i’m still trying to find you

The world hasn’t stopped spinning since you left and I am a compass that only ever points North, to you.
North, to your house.
North, to your eyes.
North, to the way my name sounds on your lips.
North, to rooftops.
North, to torn pages of writing.
North, to that one time i got blood all over your kitchen counter.
North, to fumbling hands and sweaty palms.
North, to empty drama rooms.
North, to sunsets.
North, to tangled bedsheets.
North, to the way half-lit bedrooms make your eyes look.
North, to your fingers in my hair.
North, to the night you stopped loving me.
North, to please don’t leave yet.
North, I can fix things I promise.
East, Jesus Christ don’t do this to me.
West, I’m trying to find you.
South, you’re somewhere between someone else’s lips now.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

it still tastes like heartbreak

it isn’t what they show you in movies.
you don’t cry for weeks and wake up one day with yourself stitched back together.

some days it hurts more than others, some days, it doesn’t hurt at all.
some days it’s all the heavy hum of your heart, the weight of it, the breathlessness of it; how your hands grip things too tight, how everything you hold cracks at the corners.
other days it’s a broken rib; a bone popped out of place. 
the makeshift empty of it; the nagging ache of it.
some days it’s nausea; all spinning and bathroom stalls and mirror reflections and neon lights and the sound of hollow.

most days you wake up with the stitches tearing; with fresh blood and all the hurt.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write

some things are better left alone

This is how you know this fear:
sharp-tongued, red-eyed, clench-fisted, and crashing into your bones like an avalanche.
a voice like cat-calls at midnight, and all the names you scrubbed off your ankles after you walked the street alone.

sometimes he looks a lot like your neighbor when he’s angry, holding his fingers around the hem of his daughter’s shirt after she spends a night out. 
sometimes he looks a lot like the boy who kisses you in the bathroom stalls of the soccer field, leaves you tasting blood, and never takes you home to meet his mother.
you are the blood on his hands and he is the saint who washes you out before he shakes his father’s hand.

you, a wild rabbit, and he a loaded gun; stuttered-breaths and bullet holes and the thrill of the chase.
you are asking to be hunted down, the words ‘baby girl’ and ‘hot stuff’ inked into you like name tags.
the pepper spray in your back pocket and keys digging into your palms.
you know this fear like you know apologies for your body and men who were all hungry-mouthed and strong-gripped when you were their handlebars.

-excerpt from a book I’ll never write

it never made it hurt any less, either.

You know the pain is going to hit sooner or later.
It’s that moment before a car crash when the wheels swerve and everything turns into a blur.
You know you’re going to crash, but all you do is hope the airbag doesn’t forget to inflate.
But it does; and suddenly your head goes through the broken glass windshield and everything is pitch-black.
That’s what it felt like to lose you.
It was that moment of impact on repeat.
It was tires screeching and heads going through windshields and so much black.
It was watching the car sidetrack a hundred times over and still not being able to stop it. 
It was that moment of awareness, when you know you’ve lost control, but the car doesn’t go any slower.

– excerpt from a book I’ll never write


remember Manhattans and crowded bars, smoke clutching your hair like a backbone.
remember loud music, and louder laughs, and drunk people bumping into your side, but all you can really feel are her eyes on you.

remember cold air that tastes like ash and old friends that look like ghosts.
remember the way she holds cigarettes in between teeth like she is about to bite into it.
remember sweaty palms and eyes that look dead, like this isn’t her third glass.
like this isn’t her second chance at breaking your heart.

remember nights when she is almost yours, but not quite.
when she is still in love with you, but not quite.
when she is hurricanes and thunderstorms and you are leaves holding onto dead trees.
remember, because you are holding onto her with bloody hands and torn skin, trying to pull her back into your arms.
remember, because you know she will not be brave enough to hold on too. 

– excerpt from a book i’ll never write

easy to love 

Hello lovely people of the internet! 

I know I often post depressing, sad things. I talk a lot about mental illness, eating disorders, broken loves, and so on, but I would like to take the time to say that I am still doing well and I’m very happy and healthy. I would also like to post something a little more personal and upbeat. 

Now, I don’t have a lot of social media, because I deleted it a while back; I could feel myself getting bad again and needed a break from everything. 

So anyway, I don’t really post much about how great my boyfriend is, how wonderfully handsome and kind and just genuinely good natured he is, and all that other shit I would be saying as I fawn over him.  I am also choosing to post it on here because he doesn’t read this, so we cool. He’ll never know how stupidly typical girl I am. 

In the end, he is just a lovely human and he makes me very happy and I am thankful for him. Here are some photos of us trying to be cute and failing miserably. 

Okay, I’m done being lame, promise. 


i. i am wild ivy and you are a wooden house with broken window panes and walls too high to climb. you will let me in and i will wrap myself so tight around your bones trying to keep you together, but you will get tired of feeling me there every time you breathe.

ii. i am the songs you’ve learned to hear between uneasy breaths when i would tell you i loved you, but i will turn into slurred words and ripped chords and you will finally realize that we’ve always been an off-tune melody.

iii. i am the aftermath of a storm clutching to your fingertips when you drag your hands along my skin like you are triggering a natural disaster and you will find it hard to live with dust and debris gathering mountains under your fingernails.

iv. i am gracelessly placed kisses that will turn into gusts of wind against your lips and you will never teach your mouth to embrace tornadoes and i guess that’s why you took off whenever it started to rain.