"Is This Fucking Play About Us?"

Sometimes, I worry that my mental health will never get better, not because I'm incapable of improving, but because being not okay has become a part of my identity. I've spent so much of my life being anxious and depressed that I'm scared of learning who I am outside of that; Even though I know my life would be far more fulfilling as I continue to get better.

I wish I could just live off of Cheez It's and Monster, you know?

My stomach hurts :(

Am I just an idea

A sweet little thought?

Why couldn't I be your promise?

Why can your love only be bought?

Bought with my achievements

Bought with fake smiles and laughter

Why can't it be enough?

Why is your attention still all I'm after?

What a beautiful day to die

Me when acne

maybe this time picking at Textures on my skin will lead to being silky smooth

Sometimes, I worry that I ruin everything that I touch.

That everything lively around me withers away.

Like a winter chill to a flower patch, my presence is too much;

and eventually, I'll watch all that I loved crumple and decay.

Am I the Greek Chorus in the play of my life? Allowed to watch, yet never intervene.

Or am I being pathetic, choosing to wallow in it all? The World's Oldest Angsty Teen.

Springtime in Salem MA

I guess if I keep spending all my time writing instead of doing my work, I should join my school news paper or something. At least get some extra credit for being a professional idiot

Sometimes I make a post, that in my humble opinion, is very witty, humorous, and over all delightful. Despite this, you pesky gnomes don't take even one single peak at it