howdy

i hope you heal

Me to me

This last week has fucked with my emotions so badly. Just when I think I’m okay I cry. I don’t feel like I’ve wrap my head around the fact she’s gone. I don’t want it to be real.

How come you feel it more at night

i’m known as the hypocrite - i can’t become something and make it stick. if you met me two weeks ago, i’m already different. i’ll tattoo who i was on my skin with confidence and take that vow but staying there? that’s something my mental illness won’t allow. this used to be my biggest insecurity but now i’m aware of it’s maturity. people would mock my current phase and see the way i live my life as nothing more than “touristy.” the people who roll their eyes at my breakthroughs are forever stagnant - hiding in bunkers with a whole lot to say about the “unstable dragon.” i’m known as crazy and off my rocker but i’d rather be me than a faux intellectual sleepwalker. you arrive to gatherings shunning store bought while carrying something homemade but it’s not that hard to look desirable while sitting right next to a fucking grenade. i don’t have an image to uphold full of “higher thoughts” and “positive vibes.” i made myself the goddamn moon and i own up to my tides. it has to be exhausting forever sanding down your rough edges to become easier to swallow. i don’t go down easy. is it hard for you to hold up those pitchforks while inside you’re hollow? i’m okay with being the nightmare of a woman while standing in this room. i’m unhinged, impolite - everything but a shell of a tomb. so, go ahead - read this and polish your throne. but, one day you’ll wake up and be all alone. me on the other hand? well, I’ll be fucking known.