Your Eyes Are Swollen.

Whenever I wait for you

whenever I wait for you, you never show. whenever you say you wanted to talk, you never ask.

whenever I asked for you to be there, you never came.

whenever I gave you a gift, I never got one. whenever I made time for you, you were too busy.

and maybe— i do this to myself because i hate myself. maybe i'm just meant to be unloved by people i want to love me. maybe i just overthink every little thing, and at the end of it all i'm just not meant to be with you.

I wish I was loved by you like the way you loved your loved ones.

I wish I was loved by you like the way you loved your loved ones. And it's funny but I should’ve read the signs, we were never as close as I thought we were. I admired you. I looked up to you. and that's where it stopped. That's where I should've realized that everything would've never been reciprocated.

Fingertips were always barely touching the glass it peered though. And maybe just maybe, I was the object on the other side, surrounded by long panes of glass, unable to escape. Maybe I was meant to be observed by you, but never truly loved by you.

It’s been 8 months now and I haven’t heard a word from you. I hope you know I miss you. But it’s time I stop trying. No more waiting to hear your voice, for invites on nights where I get lonely, on days where it’s rainy & the sun won’t shine. I've had enough. and I hope everything I gave you was enough. Because maybe truly, I’m meant to be alone to be able to finally break down the glass.

I have an issue with facing things head on

I have an issue with facing things head on, with sitting down and telling myself… okay this is what you do. I used to be good at it. I used to be the one people would go to when they needed a whole spreadsheet on what to do, on what classes to take, on what goals to set up for themselves. But something about UCLA drained me, even if it was just two years. It sucked what soul I had left. It stole my youthful energy, my aspirations of who I wanted to be, of my hope, my dreams, and most definitely my spirit. I thrived there, yes I did, but at the cost of my sanity. Everyday I walked those halls I could feel the pressure crippling me down to my core. My feet crumbling beneath me and my sense of self slowly being overshadowed by the ideals of an institution overthrown with wh!te supremacy. Unfortunately, it led me to the darkest pits I could feel in my bones. I wanted to fade away and never exist. Maybe it was my fault, a young girl moving to the big city in hopes of finally being free. Maybe it was all my fault that I never paced myself. Maybe it truly was all my fault, after the world shut down for a couple years I finally saw hope to escape, hope that masqueraded underneath a veil of thief. I won’t be ungrateful for being able to experience what I have, meet some amazing brilliant minds, but also I won’t be ever truly so blind to say this place didn’t leave me with the most of scars. Or maybe, this place exposed the scars that I thought I had already healed from. “I wish I did this differently, I wish I did that differently.” No. I did my best everyday, actually. I did what I never thought possible, actually. I’ve been working so hard to be where I am right now since I was a young teenage girl, so why… So why do I still feel— like a failure? Will this feeling ever go away? I’m so close to the finish line, yet my energy to keep running is gone, and I hate myself for it.

Nightmares

Some nights I have the most vivid nightmares and I can’t tell if they’re memories from the past or wicked hypotheses about what tomorrow will look like if I continue the way that I am the dreams hurt, like cuts on my arm that only I can see. scars burned white with every itch maybe i'm broken, truly, unbelievably broken.

and I have no one to blame but myself

You haven’t called

You haven’t called, so the last time you did I fell right back asleep. I keep telling myself, this is for the better.

You called again, I shifted my time to be spent with someone who actually cared. I’m happier now.

I keep telling myself to let you go. But I feel so mean forcing myself to say goodbye, so I tell myself to take it slow. And I’m not gonna lie, this distance, is making me feel sick to my bones.

God. I sound like a bitch, but you’re the one who told me sometimes I need to be more of one. So I’m sorry if I need to be one for you.

Everyday

Today my mom asked me why I haven’t eaten all day. This cycle goes on everyday.

Today my dad asked me why I didn’t want to eat all day. This question gets asked everyday.

Today my sister knocked on my door, dragged me out of bed, and asked me why I haven’t moved all day. This happens everyday.

Maybe I’m broken. No, I know the choices I made have been decided.

Maybe I’m frozen. No, I know the world is still moving on without me.

I don’t eat because I want to be pretty. The answer is simple really— I sit in my room staring at my wall because I simply don’t want to exist anymore. And some part of me hopes that one less meal means one less day of my life. I linger for just one day where I don't feel terrible anymore.

I don’t move because I don’t want to get hurt, I don’t say anything because I’m afraid of being a bother. I see the way people ignore my eyes, see my smile and think, "oh they’re fine." I hear the way people are afraid to ask how I’m doing. I hear the way they fumble their words of reassurance. I can see their schedules filled with plans that don’t include me. Or maybe— it's all in my head again & people don't hate me, I do.

So here I sit, staring at the wall, hoping that maybe tomorrow isn’t like everyday.

When will it be my turn?

when will it be my turn to get a call, a text from you saying you appreciate me?

I don’t know. But these days seem grim, and my solitude is my only solution, resulting only in sadness.

maybe I’m a monster on a hill, a teddy bear trapped in a dollhouse, a ring settling for a pinky. and everything I do isn’t enough for us

I hope— one day I won’t overthink this like I always do.

I’ve gotten used to being treated this way

I’ve gotten used to being ignored, of having my hellos be greeted with rolled eyes.

I’ve gotten used to my palms being stained with ink from letters I stayed up writing until dawn, waiting by the mailbox just to never get any letters written back.

I’ve gotten used to being as nice as I can be, and getting called unauthentic.

I’ve gotten used to you ignoring me as we pass through the hallway, as I sat alone on graduation day holding my own hand because no one wanted to hold mine.

I’ve gotten used to always being the one who messages first, and waiting for a reply until a new moon passes us by.

But maybe it’s time I get used to loving myself enough, to not make myself endure all of this. When will it be my turn to grow? To be apart from your shadow? Maybe it’s time to let go.

I told someone I wanted to d!e today, and I thought they would help me feel better. But I didn’t feel anything. And neither did they.

Maybe this is the sign I needed today.

I’ve been losing my appetite

I’ve been losing my appetite, and no it hasn’t been recently — it’s been years.

My whole life actually. It’s always been like this.

Have I always been scary to look at?

I lay on the floor of my room staring at my ceiling through the gaps of broken fingers, wondering if I’ll ever change. I don’t know.

That takes strength though, right? I don’t know if I have any more of that left. The fight in me has disappeared.

The only ones fighting for me now are my parents shaking my frail body like a rag-doll as I stare into the abyss reminding me that I’m still alive. That I need to drink water. That I need to eat. That I need to take it step by step.

But all I feel is this impending doom. I’m tired of everything. Everyone. Me. I'm tired of myself feeling tired. I’m mean and I’m usually never mean. Why am I being so mean? Especially, to myself.

Someone once told me eating wasn’t meant to be enjoyed, it was meant for survival. I appreciate the way they tried to help. But I think they failed to realize I’m tired of surviving. I’m exhausted, actually.

So I’ve— like always, been losing my appetite. Everything tastes bland, everything is so uninteresting, and everything isn’t worth eating for.