archive for myself of things i say/write that i enjoy, publicized for anyone to read 

many of these are written as personal thoughts/feelings or just personal experiences, if considered triggering, i will mark it down. ex: [tw]

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3.8.24 

my mind is a wretched beast that refuses to be heard or listen. i sometimes imagine holding someone in my arms, or maybe it’s the other way around. either way, i think about it sometimes. i have no craving for intimacy, but i can’t help but think about it from time to time. whoever i’m imagining, i hope i can hold you. be near you, stare at you for hours on end, carve our names on the branches of neighboring trees, smoke the butts of already smoked cigarettes just because we’re too young and stupid, run across streets to go buy gum from a gas station, poke at roadkill and dead shit, maybe even kiss, then vomit right after because i’m so scared of you. or maybe, you’ll disregard me and neglect every memory i wish to share with you. you’re invasive, like a parasite. and yet, i’ll continue to think about you, dream of you in past memories, washing my hair and tucking me in. you, whoever, you are…     i love you.

3.16.24

i sometimes like to believe that whomever, quote, god is, must enjoy watching me suffer. cursing this poor girl with self-destructive tendencies, bringing agonizing pain into the crevices of her eyes, overwhelming feelings of violence and hatred towards everyone but herself. whom have i hurt to bring such agony upon her. and yet, even in such circumstances, she continues to write and live. just like anyone else.

3.22.24

What makes someone considered a monster? Are monsters Doctors? hunters? Office workers? Butchers? Artists? Taxidermists? Therapists? Dancers? Politicians? Telemarketers? Florists? Officers? Teachers? Everyday people with everyday jobs, that are different than the others, don't fit in with the social norms. Is it if they’ve killed someone, killed several? That they think of harming others, or themself? That they’ve been lost beyond recognition? Cruel to their loved ones? Morally corrupt? mentally ill? Deprived of any and all forms of humanity? If they’ve done things that would disgust even the monster I am. But, what makes me a monster? That I find the morbid actions of others intriguing? That I can watch the full mutilation of a live animal without needing to back out or make a face? Why do we make these names for others? What makes anyone anything? We call them monsters for the same reason we call people anything. Why we call mothers, mothers. Why we call whores, whores. Why we call humans, humans. It’s just identification, just names. Does it even matter? I am human, we’re all human. But the question remains, what makes someone considered a monster? I should know by now, I've seen all kinds of monsters. Alcoholics, Psychopaths, Drug addicts, all colors of our (pretty ugly) rainbow. Despite my age, ive most elements that run the world. Elements that run and destroy. I see, and I say. and What i say is the febel truth. We are all outraged monsters seeking solace.

4.27.24

hands caressing soft furs,

    furs of brown and red, hers 

unable to compare with such,

    colors as she wishes to touch.

sharp and ornate, intricately carved,

    form from bone, strong and smooth.

yet easily famished, easily starved,

    though in such pain, it’s easily soothed.

believe me, i’ll try my best as mesh

    covers you, be dear to me, stag.

drag thee horns though my flesh

   try not to thresh, i beg: keep me fresh.

fresh enough for she can still kiss,

    someone she knows will always dismiss,

hurting her by thinking such words,

    yet the only one to say such tales are birdsong.

and now, god hates me more than ever,

    hates that of me and him,

god, he hateth that we sin,

    he hates us how we love tethered.