Yet Another Poem

I’ve tripped and skinned my knees

Take the pain and pull it lengthwise

Never lose my sight, never stop and freeze

Keep tugging at the stinging skin

Stretch it out, stretch it paper thin

Can’t see the forest for the trees

I tried to clean the lenses of my glasses

But I got distracted by the slight breeze, felt the

Ice cubes in my palms

Press the edges along slender fingers

In hopes that it might melt the words that have been sitting in my mouth

Hold it still against lips that are already blue

Bite and clench the jaw, shatter molars

Crack my teeth into pieces

The wave is nauseating and I swallow every crest

The tide writhes like a sea of snakes

I feel in my stomach the baby birds that left the nest

I contain multitudes

I contain galaxies

I contain glaciers

The reality of how I live in the middle of a thousand different places that I will never fully explore heaves in my chest

Filled with restless energy

It’s made a home where it wasn’t even welcome as a guest

The fact that I cannot sit and relax for a while on every park bench, every shorline

Takes shape and oozes through the gaps in my rib cage

It is not violent or painful or explosive or fast

It is slow, it is seething rage

It is the relentless onslaught of falling snow

It’s not knowing how fast or how far you’ll go

It’s turning the page before you’ve absorbed the author’s message

All that’s certain is the knowledge that every day you’re fading a bit more

Losing daylight, blood, sleep, and hope

I can only sit and claw at my bones

Scratch designs into the calcium

Crush each individual vertebrae in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure

It’s the moment when your whole body crawls into your throat

Right before you empty the contents of your stomach all over the floor

It’s pressure, hot and thick and suffocating

And it’s being able to breathe all right and not knowing why you’re screaming at yourself to pull the fire alarm when you can feel the flames all around you but there’s no smoke and everyone looks like they’re doing just fine


I don’t know what’s wrong

I can’t fix what I don’t know

I can’t play detective when I’m spending all my time looking over my shoulder

If people hate me then why is my heart so full of love,

And my stomach so heavy with all the glasses of water I’ve had just to keep my mouth from asking for help?

It’s a fragment

It’s a series of fragments

It’s asking yourself why the fuck you left the fan on once again and can’t you just do something right for once and –


It’s eating vague apologies for breakfast so you won’t slap your friends with another meek “I’m sorry”

What did I do?

What didn’t I do?

I pour more milk in the bowl and crunch the words until I can’t think anymore

It’s tight muscles

Rearranging your life a hundred times just to plan for the exit of people who swore they’d done this before and you’re not a burden and can’t you just calm down for once in a goddamn blue moon, actually, now that you mention it I can’t quite make it downtown just to rescue you, I swear to god I can’t take it any longer, get a grip, don’t make me responsible, I can’t I tried I searched far and wide for my last scrap of patience deep inside but we both know it’s true that it’s best for me and for you if I just take a vacation within my own blue skies, here’s hug and a kiss for the ride, you’ll get by you’ll see what I mean eventually you’ll see

I’ve sighed and skinned my knees

Take the pain and run with it

Can’t see the trees for the forest

I’m a big picture kind of person but it’s way too easy to get lost in the details

This time I might just have the common sense to close my eyes

If all else fails it doesn’t matter

If you can’t make sound you can’t even feel the release of crying out



Another Poem

I haven’t posted poetry in a while so here’s a slam poem. ¬†Warning for strong language.

“I’m Still Sad But What Else Is New?”

You said you loved me more, fuck you

I knew this was a lie

I don’t think you noticed my eyes or my lips or tried desperately to memorize the outline of the white sheets as they crumpled around my soft skin

I don’t think you stared so hard it brought tears to your eyes because you knew deep in the pit of your stomach that everything has its own expiration date

This doesn’t even matter because

I can’t eat when I’m sad

And a piece of fruit pressed to my lips only stains them cherry red, strawberry pink

Tip of my tongue

Juice dripping down the side of the kitchen sink
Or is that blood?
Hearts break slowly

But at least you did some gardening first

Uprooting the weeds in my belly

Planting wildflower seeds in the furrows you made when clawing at my skin

The love for me you left behind is like finding blood on a bath towel

and not knowing where it came from

You’re sure a wound must exist and conclude that the pain just went on hiatus

I really hope I don’t bleed out in my sleep
I know I loved you more, fuck you

I remember the incredible thump of your heartbeat

Hot and strong and made from the stuff that glues together even the most wild of pages

The book that is your body is bound by sea salt and sunshine

I never liked holding shells to my ear when I went to the beach

because I couldn’t hear anything and the sand that got caught in my hair

stayed long after I’d left the shore

When I laid my head on your chest

I could finally hear the ocean the way that I’m supposed to

I didn’t know that your scent would be harder to scrub away

than a few grains of sand

And it would rub my skin twice as raw

I tried to memorize the imprint of your body heat,

the topographical map that was left tattooed on me by the warmth of your torso

I want our tectonic plates to collide again and create more islands

Never mind the sand

My memory isn’t worth much more than the change I have in my pocket

but I’ll be damned if I forget the sharp bite of your fingernails

into the smeared canvas of my back

and the eager blossoming of pain

when your teeth rent through the fabric of my frayed common sense

exhilaration unfurling like ropes of light from cheap drugstore fireworks

You turned an abandoned art project into a goddamn masterpiece

Spun gold cobwebs over paint that had long since dried


I know I loved you more, fuck you

The way your touch felt on my skin,

pressed against the shower wall

grinning while rivulets of warm water trickled into my mouth

Your eyes in the half light

gray light

soft afternoon light

oozing all over the walls

smudged into corners that had been dark for too long
Fuck you, I knew I loved you more

when I realized that I’d slashed my own parachute to shreds

just for the pleasure of falling together

I didn’t think far enough ahead to realize

that when I hit the ground my spine would telescope

Part of me doesn’t care because this gave me a chance to stare down the moon

The sun will blind you if you look for too long

but no one tells you that the moon will drive you stark raving mad


I know I loved you more, thank you

For opening dusty windows I never even knew existed,

for watering plants that had long since been forgotten

and proving that the monsters under my bed would stop biting me

if I’d simply turn around and bite back

For demonstrating that it’s okay to choke back up the water of clean,

Christian thoughts that flooded my lungs instead of my mind like they were supposed to

To scream through a mouthful of lake sludge and saliva

that sex is not something that will be wrenched from hands

You did not pry my palms open

You were the first person who let me uncurl my fingers on my own

You were the first person who let me help you take off my clothes


Baby girl the thought of you struck me across the fucking face today

and I haven’t seen you in 58 days

I traced the outline of your fingertips,

stroked the raised welts on my cheek,

tried to hold the imprint of your hand

because I’m still sliding backwards down the canyon wall

And the girl who was once my safety net

is now halfway across the world catching butterflies

I used to love the outdoors but after you gave me vertigo

I don’t like hiking all that much anymore

It’s hard to stay on solid ground when every time I look over the edge of a building

I think I see a flash of your hair down below

and I have to stop myself from jumping to maybe catch the end of your sleeve

before you disappear around the corner

But you’re not a butterfly,

and even if you were I know I’m not supposed to pinch your wings
Either way, I miss falling for you

A Bump in the Road: My Experience with Mental Illness

[Trigger warning: this post discusses mental illness and self-harm.  If these topics are triggering, feel free to read some of my other, more lighthearted posts!]

It’s not a good day for me.

I’m sorry to be writing to you all under such negative circumstances, but I’m determined to be myself in this blog, and days like these hold a certain significance in my life.  Not only that, but if there’s a chance that one of my readers deals with the same issues that I do, maybe I’ll be able to provide some measure of comfort through this entry.  Who knows?

For a long time I’ve battled generalized anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder.  I was diagnosed with these only a short time ago, but when I look back on memories from my childhood I know that they’ve been a part of my life for years.

Taken from  I was tired of seeing the stereotypical black and white photo of a person hunched on the floor, cradling their head in their hands.  So, please enjoy this frowny face in a sea of smiley faces!  Come on, give me a little credit.  I’m a writer, not a professional image selector.
It was the last two years of high school when things became nearly unbearable.  I was a constant irritation to my parents, I was a mystery to my friends, but the one I pissed off the most?  That would be me.  I couldn’t stand myself.  Every day I woke up in the same body, riddled with ugly scars from self-harm, and I felt like I could scream.  I fantasized about running away.  My group of friends got smaller every day, and with every broken tie I sank deeper and deeper into the hole that I was digging.  For a while I thought it was a temporary barrier, a bump in the road, but as time dragged on I had a feeling that it might be my grave.

I had a best friend.  She was gorgeous and lovely and the light of my life, when I wanted to sink into my sheets and never wake up, she came over and dragged me out of the house.  When I wanted nothing more than to sit down and stare blankly at the wall until I couldn’t remember where I was, she picked me up and drove and drove and drove until we were in a new and exciting place and I was laughing and the music on the radio was the perfect soundtrack.

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I fell madly in love with her.

And then everything fell apart.  She got a boyfriend, I was jealous, we started to drift.  There weren’t as many sleepovers or movie marathons.  I stayed at home more.

Don’t fall in love with your straight best friend, readers.  Don’t do it.  It will ruin you in ways you can’t even imagine.

One day last summer, we had a fight.  It was one of many similar arguments.  I can’t even remember what started it, I just know that it happened at the pool in her apartment complex.  All of our friends were there.  They stayed by her, I sat on the curb by the parking lot by myself.

And then I went home.  I went home, I went into my medicine cabinet, and I grabbed a bottle of pills.  My palms were sweating.  I slipped it into my pocket.  The bottle made a harsh rattling sound that reminded me of hard candies.

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I spent that night in the hospital, high as a kite.  I couldn’t move, I could think but I couldn’t speak, I stared with empty eyes at a merry-go-round of hellish hallucinations.  When it was over a large, intimidating nurse came over to me and spat, “Don’t you ever do something so stupid again.  Don’t you ever do that.”

I shivered but said nothing.

That was the worst night of my life, by far.  My eyes still get misty when I think of my parents leaning over me in that hospital room, asking, “Why?” over and over with tears running down their cheeks.

Things got worse before they got better.  I tried living with my best friend in college.  It didn’t work out.  I ended up in the hospital yet again, this time spending a brief period in a psychiatric unit.  That was where I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.  And, it turned out, borderline personality disorder.

This one came out of left field.  Borderline personality?  There was only one me, I didn’t feel like there were different personas all crowded into my brain.  But that’s not what borderline is.

Borderline personality is characterized by having an unstable sense of self, volatile relationships with others , impulsiveness, emotional outbursts, black-and-white thinking, etc.  People with borderline feel emotions more strongly and more exaggeratedly than other people.

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For instance, I’d have a fight with my best friend and it felt like the world was ending.  I’d be sure that this was it, this was the argument that signaled the beginning of the end of our friendship,  she obviously hated me and never wanted to see me again.

Ironically, this type of thinking was probably a big contributor to the actual, literal end of our friendship.  But I didn’t know that.

If you think you might have borderline personality disorder, I encourage you to research it and go to a professional in order to get diagnosed.  I am not an expert.

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Furthermore, a large percentage of those who engage in self-harm have BPD.  So I guess I fell into that category.

Anyways, today is not a good day.  I’ve drastically improved since everything went down last year, but I still have days where I don’t like what I see in the mirror and I feel like a failure and who am I kidding?  My writing sucks and I’ll never get published and I might as well just fucking give up.

I guess that sums up today:  I want to give up.

But I won’t.  I can’t.  Without writing my life is infinitely boring.  I know it’s cheesy, but I feel like writing is what I was put on this earth to do.  And even if it isn’t my calling, that’s too bad.  I’m going to make it my calling.  Take that, universe and fate and God and whoever else calls the shots around here.

Taken from;  This is basically what life feels like right now.
Also:  The search for a literary agent isn’t going very well.  Lots of rejection letters.  I’m constantly revising and editing my novel, so hopefully that will pay off soon.  We’ll see, I guess.

And now it’s time for:  V’s Tips on How to Keep it Together if You’re Struggling with a Mental Illness!  These tips won’t work for everyone, but they’ve worked for a real live person who’s going through some Stuff and Shit, so maybe they’ll work for you, too.  Many times I’ve come across advice on the internet that seems to have been written by someone who doesn’t know what it’s like to have a mental illness, and it’s not very helpful.

1.  Get the hell out.

Get out of the house.  Just leave.  Go somewhere new, where you don’t have access to things that could hurt you.

2.  Surround yourself with people.

They don’t have to be your friends.  I know for me, sometimes I didn’t have any friends that I could hang out with.  Just go to a public place and watch people.  Lose yourself in their lives.

3.  Listen to happy music.

I’ve found that when I’m sad, I want to listen to sad music.  This is a terrible idea.  Listen to something happy, and it’ll start to lift your spirits too.

4.  Escapism.

This is where good old-fashioned American escapism comes into play!  Go to the movies.  If you can’t get to the movies, watch one at home.  (A happy movie, of course.)  Read a book.  Play a fun video game.  Do a crossword puzzle if that’s your thing.  Read Calvin and Hobbes.  Do anything that will make you forget what’s going on.  There’s nothing wrong with trying to forget your feelings until the wave of emotion passes and you’re in a better state to deal with the situation.

I know that wasn’t a lot of tips, but if I’m going to be completely honest, there’s not a lot that could help me until I got on medication.

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That’s another thing:  There is absolutely no shame in going on medication.  It changed my life, guys.  I was scared at first, but my meds didn’t take away my personality or dull my emotions or turn me into a completely different person.  It just gave me the push I needed to be happy again.  It quelled that uneasy feeling I always had in the pit of my stomach and allowed me to just relax.  For the first time in years, I could sit on the couch and do absolutely nothing and not feel like I was going to burst into tears, or have a vague inkling that something bad was about to happen.

If you feel like it could help you too, once again, see a psychiatrist.

Thanks for listening to me,


P.S.  I’m currently watching Scream Queens to cheer me up.  It’s a fabulous TV show, and I highly recommend it to anyone who’s an Emma Roberts fan.

My mom wanted to watch it with me, but I think it would be weird.  Too many gay characters, too many attractive actresses, too many necrophilia jokes.  She wouldn’t be able to handle it.

But, Chad Radwell?  Chad Radwell is a stellar character.

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