#24hoursopen

2024 is the year we're being creative again. and i know it's the middle of April, don't get sassy with me. and i know my last post was last year and i haven't been consistent with my writing but progress isn't linear. life isn't linear. i stopped writing because writing carried expectations. writing made me competitive, mostly with myself, writing made me disappointed that my feelings weren't as big as other people's. do you know how lame it is to complain about having a little anxiety about your life when people are mourning their loved ones or processing trauma and i'm here like: hey look at these words, nothing is wrong with me but i just get a little sad sometimes. but screw that, i'll be cringe and i'll be lame but i'll be me. and i'm starting to like this version of me.

it's eclipse season and you can't look at me. you say that the sun always burned you and you can't be burned again. even though you've burned me, but that wasn't intentional so that doesn't count, you say. you wish i always rainy, because you only feel good when you feel bad. because that's familiar. because feeling bad takes no effort and you've only ever seen rock bottom and chained yourself there. is it too much work to improve yourself, sweet baby? you won't drag me down with you, either step up or enjoy the grave you've dug all those years. i don't take scraps anymore.

do you think that i would be into you if i wasn't mentally ill? or would that turn you off because that meant that i was just like all the other girls from your past? i'm trying to rationalize our relationship because i want to talk to you on my own terms, i don't care about your needs because you didn't care about mine when you dropped the bomb. and i hate how selfish that made me and i hate how you still make me laugh but you can't adhere to the picture of you i created in my head. just like i'm not the manic pixie dream girl you made me out to be. so we'll just go on our separate ways, our knuckles turning white because we can't seem to let go.

Trust me. The days you feel like giving up , are the days when you want to give it all you got.

I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger. I’d write to the point of suffocation. I’d write myself into nervous breakdowns, Manuscripts spiraling out like tentacules into abysmal nothing. And I’d write about you a lot more than I should.

it’s the same dream every night: hands become shadows that reach through locked doors/ something pulls open my ribs/ there’s a pool of moonlight on the pillow beside/ she feeds the monkshood garden beside the heart/ drowning drowning drowning/ I tell myself “I’ve never needed the moon, but she’ll always need me”/ blood rushes into airways/ close my eyes tighter and maybe this really will become love/ I’ve never been my own/ a girl/ a garden/ a place for deadly memories to grow

I stopped writing because I thought "who the fuck is reading my words anyway" as if writing to get the poison out isn't enough, as if I'm not enough. And I'll never be, because I'll always have that need to make people feel something. I'll always have that urge to scream my feelings and hear back that they're valid. That I'm valid.

and i was wondering why do we all get sad at five pm? what is it about that specific hour that makes us feel so worthless and hopeless? maybe it's because we already had to endure so much during our day and we just can't wait for it be over, or on the other hand we experienced joy like never before and the day is about to be over. maybe it's because we never enjoy being in the middle because we're always straining our eyes trying to see the end.