I've been empty before— /my mother's unused drum kind of empty/ the kind that leaves you reeling asking to be used. the kind/ that punches you in the guts every time you whisper: I love you you see? I know how it feels/ to hurt like a fire has made your heart its home. to hurt like you'd never know a happy which was not a sad like life never rated you enough for a trial. days the world spinned too fast and you broke down/ like the walls of an abandoned building willing this empty to end.

I decided I wasn’t going to write anything new today. The plan was to go over my drafts and see anything suitable, and I found a poem I wrote about sex and the intimacy that comes with it. …

On October 9, 2023, approximately 91 days to the end of the year, I started on a 21-day challenge I themed: "Living my best life." During this period, the task was to do everything I imagined my best self doing. From work ethics to studying to general self-development. I told…

You are listening to Who we love by Sam Smith on repeat, and you flip through the memories—that’s all you’re left with anyway. You see the light in her eyes when you say you love her or talk to her. The way she made your life so beautiful and filled…

If you’ve been in my circle for the past 1 year, you’d know that with me, we’re going to have to fix our lives together. I am a sucker for knowledge, and I dispense them happily, whether asked or not—compliment my autism. I will be honest and blunt with you…

… but not necessarily in that order. ~ Phil Kaye I first heard of Phil Kaye from a suicidal friend. He would post a particular snippet from Phil Kaye's Beginning, Middle and End, and I would wonder why he was so fixated on that line: "If you wake up wake…

It's been two years now, and I still remember your last words on that night. Standing under the streetlamp in front of our house, you hugged me tightly and waved me off. As I walked away that day, I remember feeling like I was walking into oblivion. …

I've always had nightmares for as long as I can remember. Nightmares, delusions, hallucinations, panic attacks, trembling… name it. Which is a shitty way to live for a female teenager. It's like having this tag on your head that says "weirdo" and "psycho." …

it’s like going home to a house, dry grass crunching beneath your feet as you walk into the horizon. there’s ashes and graves where there used to be laughter, and the jingles under the tree don’t make your heart sing anymore. there are sticks and the makings of a bed where a home once stood and it’s silent. like your heart on the day you came home to a house. people ask how it feels to lose everything, you say; quiet. it’s quiet in your head and eyes, but it’s heavy, too, and maybe heavy is quiet. maybe the grave is home, and that’s the only home you’ll ever have. maybe walking into oblivion is walking home. just going, going, going. going home. maybe.