Prose - Blog Posts
I would rather be hated for who I am than be loved for who I’m not.
I want a relationship where they don’t just scratch my back, but massage and draw on it softly giving me tingles as I fall asleep.
Closing the chapter with someone doesn’t make you cruel; it simply means they aren’t a part of the next one.
“can we go back to normal?”
considering my normal has been fainting in the shower, not being able to breathe, a heart rate of 190, social avoidance, and feelings of hopelessness,
no. no, we can not go ‘back to normal’.
i was a lover, you were a lesson.
“i dream for the day you give me your heart, because i will hold it closer than i hold my own.”
- abby
“if you ever wonder why your friends leave you, you already have your answer:
friends don’t leave you; users do.”
Not Sims 4 CC related but something I just saw and it's so true and inspirational. I hope it's also to you all. 😊
You can't go back and change the beginning, but you can start where you are and change the ending.
C.S. Lewis
Choking
I could feel myself choking, on his internalized self loathing and the humidity.
This damn window is always such a bitch to open, but finally- I cracked it open and the rush of air was tickling the hairs on my body, and quenching my lungs.
The floor feels so cool on my skin, my always buzzing with warmth, skin. The shadows and colors on the ceiling look like so inviting and forgiving. They whisper to me, “you love you, that’s enough,” but I don’t believe them. As I gaze out the window I can see the sky, it’s perfectly clear. It looks painted actually.
Buzz, buzz.
What does he want now? To suffocate me further? Leave me alone! Go lie to the world somewhere else. Yo sé quién soy. Soy hermosa como soy. I hate him. I hate how this makes me feel.
I miss you.
Yea, I miss me too. I miss how free I was. How I had no fear, but now I fear losing your love. Losing. I fear losing, but I can’t and I won’t. I can’t lose out on love. Real, free, trusted love.
15 minutes.
That’s all the time I have to pull myself off this floor and feel like a whole person again. To feel my soul light up and be the roaring fire it truly is when it isn’t being snuffed out and stifled by bigotry and insecurity. Ahh! I’m tired of crying hot tears of desperation.
A kiss. A hand on my knee. A lie.
All this to make me feel special behind closed doors. Doors so heavy and thick that they can barely be opened. Doors that if we ran through them hand in hand we could be free.
It’s hot out. 9PM. 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Where is that damn breeze. I’m choking again, this time on the smoke from his day old blunt. Damn, anything else you want to suppress? It doesn’t really matter does it? Of course it does but he’ll never get it. Only one of us choking. You can’t know the feeling unless you’ve choked before.
(8.5.18)
it was so hard losing my liver but i had to move on, fam
“The hardest thing about moving forward is leaving something behind - and usually it’s a part of ourselves.”
— Unknown
Was It A Mistake?
Was it a mistake,
When I left you for good?
When I packed the means for fire,
And hauled the timberwood?
Was it a mistake,
When I held you so closely?
When I raised the stakes,
All for some money?
Was it a mistake,
When I sung you farewells,
Only to come back,
And dig deeper than a well,
Into the fresh Earth,
And near it I mourned,
Was it a mistake,
When I buried you beneath the dirt?
SWEET MOTHER, HAILEY
The Moon is shining,
Brother, where is home?
The Sun is dimming,
Brother, where is home?
The Earth is calling,
Sister, where is home?
The Sky is crying,
Sister, where is home?
They all have questions,
And I lack answers.
What good am I now?
What good am I now?
They gave me a life,
They gave me a start,
But my hands are empty,
With nothing, I can part.
What do I give, how can I repay?
How can I live, in debt another day?
And the apologies are heavy,
The weight of brick and mortar,
Carried on my shoulders,
Hands empty, still I hold her.
And what good is a daughter,
If she cannot hold your hand?
As you blink away your life,
And leave to better lands?
I'll ask myself this daily,
And wonder what I could've done,
My sweet mother, Hailey,
Went home to the sun.
Dappled sunlight streams through the trees. The filtered light warms the skin I bare to nature, clothes haphazardly shed and forgotten, a bread crumb trail leading to the blue lake. Wading into the water, I wash away the dirt and sweat dried to my skin- cleansing away my sins better than any baptism could ever hope to achieve.
- salvation.
"I slept, and slept, with my brain alive"
"I mistook a broken mirror for anonymity, and pared a hundred "me" within"
- Astha, "my two week old butterfly days" *a random collection of my 2am monologues*
00:18
" If I could love you, I'd write about us everyday" - Astha 24.01.2022
The tragedy of being an artist is having to withhold a thousand souls in one body,
escaping only to conquer or to be doomed...
Such keen observers, how reticent to the naked eye,
yet, overwhelmingly exposed, aggressively honest, spatially present,
as if to mock oneself...
How January of a month to birth a poet in me ~
- Astha, "I should've painted my face blue", 18.01.2022
My art is rough around the edges.
Like me, like the way I sometimes feel.
It has its seasons and its draughts.
Somedays, it flows easily.
Too easily.
And those days scare me a little.
Somedays I have to ground myself in it,
be cautious and aware of each stroke.
Those days are the most peaceful.
But yet somedays feel like a forever,
between me and my palette.
I may not be an artist yet.
But there's art in me.
And I see it all around me.
It does not matter,
thhat I can't put a label on the way the brush feels in my hands.
Artist or not, I have a home in colors.
A place to lose myself, and sometimes to discover myself.
Infinte possibilities at the end of my brush,
sprawled like lightning strikes on my dirty desk.
The only thing I know are the songs in my head,
when I close my eyes and think of the next color.
It becomes a little easier to breathe,
when I am surrounded by the smell of paints.
Forever grounded to the carefree version of me,
with the added weight of a tube of color.
Everything falls into place,
the world stays still in a haze.
Everytime I hold a brush and paint,
somewhere in me is born a little girl.
Again.
“Don’t say maybe if you want to say no.”
— Paulo Coelho
Life is a gift. Don't slap away her outstretched hand. Show that you are grateful by being kind and gentle.
Why so often must
"deserving"
be used as a cudgel we wield, blunt and unwieldy, against our own hearts?
No one "deserves" anything --
The world just is, and things just are.
If it is offered and you wish for it? Take.
If you desire to give it, then offer it without fear --
You are valid simply for being --
Worthy of being seen as who you are --
Maybe it's alright to reach out for the things that you desire,
without forcing your way into guilt for things you have not done and have not yet happened --
Maybe it's alright to just be.
"affirmation to self, letter to a friend." V. Rue, 2025.
Trap Door
A cold breeze covering my chest, Sending chills down my spine.
Watching what we had fading like time easing.
Thought we were ever lasting but you’re forever changing.
Going from everything I want to nothing I need.
Should of listened to my friends, they saw it coming like a prophet.
Telling me to put my feelings in pocket.
Stay solid.
Watch who you fall for, but I can’t help who I fall for.
It’s like a trap door.
Stuck between these floors.
Can’t escape these flaws.
It’s like I’m coming home from war.
Post dramatic stress.
I don’t get a lot of rest cause when I see the sun set, I see you.
Annihilation
0.0001 multiplied by the speed of light squared is 9 trillion.
Or, 100mg worth of matter and antimatter multiplied by 3x10^8 squared gives you 9000000000000 joules of energy. Specifically, this is referred to as Annihilation energy.
0.0001 kg would provide the equivalent of 14.28 % of the energy in the Hiroshima atomic bomb.
The average weight of two human bodies is 124kg.
I be finding the most soul crushing, eye watering, life rethinking poetry on this app and then it has like four likes and one repost
words by me. an excerpt from the opening chapter of my novel ©/
Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!
Emily Brontë
Laika's still up there. not her body, sure, but her soul is. i saw it through my telescope one night when i was looking for aliens. she was sniffing for table scraps under saturn's ring. she chases comets and bites down on satellites. i saw her napping by neptune, she was kicking her feet. passing through the oort cloud is like the stroke of a hand on her fur. eyes like marbles and four little paws like flames. she bobs through jupiter's moons like cold moscow streets. up there the stars are a great big field. and look, she's running so fast. god damn, look at her go.
My dear, I will read your book.
Best believe I will not criticise the flow of words for I know they are born out of the heart. I will read despite the timeskips and flawed main couples, I will memorize your difficult pages despite their jaggedy flow.
But my dear, first you must bring me the book.
Write, my darling. The hypothetical reader in your mind is as inaccurate as one can be— for the reader that I am, all I need is words.
But you must write first, my darling. Do it for me
I'm your reader
They say the abused become the abuser. And you have gone through hell.
But what is standing in front of me is this beautiful, fragile woman that holds broken things so gently as she has never been held, who melts her energy into making them intact. Until there is no power, no more love left to give.
I keep waiting.
I keep waiting for a dog so hideous to pass by on our evening walks that you will not pet. I keep waiting for a sunset too plain that you feel it too futile to paint. I look around for a child far too overbearing for you to comfort— But whenever I inquire you, all I hear is that you've been all of those things, and you won't let it happen to anyone else. Too hideous—too plain—Too overbearing—
You love fixing broken things. You attract evil because it latches on to sweetness, sucks it until evil becomes a lovable thing and the source becomes sour and stale.
I believe, sometimes, that is why I am your lover.
But I am no different from when you first met me. You may not have noticed this, but even though you hold me, pour yourself into me, you never attempt to glue me together. You never attempt to fix me. You just bleed into my vacant parts, unafraid of the surrounding filth.
Who did I murder that was so bad, what days did I feed my hungry cat so well that I am held dear to a person like you?
My sweet, sweet Caroline. How could I ever repay your love?
-exerpt from my upcoming villian×hero book🤭💋