i find it hard to write when i'm not hurt.
I used to derive a sick sort of masochistic pleasure from re-reading my old poetry. It was something I used to punish myself with, in a paradoxical way. "Look at how good you were. Look at you now." And yet... "Look at how awful you were. You haven't changed." And I thought that's how it… Continue reading hello, old me
There's a big part of me that wants to hide away from the world. I've thought about it a lot. I'd live in a small apartment with everything I'd need; lots of blankets and stuffed animals to keep me company, lots of big shirts to stay comfy, and a completely full fridge with enough chocolate… Continue reading my heart
I remodeled a bit. I hope you don't mind.
One of my favorite types of houses are those big, white suburban houses. Coastal with big windows to allow for good lighting and French doors, and a nice large porch. I imagine myself living there in some northern state with my husband who's a lawyer, my 2.5 kids, and my cat and my dog. The… Continue reading houses
i am okay ❤️
this blog is dead