poetry

Sixteen. Sixteen. Sixteen. My bed feels like a person who doesn't want to hurt me. The trees are the arms that caress me. No fear.

Nothing is worth having to be smaller. And any love that requires you to be something that you are not, you should be afraid of.

People's personal philosophy is best defined by how they act and not what they say.

Gratitude can cure depression and anxiety. It can make life feel full. 

But I would rather suffer than admit that I could make things better all alone.

I want to wait for a reason to be better.

Emotions via the moon

I scream and bite and bark

Feral

I've been contained all my life

Enclosed in a space that wasn't meant to fit a lifeform as massive as me

I lash out 

Cramped and imprisoned by cycles of mood

hating every intangible conscious moment

Each death feels like the first

There is nothing in my head

Nothing beautiful or articulate

There is only starvation and self hatred and exhaustion because I cannot name or describe or understand myself

The patterns of violence

The holes of happiness

There is nothing and everything in everyone and also in me.