I post things that could be considered triggering
“If you cut me open you won’t find constellations swirling under my skin.
You won’t find a galaxy resting on my tongue
Or fires waiting to ignite beneath my fingertips.
Instead of supernovas or forest fires
what you’ll find even before you break skin
will be the smell of axe and a flower garden.
You’ll find traces of the scents lingering on my hands and on my neck.
It’ll be smell of the girl who loves everyone and everything with a fierce passion, but doesn’t love herself at all.
Then the skin will break and the blood that I have spilt on the dark days full of gloom and despair and sunlight will flow freely from the body who knows a blade far too well.
The blood will flow and spell out my secrets on your white bed sheets before pooling.
Trust me when I tell you it’ll take months to wash out that crimson red.
You’ll see muscles in my arms and legs are worn out.
And that’ll be because they work tirelessly every single day to try and please everyone around me, but somehow wearing myself down, never seems to be good enough.
You’ll see how the ones in my fingers are worn out
And It’ll be from the poems that I stay up until 4am to write.
Because the depression that slowly eats away at my insides,
Will not let me sleep.
Then behind what looks like a cage
you will find the strongest muscle.
the one that will decide if it wants you to live or die.
A muscles whose only job is to keep your body functioning.
The muscle will be torn and worn.
it will be bruised and battered.
from all the wars it has waged
and all the trauma it has endured.
But even after all the muscle has been through;
Heartbreak, harsh words, and a bottle of pills,
That despite my best efforts to get it to stop
Somehow it still continues to beat.
And when you carve out the muscle and tissue eventually you’ll hit bones.
And on them you will see all the words ever thrown and spit at me, are carved into all of them.
You will be left wondering exactly how it is possible to bruise such a hard object.
So you won’t find a world on fire hidden behind my rib cage
You won’t see collapsed buildings or burnt out stars
And especially not and ocean of despair.
Because I’m not a vast emptiness of your so called beauty!
I am blood and muscle!
I am pain and scars!
I am a collective of all the battles I have fought and
All the wars I have yet to win.
I am not a girl your poetry can consume and construct
I am a girl born of blood and shit
I have survived things you can’t even begin to imagine!
But I am not a summers day, and I am not the moon or the stars
I am a person whose heart beats for the sole intention of keeping this body alive. and not to be the headline of your next poem.
I am a person made up of bone and tissue and scars and memories.
But one thing I am not,
is a metaphor.”
I’m honestly not a bad person, my heart is in the right place; it’s just that my head isn’t.
I would suck a dick to be able to teleport
I would suck a dick even if nothing happens
I would teleport to suck a dick…
Why people ask me shit like “how was work?” or “how is school?” like work is work, school is school, I would rather be on a yacht right now while gettin some dick but here I am
Good people are like candles; they burn themselves up to give others light.
IM SO ANGRY THAT PINEAPPLES DONT GROW ON TREES
THIS PISSES ME OFF SO MUCH YOU DOTN EVEN KNOW
I’m not used to being loved. I wouldn’t know what to do.