Don’t you dare fucking ruin this one for me too

Every time

I turn around

There you are

The dark monster of my dreams

Eating everything I have that’s good, alive

You

Pick

And

Pull

And

Grin

At my misery

Pick

And

Pull

And

Grin

At my sorrow

The mask

Must come off,

Dark monster

Reveal yourself

17 year old you was so fucking corny and its so fucking cute

i read my old blog posts and cringe to no return

i read my old poems and i start to tear up

i’m reminded of the emotions i felt and i know what i’ve healed from

and what i havent

i’m so glad i wrote this blog.

lord knows if i’ll ever start again

just wanted to reflect.

Little miss

Little miss hopeless romantic

Little miss people pleaser

little miss answers your texts right away and hands out trust without a second glances

little miss falling in love with the type of people who need healing more than romance

little miss always sees the good

little miss making excuses for your unkindness

little miss loved you too much

little miss couldnt walk away when i knew i should

little miss second and third chances. fourth and fifth and sixth

little miss had enough

little miss beginning to unravel the lies you told me

little miss realizing empty hearts deserve empty hands

little miss taking back who i was before all of this

little miss realizing that i am worth more

little miss i am my little miss before i was ever yours

-whitney hanson

i miss writing

my inspirations gone

thanks for visiting

why is it that loneliness swallows you whole?

like the darkness in the hall when you were a child

the fear of the monster under your bed

happiness is the barely glowing nightlight

sitting there plugged into the corner, flickering

when all you want is the lights to be o n

all

the fucking

time

tick tock

time flies

but also

moves like the snail I saw trying so desperately to cross the lawn this morning

I am sad

like the clown you used to wake up in a hot sweat about

fucking indecision haunts me, making the days feel like weeks & the weeks feel like years

23

Am I old? Am I young?

time moves and moves and the wrinkles begin to show with each day, week, year that passes

I can feel them growing

24 calls to me

like you used to

You’ll tell everyone you’re different, but you’re just a shade of grey that never stuck out to anybody.

talking to myself

It’s been almost four fucking years, wordpress. How the heck are ya?

God. 4 years.

A lot of shit has happened to me these past four years. (I still love repetition)

I’ve been in a relationship for 3 1/2 of em. I still live in the same area, and I never did get into university. Graduated from my CC and have been floating ever since.

I think part of the floating has to do with the fact I stopped posting on here.  Stopped writing, creating. Discontinuing creativity is a bad bad thing to do. Don’t ever stop creating.

I really haven’t been writing for the past 4 years. I think I gave it up because I gave myself up. I’m afraid to be vulnerable. I’m still incredibly untrusting of everyone. I mean I double check everyones work  & I don’t believe them when they say I love you.

Just kidding about that last one, it just sounded poetic.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about what I’m doing in life, who I want to be with, where I want to be. Recently got a promotion, so I changed gears there, hanging around new and different people and rethinking the old ones. I’m at a crossroads, and I’m not sure which path to take.

Change is scary, isn’t it? But it’s also good. And healthy. And needed every once in a blue moon.

I fucking crave adventure. I crave experience. I crave people.

I’m just in a situation where I’m limited and so I’m struggling

 

STRUGGLING

 

I also want to reflect on my 19 year old self and remind myself that I AM AMBITIOUS ON MY OWN. My identity is so wrapped up in my relationship, I have trouble differing if I am who I am without him. Constantly questioning. But 19 year old me! Beautiful. Young. A bit naive, but also a dreamer. Dreamer! There it is. I was not nothing before him. I dreamed of a future where I did what I was passionate about & loved life. I was on a path to something greater. I do not have to be an entrepreneur or an internet sensation. As long as I do what I am passionate about, everything will be right in the world.

Now what am I doing? Taking care of him. Watching television. Working 60+ hours a week? What the fuck happened to me? Where did my creativity and sense of self worth go?

At the end of the summer, I’m done. I will independently be me. Refer to my break up post. And this.

Thank god for social media.

 

I always title my poems fuck when I can’t even do that

I can’t fucking sleep
And I can’t fucking read
I can’t fucking write
And I can’t fucking speak
All I can do is lay in bed
And think
And think
And think and think