There Was A Simple Joy In Just Staying Up For A While Longer. Consciousness Could Be Exhausting. Often

If I were a runner I'd be a sprinter

And if I were a painter I'd never buy varnish

If I were your rich great aunt I'd bore you with stories of a drunken Italy

And if I were a mother I'd eat my children in one sitting

If I were your girlfriend I'd be the summer to your tom

And if I were a musician I'd have five singles you had to buy separately and burn onto one disk

If I were a writer I'd be a poet

And if I were a poet I'd never breath a word of this to you

If I am to become another berry picked too ripe so I can be sold to the masses I will use the cut I was given so you can rot away in the warm sun on the vines. I won't let you, my daughter, be eaten by the people even if you must eat me alive in exchange.

snippet of Dear Daughter I Never Wanted

I saw you looking

So why did you say you didn't care

why look at something you dont like

instead look at the trees blowing in the air

I caught you looking

and i caught the blush in ur cheeks

the soft smile on your lips

like the cutest little geek

I noticed you not looking

so i tried to forget

it wasnt all that hard

but then you had to look again

this time your eyes were lower

and i wouldnt have minded but

i saw you looking

then you said u didnt care

If only I were pretty in the way girls should be pretty.

If I had long flowing hair and gorgeous glowing eyes.

If I sucked it in so much my stomach just stays like that

If I cut the gap into my thighs

Do you think that would work?

Remolding myself like a sculpture

scrapping away the unwanted and ugly

freeing the girl whos pretty in the right way

Being pretty because I am and not because Im not

hear me out

girl pretty

unconventional

body positivity

why can't I just be pretty?

in the way girls are supposed to be pretty

Pretty like the ocean lean and blue and bright

Pretty like the setting sky colorful and stretched and impermanent

pretty like a whoring pig in a wig

except I don't have the money for a nice wig

and Im not pretty enough to be a whore

I am made of flesh I am made of bone

most of which is my very own

I am made of muscle I am made of skin

the likes of which resembles my kin

I am made of stardust I am made of rain

I carry with me my mothers pain

I am made of laughter I am made of sorrow

I am someones dream of a better tomorrow

You know when you wake up and your body hasn’t yet adjusted to the new day – and your mind is still congested and confused? Well, you can awake in that mode, and suddenly have a great fear for the future. Yesterday it was about money. And wondering what to do about getting some proper work later in life. You’re fine for money, at the moment. But, will you ever figure out a way to earn a decent amount? It’s okay right now – but that won’t last forever. And at the same time, you’ve just come out of sleep and you really need a pee. So you head along to the toilet, feeling monstrous. And you sit on the toilet and piss, and look in the mirror next to you: and you look like total crap. Heavy eyelids, grey hair, rough beard. You used to be semi comfortable with your looks, but, not so much these days. So you get up and head back to your bedroom and get into the bed again. Knowing that you won’t be able to sleep again. Because when your brain turns on in the morning, you can never switch it off again quickly. But what you can do is go back to that childish comfort of the warm bed. Just to stay there for a while. In the warmth of your covers. Especially with the one degree temperature beyond the window. Just reside in the heat for twenty minutes or so, so that you can regain a little physical power. After that, you can get up and put the clothes on and start the day for proper. And try and not be so afraid any more. Even if that’s often impossible to do.

as I let nature reclaim me I slowly but surely delete my ties to slavery swiping

I am deleting tumblr, my second to last stop as I fade into the trees

I leave to you my few posts in hopes of being remembered

there is a version of me that doesn't like to say goodbye

~andria

For I am become the great pretender betrayer of a youthful me

As I pretend not to be bothered by my bff who questions 'why wouldn't you want to be soldja boy?' a youthful me asks my mom for two halloween costumes since you're not allowed to be a bloody zombie little girl with a knife at school in the second grade

As I pretend my bff is right when she says we can't even at the bare minimum be mean girls since 'none of us are blonde' a youthful me describes to my dad the terrible tumble zombie Alice took not only down down the rabbit hole but down down a muddy cliff and that's the reason her hair is brown

As I pretend not to care when my bff calls my guy 'weird' a youthful me demands that if I must date a man he cannot be conventional in any manor

As I pretend to be unharmed by the unexplained absence of my bff at my clubs squid dissection a youthful me is ostracized and abandoned by her only friend

As I pretend the barber cut my hair wrong when my bff tells me 'it's really short' a youthful me wanted purple and blue died hair cut in a shaggy mullet

As I pretend I don't hate my new skin so much that I claw at it raw and bloody a youthful me swore it 'would only be once and I'd never do it again'

I dance around my room on halloween at five in the morning, so I can wear my costume to school, and I listen to three cheers for sweet revenge by the alternative band my chemical romance on cd.

I have been looking for that cd for almost a year now I just got it over the weekend

I have had you for almost five years now I don't know why I'm still looking for you

glass

the earth grumbles beneath you. the walls rattle the hanging picture frames. the glass shatters on the floor, releasing those memories like ghosts seeking closure. you desperately dig through the folds and frantically search the corners. you find nothing but the answer blinding your eyes. knees colliding with the hardwood floor, your heart lets out an agonizing wail, a painful yearning cry. i stand at the door and observe, careful not to step on the shards of glass. after a moment, you grow silent, staring out over the horizon. you are still, except for the rising and falling of your chest as you take hovering breaths. it was inevitable.