I Think The Reason I Tend To Be An Oversharer Is Because My Brain Just. Doesn't Have A Sense Of How Close

life of a party girl

"it's okay, i can peel back the layers of you until i find the soft and gentle core of you you've had to work so hard to hide"? no. no, it's okay, i know you're hollow; i'm here anyway. you don't have to pretend it isn't masks the whole way down. whatever face you want to wear, i still love you. i don't need you to be good or unflinching or the antonym of violence. if i did, i wouldn't be here. i wouldn't ask that of you.

breathless

getting that feeling

where all you can do is hold your breath

and think

and feel

and it’s horrible because you forget

you always forget

and you can only remember

once you feel the burn in your lungs

in your throat

and you release a breath

far larger than any you’d released that day

and it scares you

and it happens again

It's like, I see people on tumblr and insta and tiktok crying their eyes out about how miserable they are, sharing their traumas so openly.

And I feel bad for them, I do. But then this small, cruel part of me thinks, "they don't know how easy they have it."

I look at their rooms, their clothes, their faces, their art, their talents and recoil in jealousy. And I really do feel bad for them! I hate seeing other people in pain!

But damn I wish I had a room decorated that nicely. I wish I had clothes that cool and a real sense of fashion. I wish I were prettier. I wish I could be proud of the things I create and the things I do.

I'm pathetic, right?

television graveyard (art by @cybervoidgirl on Twitter)