Inkprilled - Blog Posts

I don't know where you are exactly, but I know you're looking at your phone, I know you're probably alone. So am I. It's nearly 10pm and I've been scrolling through Instagram reels all day, I haven't eaten or gotten up. But I've cried over people singing in the park to passers by, one women lost her mother and felt comfort in the songs. I've cried to family reunions and mother's singing lullabys to their babies, Ive felt this weight of grief for the things I want to experience, which is to not be so alone. But I still lay here day after day, I still like videos about things I hope to do someday. I'm not okay but I will be one day.

I can't think about you for too long, but sometimes you climb out of my Amygdala and I let your face press against my prefronal cortex. Your presence is mostly wrapped in bubbler wrap, hidden in a back room, somewhere near the things I can't talk about and the things I should have. I've quietly closed the door, but it's not locked, I don't think it ever will be, I don't think I want it be. But that room isn't a place I like to visit, it only holds you and the things that shouldn't have happened.

This is my first attempt at digital painting, I've only ever used water colours or pencil before, so this was an intresting experience. (if I had a pen this would have been better, but I only had my mobile and index finger lol) I'm actually happy with it so it'll be my pfp probably.

How do you feel about kindness being filmed like they’re performances. Someone hands a homeless person a sandwich, and boom, the cameras rolling. I’m a good person, they say without saying it, but the thing is a sandwich can only last so long, yet you'll be dining on those social media likes all week. Sure,it’s lovely, helping people. But here’s the thing: It’s sad that the world’s become a stage for doing good when you have a camera in your face, or worse in the face of someone struggling to live each day, they are not the supporting actors in your new tiktok. We don’t just help anymore. We sell the moment. Isn't it lovely though getting credit for being decent when your not just doing good. Your doing good for the algorithm.

I saw @two-bees-poetry lady macbeth/macbeth poem 🌷and became inspired to try this format called (an okayish first attempt but a fun challenge) contrepulate poetry.

𔓘 April / 20s / Writeblr 𔓘

This is a place to keep my writing/poetry and occasional artwork, and you're welcome to look around.

I’m working on something that will probably take me awhile (a long long hopefully not too long while lol)updates and snippets under #dead above. Until it’s finished, this blog helps me stay consistent, starve off procrastination and remember that life doesn't have to be empty. It can be warm and golden. I hope you wait for that sunrise. It's worth it. ~pfp icon is my first digital painting attempt.

Dear 2025.

I write this in November 2024, but I know it will find it's way to you in no time at all, you have been approaching faster than I can keep up with.

I ask that you will take it easy and slow, I ask that you let me settle in before 2026 makes their way in. I know you can't control what the people do, but I ask you make the bad days soft, give us only a few.

Sincerely a hopeful heart.

The bad news is that it sometimes feels never ending and apathy whispers into your ear that this numbness is peaceful and to just sink into it's depths.

The good news is that apathy is a cold filthy liar. They want you to drowned, but they don't know that happiness is always around the corner, and it will yank you out of the dark water. I swear one day you will laugh so hard your sides start splitting and the pain will leak out of you. I swear you will sing and dance and feel something other than heavy numbness, the sunrise is golden and it burns, it heats up your heart until you feel like there's something to live for and it's just on the horizon. Wait for it. Please.

Do the people we drift away from ever return to us.

When my parents spilt up I didn't see my dad for months, during this time I would spend nearly every day playing with my friend Kelsey. We would get our hair caught climbing trees or make terrible perfume from her neighbours flowers. One time she pulled out a box from under her bed, it was filled with snails of different sizes collected from her garden "we're going to colour the shells". So that's what we did, we gently coloured around 20 in bright orange, red or purple, after that we put them near a tree by her house. We did all this to see if the same ones would come back, we thought at least 5 would. Weeks went by and we didn't see any colourful shells in her garden, they had moved on. Sometimes people leave and they don't come back, but you still hold the memories close, you still carry their mark on you and maybe they carry yours too.

Maybe somewhere out there, there are snails with brightly coloured shells and maybe carrying a piece of someone with you is enough.

A Reminder to take care of yourself, drink some water, get some sleep and do something that makes you happy.

I know I don't say it enough and we joke about depression and how loneliness is eating up our lives, but it will be okay. I promise you it will.

Let hope wrap you up in its gentle arms, let it never let you go.

I saw you there. Cigarette lit and back against the door. I watched you, I hadn't seen you in years yet you looked the same, But nothing between us was. I wanted you to notice me, I couldn't approach you, so instead I hoped you'd find my eyes and hold out your heart for me to love again. But our hearts didn't know each other anymore, so I left you by the door.

I went to an all girls secondary school, I remember my mother telling my primary school teacher that there would be no boys to distract me there. That it was better and it's true that there where no boys, well no cis boys. But there where men. Men who walked up the stairs too slowly behind when you wore a skirt, men that leaned over you to correct math mistakes that didn't exist, men that made girls loudly spell out why when they needed to use the bathroom. Men that shouldn't have been anywhere near a school. There wasn't many boys to distract us, but there where men that betrayed us.

It's bonfire night. Remember remember the fifth of November. Remember a failed Act of rebellion: I remember my only act of purposeful destruction, of physical rebellion. I was 12 or 13 and you had let him back in the house again, you invited him in with a smile and avoided my eyes. So I threw a vase down the stairs, I wanted your attention, I wanted you to see that shattered vase and realise I was breaking apart. I didn't break it out of anger, I broke it in despair and desperation. I thought if I break this you'll wake up, you'll believe me. But you mocked it and laughed with him instead. Maybe you where so broken at that point, so broken that shards of porcelain and glass only looked like soft disagreement. Maybe you needed him to fill your cracks with his sharp edges.

A lot of the time I don't feel like I've matured past 16. I still feel just as scared and even more lonely. They say your twenties are when you'll feel more steady, but I feel like I'm being swung into space and there I float suffocating in the void.

I just have to say something. Omg. I read your most recent post and I've reread it so many times tonighy, and maybe it's because I'm sleep deprived but it made me ugly cry so hard and I couldn't stop going back to it, like it's so surreal and I'm sorry.

AH I'm sorry!! Thankyou for reading it and it's okay I'm okay, I haven't seen him in years. 💚

I was seven, but I didn't remember it until I was 13. It was almost a blessing that my mind hid it from me, it would have weighed my small spirit down before it had the chance to bloom. He visited throughout those 6 years and I would laugh at his silly jokes. I thought he was funny. Now not so much, the memory has tainted all the others. It has reset the tone of every interaction. It came back to me in the kitchen, we where both sat at the table and my mother was fiddling with pots and pans by the sink. I don't remember what we where talking about but I do remember the suddenness of remembering being seven with you in my room. I had never tried to picture what people meant when they said your life flashes before your eyes when you're dying. I felt like I was dying, a part me came clawing out of its hiding place and ripped me anew. My life didn't flash before my eyes but you did. One minute you where safe and funny, a blink later you were dangerous and slimy. I wanted you off my skin, but you had been clinging to me for 6 years and I didn't know where to begin. One thing I knew for sure is I had remembered. And you thought I hadn't.

I don't let myself look up what my school friends are doing now, I'm afraid. Afraid I'll find pictures of a something I missed. I remember us at 11 crowded around a school library computer, you both looked up your favourite wedding dresses most of them mermaid and lacy white, you picked out our bridesmaids dresses and talked about how we would find a colour that at least looked good on us all; I thought powdered blue. I miss being that young, when the only worries where our homework and hoping we where first out for lunch. Maybe you did get married, maybe if I log in to my socials I'll find an invite. Or maybe time has changed too much, we aren't eleven anymore. I wonder if you picked powdered blue or a mermaid dress in lacy white, I wonder if something remains the same.

Sometimes this comfort rots. Sometimes this resting mocks me (about the life I want to live).

Is your username inkspilled spelled wrong and if not what on earth does prilled mean

Lol, no its just part of my name turned into a verb (kinda) which is April if you wanted to know.