I made a fort. I had my stereo in there, and my headphones, and I was fine. I don’t know if it’s because I’m on my own now and nothing feels safe anymore. Maybe I’m trying to remind myself that I can create my own safe space. I can build my own fort, out of what I have. Maybe I’m trying to remember how there was a time when I didn’t feel safe before; but I still managed to build myself a home.

Even if it was out of blankets and sheets and a hell of a lot of pretending, it was still mine and everything was okay in there. Maybe if I could take care of myself then, there’s a good chance that I can do it now, again.  



Beginning, middle, end

Ending & beginning

The end is the beginning

The beginning is the end

The middle is the matter

The middle matters

The middle isn’t always there

What happens in the middle?

The space in between

The time-space in between


There’s only one middle

But infinite beginnings and ends

Sometimes you begin and end and end and end and end

Beautiful Things

  • How you can still discover yourself even after so many years. You’re never the same person twice; but you’re always you
  • All the different forms of love. The layers are infinite the compounds always the same
  • When it [sadness, anger, confusion, fear] turns into laughter
  • How every morning is filled with potential
  • The changing: of tides, people, things, world, feelings, thoughts. The constant changing.

we are alone // we are together (alone together)

The air hits differently right now

Everything’s so still

The silence is profound

What will be of all of this?

And what will be of all of us?

Our thoughts are spinning

We’re weaving a web of worries

We fear uncertain times, uncertain things

But things are never as certain as they seem

You can be certain of that

The walls of illusion are tumbling down

There is a chance to see clearly

But it’s blinding right now


The ecstasy was shattering. It was much too much of a thing.

It was emptying. Leaving no room for… no space for… no-thing left for any-thing else.

Your love was much too much for me. It was blinding, it hurt! It hurt! It split me up; open and out, it made me fall out of myself!


No room.

To move.

No space.

To breathe.


I couldn’t see!


And you–

There was no room.

It was suffocating.

Overwhelmed with joy.

Ecstasy, another way to destroy.

It destroyed me.

I couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t handle love.

Couldn’t digest it.

Too thick.

Too solid.

Too opaque.

I couldn’t see through.

Blinded! I tell you! I couldn’t see!


It was all just much too much of a thing for me.


I know beautiful things are going to happen.

I don’t know how.

I know lovely places exist… beyond the words I have to describe them with.

I don’t know where.

I know all the questions turn to answers and all the pieces start to fit.

I don’t know when.

I don’t know -when-what-where–how-why-

But I know it.


Your old self breaks

To make room for your new

You break through


It hurts

At first

You make room

You lose the big parts of you. Chunks and pieces.

You break

You feel strange, not sure what your made up of any more

Don’t know your ingredients

Or the instructions on how to build you

New. Completely new

Broke yourself

To break through

Split in the middle, unravelled and fell through

Poured out- emptied yourself just to make room

The new


something cheesy and uplifting

Maybe I like the rough copy more than the final product

Room for editing

Room for mistakes

Room for growth and change

Maybe we all need to remember this; when looking at the rough copy of ourselves; why race to be the final product? Why race to the end? enjoy the process; enjoy every different rough copy that is you.




Why do you need a reason to exist?

I just feel like there’s gotta’ be more than this.

Why can’t you just be happy with where you are?

I just want more. I always want more.

You need to learn to be grateful.

Well, being grateful never seems to get me very far, and I turn into such a bore. Some lazy slump. Who doesn’t have ambitions anymore?

You need to learn how to balance.

Shouldn’t I just learn how to enjoy it all? Enjoy the process? Enjoy when I’m a bore? Or a lazy slump. Or enjoy when I’m so ambitious and so caught up? In the frivolous things that, really, don’t have any meaning but are so sticky and easy to get stuck in? I mean there is no point and isn’t that the point?

You’re always caught in this circle.

 Or maybe I’m just riding the waves.

thicker the truth the harder it hits

Thats exactly what it is. It’s so hard to say goodbye to all the damage. All the cracks, and bruises, and broken bits. The pieces that make up who you are, or who you thought you were. And if not that, then who are you? And what’s your excuse? for being this way? For doing nothing, and wasting your life away?

new feelings.

So, this is what ambition feels like? It’s a little aggravating to say the least; to actually want something. To feel that burning. That desire. That hunger for life. For a life. For your life. The hunger to choose, to build, and design your life. But oh, the patience. The self-discipline. The never- ender supply of self-love that you must feed yourself.