I’m sorry if your heart broke today, but you just can’t say that.
Have you tried being more original?
If ten people fell in love today, then maybe you should try doing it tomorrow.
Have you ever thought about making your personal essay less personal?
Maybe you should dig a little deeper,
And if that isn’t unique enough, you should probably just lie.
Readers want to read things they can connect with,
But please don’t make them read something they’ve connected with before.
You have to tell them how they’re feeling before they even know that they’re feeling it.
Raw emotion hits the page.
The tears are spilled.
The blood is drawn.
Heart flayed open,
Put on display for the world to see.
It is not enough.
Bleed me dry.
Empty my pockets.
Crack open my skull,
And pick through my thoughts,
One by one.
But still somehow,
When will any of this ever be enough?
Produce until your eyes are bloodshot
And your hand shakes.
Manufacture enough to meet the demand,
But never enough to fill the void they’ve left in you.
Sell your art.
TW: abusive relationships
The arms that once felt like home began to feel haunted. Whose hands were those wrapped around my hair? Touching my waist? They could have been anyone’s. How could they have ever belonged to you?
The beautiful hazel eyes that I used to gaze into lost all of their color. I could no longer look at them and see the love of my life looking back; they were empty. Your once loving gaze turned to ice; I couldn’t recognize you anymore.
The face that used to light up whenever I walked into the room began to look…
One of the best men I have ever dated nonchalantly told me once that I could be his secretary at his future medical practice. My heart sank. How could someone I valued so much see me as nothing more than his assistant? Why was he able to have big dreams of opening up his own optometry office, while I was just expected to come along for the ride? In his mind, it could have been a way for us to have a chance at a future together. But to me, I saw it as a dead end. I saw it…
Trigger Warning: abusive relationships and sexual assault
The cool light of the afternoon sun washes over me as I undress. I let out a breath and try to make sense of this new world I have found myself in. You do not keep your towels in the hall closet like I do. Your counter is bare and lonely; you have always felt like more of a hotel than a home.
I meet my own eyes in the mirror, and small glimpses of last night flash before my eyes. My face in your lap again. Going down again. Choking and just…
They said my writing might have some promise.
That just once, they saw some raw emotion.
I guess I should have gutted myself instead.
I should have written the words
I thought poetry was supposed to be pretty.
Maybe the problem is that the pretty things are also empty.
They are all shiny surfaces, polished and perfected for show.
But then, when you try to peer into them there is nothing there.
It’s all cobwebs and dust.
Maybe there was never anything there in the first place.
Maybe I have always just been grasping for straws.
January 23rd used to just be another date on the calendar. I never thought twice about it, nor did I ever think that I would have to. I never knew that one number could induce so much pain. I never knew that you could be so afraid of something so ordinary.
January 23rd. The day that you made me yours.
Before we met, I never viewed dating as something that could be defined as either exclusive or not. I had just always known that I was either dating someone, or I was not; there was no murky gray area for…
You can’t pretend that your past never happened. Just because you want to be over it, doesn’t mean that you are. You cannot hide from who you were, what you’ve done, or what you have been through.
Life is complicated, and it will never stop being that way. You can go years without thinking of the bad things that have happened to you. You can assume that you are over it. That you’ve moved on. You can work yourself so hard that you’re too tired to even be able to think about what you’ve been through. But eventually, it will…
Saturday night spirals are my new Sunday scaries.
I stay up too late looking at memories of the life I used to have. The life I wonder if I will ever find again. Sometimes, the night ends with hot tears stinging my eyes. And sometimes, those tears manage to escape, despite my best attempts to stop them. Despite my best attempts to hold them all in.
Sometimes, I just stare at myself in the mirror, and I wonder, “why?” Why am I like this?
I carry the weight of all of my problems directly on my shoulders. Sometimes, it feels…
Freelance Make-Up Artist & Teacher. Wig & Make-Up Designer. Freelance Writer. Coffee, dogs & pop-punk are my life.