Oh, I’m a princess, just not yours.
by Me (via littlebunnybaby)

(via queen---beee)


I am tearing myself to shreds,
wet bones ripping at my fingers and my tongue.
All day my heart has been louder
than usual.
It has slammed my rib cage
and I don’t know why.
Am I nervous?

A pretty girl
with straight, shiny hair
tells me she wouldn’t be surprised if I turned out to be a lesbian.
“You’re not insulted, are you?”
She asks,
already giving me the answer.
No, I’m not anything.

I am making myself tender,
nails so raw that I can’t shower.
I can’t rub shampoo into my scalp without wincing,
but I am dirty.

On Facebook everyone posts
“never forget”
and in school we have a moment of silence
but I talk over it (accidentally)
and I wonder why?
Why shouldn’t we forget if forgetting
makes us happy?
And who thinks that they have the authority
to tell me what to remember?

I haven’t showered today and yes,
I know that I am dirty.

They tell me not to divide my attention
and that’s okay
because math had always dripped straight out of my brain
sticky like a popsicle
melting in August.

They stopped asking if I was okay because I started eating again
and that’s fine, and maybe,
since no one is asking
this means I’m okay now.
So I park my car crooked
but I don’t move it and I don’t care
and I keep right on chewing myself to pieces.


it’s two in the morning
and I’m trying to clear
so I can sleep
but darling I can’t forget the day we counted trains and
it was almost too cold
for a picnic


I am going to make myself steel.
I’m going to make myself smooth and hard,
my skin bumpless ivory,
my lips curled in a dead scowl.
I’m never going to take off my eyeliner.
I’m going to eat water and let it flush me out
or drown me,
whatever comes first.
I’m going to smoke out of my bedroom window
with one bare leg in the warmth of my once-yellow room
and one hanging far above the cold dark ground.
I’m going to let the ashes fall and hope no one sees them
and I’m going to think about dead rock stars
and a boy who I love out of context
and maybe by default.
And I’m not going to bite my cuticles
because rocks and steel
don’t tear
like that.

1. The hair-tie that my best friend gave me a month ago just broke. There’s a purple rubber band in my hair and I’m going to sleep with it in even though I know I’ll wake up painfully tangled.

2. I will never can never get my hands warm. Right now they are freezing cold but I’m keeping them out of the blanket to text a boy I don’t even really know.

3. Sometimes I leave class and walk quickly in angular circles around the school hallways. I walk until I break a sweat and when I get back to class people give me funny looks. I don’t care.

4. I miss you so much and if I saw you again I think I’d hit you in the face.

5. My skin is dirty ice like the month-old march snow that litters the ground outside my window. I’m worried that when it melts I won’t recognize what’s underneath and I won’t be able to make anything grow in the permafrost ground.

by I’m a mess (via porn4smartgirls)
I’d like to see the inside of you, I think.
I’d like to open you up and spill you
across the new marble countertops.
I’d like to crawl inside of you
and make my way up
through your throat.
I want so badly for you to crash into me.
I want you to close your eyes
and hold your breath
and shatter my rib cage with your momentum.
If I could I would slice your head open
and I would reach inside your soft brain
and I would gently, so gently
pull out every bad memory.
I’d pull out and toss to the ground the time no one knew your name
because you were the new kid and when
you caught the ball at third base
during the class picnic they
didn’t know what to cheer and
every time your mother told you that you weren’t good enough
will little glances
and side comments.
If I could I would shed not only my clothes for you
but my skin too
and my muscles and my bones
and I would show you myself.
“Here,” I would say, “take it, it’s yours.”
You are my favorite capsizing ship.
You are my favorite natural disaster.
I want to watch you wreak havoc.
I want to watch you burn and afterwards
(when our path is littered
with collapsing buildings and
government drones and lonely poets with clean dead eyes)
afterwards, I want
to curl up next you and bury
my mind in the thumb-sized indent underneath
Your ribcage.
by (via porn4smartgirls)

sometimes I kiss people I shouldn’t kiss and let them unbutton my jeans sometimes I leave English class without asking and walk in angular circles until I can hear the blood rushing under my skin sometimes I run until I can’t breathe sometimes I sit in the rain sometimes I sleep for six hours in the middle of the day

sometimes I drive too fast and listen to my music so loud that it hurts sometimes I drink until everything goes black and I don’t remember talking about you all night (even though I do)

sometimes I cry about books and about people who died hundreds of years ago sometimes I don’t cry even though I want to more than anything sometimes I ignore the people I love sometimes I hold myself to keep everything in because you are not here to do it

sometimes I think I’m alive sometimes I think I probably never will be

by (via porn4smartgirls)
Sometimes I am happy
in my skeletal house
with parents one-hundred miles away
drinking wine until their bellies grow.
I wish I was still a little girl
who could hide deep in her mother’s closet
like the 22 year old secrets,
they keep covering my mouth
and dragging me deeper.
How do you say it?
I think I’m sick and it’s probably your fault
you gave me life
you took it away.
I learned to pick at my dinner
from staring across the table.
I learned to pinch at my stomach
by looking to my right.
by Michelle K., Maybe I’m Not the Only One Who Needed Therapy. (via michellekpoems)

what a fucking nightmare

the whole goddamn week

it just didn’t stop

mom: oh here i’ll talk at you about talking about packing to move and then never actually initiate a conversation for the first two days of break so then our communication is terrible for the rest of the week because we can literally never get on the same page

then when we finally decide to start, i’ll drop that i want your whole room packed by the end of the week so that I don’t have to do any decision-making for you

so because of frantic last-minute guilt-trip packing (which you still didn’t finish) you get an hour less to do your extremely time-sensitive homework

oh and start working on your five-year plan, thinking about how many extra semesters you’ll need, and whether we can cut that down, because for some reason even after how hard you’ve worked to pull everything together this year i was seriously doubting whether you wanted to continue to pursue a bachelor’s degree (i mean, you haven’t taken any math or science class yet, so we don’t know if you can really pull it off)

plus i’ll casually mention your father’s alleged affair for good measure.

dad: after suddenly realizing that you could die at any moment, maybe i should work to make this relationship less of a constant power struggle


let’s get coffee and talk about shit that doesn’t matter so i can feel like a better parent instead.

airport: the terminals aren’t laid out the way you thought they were so you get to walk an extra half-mile to find your gate

but you missed your flight by three minutes

haha fuck you~

anxiety/ocd: let’s bring back one of your old behaviors for the duration of the week that no one really knew about before and it’s not hurting anyone so we can just let it get worse and worse maybe worse than it’s ever been all at once and then everything will be fine just breathe

just breathe


sext: Really care abt u and ur feelings

(via magicdroolbus)


Slowly replacing the negative thoughts with colors and beautiful things.

Ok, having depression or any kind of mood disorder fucking sucks. It can make even the simplest tasks feel overwhelming and impossible. But if you’re feeling shitty and you wake up and are able to accomplish any of these things you deserve a fucking medal. I know shit is hard but you’re not alone. Take solace in the little things. Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they’re not important. Little steps are never a bad place to start. 

Mary Quant Stockings, 1960s.