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i love halsey because she'll write lyrics like "a girl like that is a mother, must be tough/ a problem child, i was rough/ but what do you do with a difficult grown up?" and then in another song she'll rhyme "michigan" with "bitch again"

IMO “michigan” / “bitch, again” is some of my best work.

Fucking 🔥

ok inbox break time cause I’m still a Tumblr grl and this is gonna ruin my feed <3 lol. See u next time

I am back, hello.

My therapist once told me, “You are the guiltiest feeling person I’ve ever met” and just to prove her right, I took it to heart. An astrologer said, “You have so much water in your chart. What is it like to feel the emotions of every single person alive, everyday?” and I wept because I sensed he was displeased. A teacher told my parents “She’s very sensitive. Far more than the other kids in her class.” I took my SATs at 9 years old, but they encouraged my mother to hold me back because of how my eyes glistened when I heard the word no. She told them to go to hell. So I cried my way through my education until high school when they said “You take everything so personally, you’ll never survive in a company environment. You wouldn’t make a good employee.” So I employed myself (out of spite or…necessity) and then later, I hired 200 people. A boyfriend told me “Don’t be so dramatic, everything isn’t a movie.” Fine, so it’ll be an album then. The doctor said “This shouldn’t hurt a bit.” I tread daily on a minefield that leaves me classifying the variations in footsteps, the tonality in voice, a change in breath. “Is everything okay? You seem mad” is my pledge of allegiance to this tightly wound bundle of flesh. I am cut open, butterflied and flayed, with every single nerve exposed like live wires and, yes, they all hurt to touch. Each interaction is a litmus test of how well liked I am, and therefore how worthy to live. I wake up every morning and the moral barometer resets, T-minus 12 hours to prove to myself that I am not the bad person I believe I must be. Sleep, repeat. An amnesiac nightmare. Prometheus on a rock and the gull in my guts is myself. I once envied those with greater armor, but not anymore. “Why do you care so much?” Guard yourself from the little grievances, but the shield does not differentiate. The space where I am vulnerable to the pain that passes through is an entry point for the microscopic good that others may miss. I live in technicolor torment. If I could do it over again and choose the comfortable grey, I would seize a knife and cut the little keyholes back into my every limb. So the light can get in.

I am keeping a secret. I am sucking on it like a lozenge that just won’t get smaller. I am passing it back and forth between my teeth, like a ball on a field between the legs of a bored player. It is not a happy secret, like a diamond in a velvet box in a sweaty pocket. It’s a secret like a loaded gun sewn into the lining of my sweater’s hood, aimed directly for the back of my head. It is a cartoon piano suspended above me. It is a manhole threatening to spontaneously collapse beneath my feet. It is a cloud of noxious gas meticulously attached to only the molecules I misguidedly breathe. It is in my shadow, and it singes the concrete where I stand. It is the sad clink of an empty glass on New Year’s Eve. It is a nap in the passenger seat from which I will never wake up. I am keeping a secret. I am hoarding it. You will find it amongst yellowed mountains of books in a garage, when you find me. This is not a promise, it is a confession. I am keeping a secret.

very curious seeing writing i did on here (when i was a teenager) having such a resurgence ten years later. makes me wonder how i will feel about my writing from now, when i am 10 years older. do you ever read something you wrote when you were younger and feel like it belongs to a stranger? i could shudder and shrink when i read it, and judge the work of a different version of me based on the standards to which i hold THIS version of me. but i think i will choose not to, and instead choose to commend my younger self for being brave enough to try. ultimately that journey is what got me here, no?

I am back, hello.

gonna be a tough thing deciding which writing to post here and which to save for the records. lately i’ve been writing constantly from morning to night. not for any reason. just a compulsion. having conversations and my hands are simultaneously typing away in a world and ambience of their own. ambidextrous brain. master of none.

I feel like you wrote and write your best music when you are internally struggling thru things. Your rawness and completel honesty compel you to forward with some raw and enchating...while blowing fjrdf our mind then spirit away for real. -Cat