at a very young age.

I remember when my brother

rolled off the top of our bunk bed

of his own volition,

blaming me as he fell--

I didn't even touch him.

He was always blaming me,

manipulating my parents against me,

for some reason I could never

truly understand.

I probably never will,

I thought we were supposed to be friends.

As the years went on

I found that I was

always blaming myself

in every situation,

always thought that every face

would find some fault in me,

and too blame me for their mistakes.

Even when I was miles away

from all of the pain,

sometimes it still lives in me,

sometimes I still see those cold dead eyes

that used to stare back at me.

I had always hoped that one day

things would change,

that he would be held accountable,

but in this country we wait

until boys like this shoot up schools.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

So I had to leave--

I had no other choice--

but still pain

was all I was used to.

It took me a while

to leave this pain behind.

I was in bad relationship

after bad relationship,

one forced himself on top of me--

I punched him in the face.

To me being blamed feels like misogyny,

feelings we use to manipulate,

don't ask me to explain.

After a while I stopped fighting,

stopped explaining myself,

even when women too

showed me this violence--

I walked the other way.

Solidarity is more than a nice word you say,

it requires action too.

I have every reason to be angry,

to be vengeful,

but something in me couldn't

play with the same fires they did.

Ruining another person's life

never seemed worth it,

and sometimes that makes me feel weak.

That I didn't fight you more

no matter how many times you pushed me,

I couldn't throw the plate at your head

I threw it on the floor instead,

even though you deserved it,

and so much more.

For some reason I couldn't,

I just couldn't ,

play a man's sick game.

I guess in it's own way

you are the reason I learned

that often it is better

to just walk away.

I hope I learn

to stop blaming myself,

like you always did.

Hopefully one day

I'll forget you ever existed.

God willing.

xoxo, SiREN

p.s. here's a picture of a peach I was cutting up. there was a little star inside.

Someone who subscribes to my OF page told me that they read some of my essays and they think that my writing style is very good. Maybe they’re telling the truth, I don’t know what to believe anymore. I have been hustling, desperately trying to make something work for years now and I still am coming up with loose ends. I know I’m not alone in this, but man, I’m really not sure anyone wants to hear these stories. About how I borrowed this laptop from my roommate because I don’t have one of my own. That I take pictures of my body and sell them to men online just so I could have something to eat. Sometimes it legitimately feels insane admitting this, how defeated I feel trying to just keep my head above water. But no one wants to talk about this or about how they implemented an AI monitoring system at my food service job, that is supposed to catch our infractions as if it were a manager itself. I try to speak about it with my coworkers and they are some combination of exhausted or don’t care. The people who buy the food only care about their convenience, and some of the other slew of nonsense I see online about how they want to be served. Yeah babe you’ve made it abundantly clear. Why should I care about you when you clearly don’t care about me? Empathy goes two fucking ways, but can I afford more enemies?

Maybe I should go back to therapy, but I really don’t fucking want to. I’ve been in and out of it for years, after a while what else is there to say? That I’m dissociating even as I write this, staring off into the wall like my mother used to do all the time? I don’t know anymore man, this all just feels a bit silly sometimes. I used to love writing my little thoughts and sharing them with the world, I used to love posting my mediocre poetry to my tiny little tiktok account. It used to be fun, I used to have hope about the future, but around me everything just continues to get worse and some days I am so scared of what is going to happen next. I don’t want to fear-monger either, I don’t want to be one of those people who only ever talks about how terrible everything is all the time, but at a certain point something has to change. It needs to change. Will we ever come together, or will we always be in our little boxes, with our hyper-specified identities craving a community that is only artificial? Isn’t the real work in our flesh and blood communities, with our neighbors and our coworkers, going outside and doing things we may not want to do, but someone has to? Isn’t that just life? What is out there making us forget?

I still don’t know what to do. Do I keep this account or do I delete it? Do I keep trying to hustle into your algorithm, or do I just do whatever the fuck I want? Sometimes I log on and I see one notification I can’t seem to clear and I just log back off. Everything online irritates me nowadays, sometimes it all feels so performative, especially the people who are trying so desperately to be unique that they just end up looking like everybody else who shares their algorithm. You look like a cartoon character to me and I’m not sure why I think that. It isn’t very nice and I don’t remember when I became so mean. Sometimes I’ll go to the store and all the options give me a panic attack. There’s so many choices, and for why? I feel like a sad story for an episode of NPR, but maybe more appropriately the Onion. “Former homeless person overwhelmed in grocery store” or something like that. Now I just get it delivered, at least I can afford that now (thanks to the posting of ass).

I have a book I’ve been working on, even a work of poetry I’m trying to find a home for, but I still keep getting distracted. I log onto the computer and I remember that I haven’t checked my email in weeks. Reminders of all the debts I can’t seem to pay. I get overwhelmed yet again and I watch something to calm down. I need to do something to work towards my goals, but maybe those too scare me. What if I embarrass myself again? What if I say something ignorant? I’m overwhelmed, I’m always overwhelmed even though I’ve been working so hard on my healing. I have grown so much behind closed doors and with what little I have, I’m honestly so proud of myself. I mean I went swimming today, even wore a skimpy little bikini, something that for so long was so difficult for me. I used to be such a prude, I really hated my body, my entire existence really. I don’t feel that way anymore, but no one really knows but me. Sometimes it’s kind of lonely having no one who really, deeply knows me. I wish someone knew me and still loved me.

The hardest part is, no matter what I write people will still judge me, just like everyone else. I’m not sure I care anymore, but I have been cyberbullied so many times the idea of posting activates my fight or flight, so this post sits in my drafts, just like my dreams. People will always find a way to tell you you’re wrong, or a flaw to take advantage of. I wonder if the world will ever change, if those anti-bullying PSA’s we had to watch in school will ever make a difference. I’m honestly not sure. I have never been indecisive like this in my life, never been so hesitant and cautious like a stray cat who hasn’t eaten in days and follows me home, desperate for a meal. Wanting more but never asking for it because I was taught that my desire is a sin. Like when your friend said I shouldn’t post my weird little poems, like it was my fault and my fault alone what happened between us. Maybe sometimes that voice lives in my head, that cruel judgement that never backs off, never relents. Maybe to shut it up I just need to fucking hit send.

xoxo, SiREN

please I pray that this pain ends.

xoxo, SiREN

xoxo, SiREN

so again, I thank you.

xoxo, SiREN

I have been becoming increasingly frustrated with social media this past year, probably because despite my consistent efforts, my success has been rather small and limited. Crumbs really, not enough to stay full on. I have been inching up the ladder to this supposed success they promise, only for each step forward to feel like three steps back. People keep saying the same shit, to keep going and keep working, to put the hours in on your dream like this is suddenly a revolutionary take, and not capitalism in a neat little zillenial package. I guess I've just become exhausted of this rat race, poverty will do that to a person.

When I first heard about substack I was enamored. A social media where you could blog your thoughts and interact with other creators, sign me up immediately! As time has gone on I have seen what in theory could be a wonderful platform, become full of clickbaity smooth brained takes, and a voracious desire for profit. Just like everywhere damn else. When I see another one of my favorite creators make the switch to paid only content, I stop listening to what they're saying. It is very clear you only care if I give you what you want. I'm (not) sorry to burst your middle class bubble, but that is not how community actually works. I am not just here to serve you and your dreams, this is supposed to be a conversation on partnership so we can actually build the new world we all speak about wanting. At this point though I'm not sure most of yall know how to work with others anymore. Community must exist outside of the screen or it will only ever be virtual.

Maybe I'm jaded, but I don't think any of us know how to truly be honest with each other anymore. We are all hyping each other up to no end, supporting everyone's dreams without offering anything truly constructive, nor reminding each other of the realities we are facing. Harsh realities that are very present and are only increasing in severity for poor and working class people. It does seem a bit odd (but not unsurprising) that the disparity of success on social media almost mirrors our class system. Those new, ‘irrelevant’ voices have to work harder and keep clocking in over and over again. They have to put in the hours, teach themselves the industry, all while probably still in school or working a full time job. None of this is truly radical, guess I'm in the wrong to think that it would be.

And don't get me wrong, I've tried to make this work. I've done the marketing strategies everyone recommends, I stayed consistent with my blogging and my notes for months, while staying quiet about very serious issues in my personal life. Consistency does help, but lot of what I was creating felt like it lacked substance and direction, like I was trying to stay relevant and in your view. Keep it light, inspirational, but ultimately lacking calories. Just like reels and short form content, it is meant to keep you doing bite sized work after bite sized work. Most people will easily click on the eye catching headlines, but rarely keep tuning in if you no longer remain topical. Substack might be longer form content on the surface, but it's programming is ultimately the same as other social media, which is why I don't think it's built to last.

I am concerned about short form content, about how it is not only rewiring our brain, it is changing how we act. How we have come to think that posting a hot take about our government equates to taking the action that is necessary to make real lasting change. Yes people are protesting, but is it really all that more than the BLM protests? Besides increased awareness, did those really amount to anything? I don't really think any of this is doing what we think it's doing. The government has an eye on everything, they are placating us, and we are falling for it. It's almost funny if you don't think about it too much.

There's a scene in the show Working Moms that I think about a lot where one best friend says to another, "it's like we've just been cosigning each other's shit for the last 15 years." Every time I log on I feel like that, like we're just endorsing every smooth brained fantasy of every person who on the surface appears good and well intentioned. But that's just it, even the best of intentions can cause harm, and do any of us really know each other? Without any accountability, none of this holds weight. Without real honesty, how do we know that any of this is real? You can say the same thing for the algorithm and these social media empires. This isn't just the fault of the individual, it is an issue at every level and on every platform. It is seeping into our consciousness in ways we continue to justify but never question. I'm sorry but complacency makes me nauseous, which is why I have decided to step out of the conversation entirely. I am not the friend who lies to your face, I will tell you when I don't agree, even if you don't want to hear it.

On a much more serious note, when it comes to taking action about the horrible things happening in the world today, be careful. Don't show them your full hand, don't post your every thought and feeling, because that's what they want you to do. They want you to be cocky and careless. I don't really know exactly what is going to happen in the future, but I do know that whatever we are seeing in the open, in the media, is a puppet show. The real violence is happening behind closed doors, waiting for the right moment to strike. Right now they are taking notes, calculating who we are by our digital footprint. I don't tell you this to be fearful, I tell you this to be vigilant. This is not the time to be fucking around and finding out. The world we live in now is different than the one we were born into. Nothing will be the same, but isn't that the point?

After much consideration it is with a heavy heart that I have decided to leave substack. I am just so tired of constantly trying to fight the algorithm, and maybe this wasn't meant to work out for me. It feels like the tighter I try to hold onto something, the more those desires no longer flow naturally. I have lived so much of my life hanging on by hopes and prayers, I need something concrete and stable. Something that I'm excited to do, that fills me with joy. I love writing, I love blogging, but it wasn’t making me happy anymore. It felt like a job I didn't like, and I already have one of those. This all doesn't mean I don't want to be a writer, it also doesn't mean I won't succeed, but I am the kind of person who likes to be in charge of what they're doing, and I don't feel in charge here. I feel like I am at the algorithms mercy. I've had a really hard year, probably the hardest of my life, and I don't need my own dreams to add to that stress. I just want things to flow easily for a while and relax. I want to enjoy life, not constantly writing hoping that this obsession will finally create the reality I’ve been praying for. I want to be in it, alive and breathing. I want to see the magic again in the things that happen away from trying to make a living, just do things for me. Maybe get into video games like I always wanted to, or finally complete my reading goal for the year. I don't know, the future is open, and I no longer want to hold on so tightly. I want to let it be.

Thanks for reading.

xoxo, SiREN

P.S. if you would like to keep up with me I do have an instagram and a youtube. I really don't have any concrete plans right now content wise, kind of just playing it by ear, but those are the places I will likely be the most active in the foreseeable future. thanks so much to those of you who have supported me, especially my paid subscribers, but now I set you free. see you around homies!

P.S.S. if you feel kind enough to send me something a little special during this transitional stage of my life, my cashapp is $xoxosirenbaby thanks <3

Recently I was out at the alternative club in my city, and was having a conversation with a few other regulars. One of them when teasingly smeared with cake said "oh I'm not going to wash this off for days" and when I asked why, said, "because I'm mentally ill." Another girl when sharing her instagram, I asked what inspired her page, told me it was her mental illness. All her page really was was a few mildly risqué pictures of herself, with the occasional poem intermixed. I honestly didn't know what to say. The conversation died pretty quickly after that.

With the rise of social media and services like online therapy, mental health care has become a lot more accessible. I think this is a good thing. What this does however is make mental health a casual conversation topic, and not something that literally kills people and causes significant damage to relationships. Even on substack I will see an essay someone wrote about their body image issues or how they want to die and all I want to do is scream and log off. It is good that you are talking about it, but I do not log on to be your therapist. When you talk about such serious topics without any real thought to how it may affect others all you do is perpetuate a culture of carelessness. Which if you didn't know, is just as bad as keeping it all locked inside.

I’ll be completely transparent here, I've been that girl who overshared on their stories. I've posted embarrassingly intimate details of my life onto instagram. I've messaged my entire list of traumas to strangers. I am not a saint by any means. What I learned after one very public mental breakdown and subsequent hospitalization, is that some things really are better to be kept private. When you open yourself up (online especially) you are opening yourself up to just as much damage as good. There is no guarantee how the public will receive it, and when you are already in a vulnerable position, negative backlash can do leagues of damage. That is not what at risk people need in an already volatile environment. We need to be more careful.

Don't get me wrong, I'm glad mental illness has been destigmatized. I grew up in a severely mentally ill family when this stuff was a lot more tabboo than it is now. No one understood what was going on at home so I just never talked about it. It was incredibly isolating, and what was even worse is when you may be in need of assistance and people have absolutely no idea how to give support. Nowadays this kind of information is a lot more accessible, and people are curious, which is great. Lifesaving even. But let's be real, when it comes to mental illness most of y’all are like kids with the training wheels still on their bike, and I have my motorcycle license. We are not at the same level of experience, and I think that is okay to admit.

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What we really need to remember about mental health issues is that it is an illness. It causes some level of damage to your life, and often makes taking care of yourself hard. Psych ward stays are usually pretty terrible and humiliating, most hospitals don't treat you humanely. People die from substance abuse or suicidality pretty regularly, not to mention the numerous predators who get off on this kind of shit. It is ugly, it destroys lives, it has ruined mine several times. It is not fucking cute and it certainly should not be one of the first things you tell a stranger. I'm sorry but it just isn't.

There was this person I met a few months ago at a food truck late one night. We exchanged instagrams and got to talking. We connected on the fact that we were both autistic and had chronic health issues. At the time I thought nothing of it, I'm a scorpio, I love to connect over deep things. I ended up spending some time with her and her husband, who she was completely dependent on. One day we were out at the pool swimming in the Florida heat, and she didn't have anything but a smoothie. Before she went to bed I tried to remind her to eat something, she said she would but didn't, and then passed out early the next morning. She had him take her to the hospital to check for an ulcer, which in my honest, former eating disordered opinion, was just because she didn't eat anything for over a day. She didn't even stay at her doctors appointment to complete her tests. The whole situation reeked of insecure fish.

It was honestly too much. After a while you kind of learn that people have to do the work and come to that realization themselves. If someone really wants to cause harm to themselves, they will find a way, and interfering almost always delays the inevitable. It is such an unfortunate place to be in especially as someone who has hyperempathy and cares deeply about everyone and everything. It feels like I'm giving up on them, on their ability to grow. It’s sucks too because I was having a great time with a lot of these people, was even starting to get out of my shell, but at this point in my life I'd rather have good reliable people who care about me just as much as I do them. People I don't have to worry about when I'm not there, who I don't have to call to make sure they don't hurt themselves. I have had a lot of relationships like that, all of them leaving me feeling drained. I am so tired of feeling that way.

The part about healing that has been the most interesting for me is how I can catch these warning signs far quicker than I used to. In the past I used to fawn and hope that these red flags didn't exist, that maybe this was just some joke they shared and not an issue that could creep into our relationship. No matter how much people may try to hide their negativity, they may even say they didn't mean to hurt you, that darkness always creeps out. It is better to accept it when it first rears it's ugly face so you don't later get caught in the likely much more violent cross fire. People who lie, who are insecure, will try their best to hide the 'ugly' parts of themselves. If you can't be honest with yourself, how on earth would you be honest with me?

I think too that connecting with someone over the more difficult parts of ourselves is not really a safe bet. They say in the psych ward to not make friends with other patients, this is mainly because these people are hurting and sick. You have no idea what they're like outside of the very sterile environment that is meant to keep you safe. I think the same thing should go for the real world. You might share a disorder with someone, or both struggle, but building a relationships off of that is like building a house on a broken foundation. You just admitted that you both are not in the healthiest of places, so why would this relationship suddenly make you any better? It might help you, but it can't save you.

I don't mean to be so negative, this really is just a small part of a bigger conversation on relationship needs. Not everyone will be able to meet yours, or you theirs, and that is okay. I think with time people will learn a bit more on what it means to express their issues in a way that doesn't cause harm to others. Or at least I would like to be hopeful that they can. There is definitely a middle ground for this, we just haven't found it yet.

xoxo, SiREN

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I still set my intentions
and I pray for my dreams to come true,
but something is strange to me
it doesn't sit right in my stomach,
how we call ourselves lucky
when the world is falling through
my fingers like sand in the wind.
some things have to crumble
for better things to make way,
they say,
limits have ended, there is no more lack,
we are simply expanding endlessly,
not caring what we trample over,
what graves may now be
beneath our feet.
manifesting this, manifest that,
manifest destiny,
the words they change ever so slightly,
people love to say them without thinking,
without remembering the history.

the times this has happened before,
all the years we have gone to war
for more and more and more.
no one listens anymore,
they are simply keeping score
in a race that doesn't matter
let's see who can go faster,
forgetting how quickly the land
is disappearing,
how much things have changed.
how I ride the bus in silence
no one looking my way.
like we're ashamed,
desperate to escape
a life where we struggle every day.

I fear I am the only one
who can see it, the void that consumes.
it is our world now, the idol we worship,
it is no different than it was
all those years ago.
the devil has just rebranded,
he wears clean clothes and boasts
of how he knows how to lead.
where he is taking you
may be decorated real nice,
smell of sage and patchouli,
but don't be fooled
he knows exactly how you work.
this magic is manufactured,
and he is lulling you to sleep.

xoxo, SiREN

I consider myself a very optimistic, almost delusionaly idealistic person. I take everyone at their word, see the best in their flaws, and easily forgive the harm they have caused. I don't really think of this as a bad thing, but time and time again I found myself being used to fill other people's needs, and them never asking if they filled mine. And honestly, I'm tired of being disappointed. A heart can only be hurt so much.

I had never been the best at boundaries, you can blame my upbringing for that. I was taught that pushing someone to their breaking point was love. It never was, and I learned the hard way. I told you I write this not because I am all-knowing, but because I am flawed. I have failed and made a mess more times than I've succeeded, but that doesn't stop me from trying to get better. That doesn't stop me from hoping there's good things waiting for me. So instead of seeing the worst in others, I'm going to treat it as something I can learn better about myself.

My favorite way of explaining boundaries was by Frankie Simmoms. From what I remember, she said that her boundaries were just "telling someone who she was." I think that is really the simplest and most human way to look at it. Especially nowadays with everyone using therapy speak (and not knowing what the hell they're saying), sometimes boundaries just feel like a justification for avoidant or hurtful behavior. When in actuality, boundaries are meant to help maintain relationships, not end them. I think we are taught to believe however that boundaries are flaws in our connection, so the plague of people pleasing takes over. When really all I am trying to do is tell you who I am so that you may know me.

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I went out to the club for the first time in a while. I had a great time, got a free shot, flirted, danced with strangers. I found myself connecting with a group of people, chatted with them outside for about an hour. Afterwards we were planning on getting tacos and went to a restaurant that was open late night. As we sat down one of the employees told this girl to cover up. She was offended and refused, saying we should leave the restaurant. There were mixed reactions, one young man became incredibly upset and started fighting the employee. Instead of sharing a meal with what could've been a new friend, I was the one shoving him out the door. Talk about a tragic ending.

To preface, this was a group of mostly queer alternative people in one of the most diverse cities in the southern United States. Tensions are naturally high, this is a difficult time for everyone, but what I don't understand is just the complete lack of respect and decorum. Everyone wants everything to be easy and work out for them, and when it doesn't, conflict is quick and easy to rise. This isn't the first time I've gone out, only for the people I have befriended to act up and get kicked out. Something is definitely in the air, but that's a topic for another day.

Truthfully, being in community is not always easy. That doesn't mean you have to sacrifice yourself either. So after a series of chaos, I hopped out of the car and told them I'd get an Uber home. I was hungry anyways and making sure I eat enough is something I have been actively working on. I was disappointed and overwhelmed, I had really hoped to have a nice evening making some new friends, but when people show you who they are, that says more than any words ever could. So I listened to my gut and did what was best for me. Sometimes that is all you really can do.

It sucks because my optimistic little heart was once again proven wrong. I don't feel bad for putting myself out there and trying, it even taught me a few things about myself. Like how I need people in my life who know how to have fun, but are also stable and reliable. People that when shit hits the fan don't go about making an even bigger mess. Existing in this world is full of relationships, many of them not easy, and even more of them won't work out. And that's okay actually. Not everyone needs to be your best friend, some people might just be acquaintances, or a mutual online. That is also what it means to be in community.

I think if you're a very sensitive person like myself, having hard boundaries is incredibly important. That's what I mean by a strong no. I am not the therapist friend or your mom, I want people in my life who can be there for me as much as I wish to be there for them. I was so drained after that night, eating my fries alone. But it is better to be alone and in peace, than not and in chaos. Maybe I'm a bitch for this, who knows, but I have been through a lot. I know this shit like the back of my hand. After a while you just know when to hop out of the car.

I don't mean to end this on such a negative note because that is not what I mean at all. I still hope to see those people again, but likely not as close friends. That is the thing about boundaries too, it is meant to maintain relationships and push them towards a place of stability. I also would like to have hope that with time we can all grow and come to much more secure places with ourselves and others. Who knows, maybe we will all laugh about this one day while eating some tacos after the club. So with that, I am going to let go and have faith that the people that are meant for me will find me. If we are meant to be friends, it'll all work out anyways.

xoxo, SiREN

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Growing up my father taught me to always stand up for myself. He taught me how to change a tire, how to read a map, and that I could do anything a man could. He would always encourage me to speak up in school and to challenge authority in peaceful ways, even when it was difficult. I honestly had a bit of a reputation for it among my peers, no one could do shit without me saying something. I didn't realize until recently how truly radical an upbringing this was. Unfortunately, like many men in this country, my father turned to political extremism and my critiques of authority became what he considered personal threats. It ultimately destroyed our relationship, but that is not the point of this story. This is about how politics has affected my life.

I have been political online since I was in high school, back then I was running shitty instagram accounts about libertarianism, arguing with people in the comments. As I grew older, my beliefs started to really shift and without the internet I dont think I would be as progressive as I am today--and I am grateful for that. I have been on top of the news, diving deep into the nuance, reading every inforgraphic in existence for the last 10 years. Now I am pretty firm in my beliefs and no longer see the need to change it, one of the blessings of getting older I guess.

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I had been pretty politically involved in my community too. I was in multiple clubs and programs, went to protests of all kinds, and always made an effort to build relationships with people who were different than me. I was convinced that this is what I had to do to be a good person, to leave my impact on the world. What this did however was leave little room for me and my life, for the things I desired and wished for. After a few traumatic events and a string of very bad luck, life forced my hand. I became very sick and couldn't get out of bed for weeks on end, I could no longer be a part of the things I wanted to, and the times I tried to be active online would give me panic attacks so bad I would black out. I had to delete all social media off of my phone for half a year just so I could focus on my health. I felt like a failure, like nothing I ever did was enough.

You see, without knowing I had tied my identity to politics. It was all I thought and cared about, all I read about, forgetting that the reason I even cared in the first place was because I lived in a place that never valued what I had to say. No matter how much I peacefully argued or demonstrated my beliefs, the people I wanted to listen were incapable of doing so. None of it matters if your oppressor doesn't have a conscience, our screams for liberation are just white noise to them.

What I mean by all of this is not to dissuade you or even tell you not to protest, what I am telling you is to be careful with what you say, and especially of what you post. Our words, our ideas, even our appearances can so easily be stolen and used against us. This system we use to communicate was not built to help us, it was made to use us and turn our psyches into data points. They don't care about what you have to say, they definitely aren't listening, this is merely another way to keep tabs on us. I used to argue with my father until I was blue in the face, desperate to convince him of the error in his ways, so that hopefully the man who raised me might once again come forward and support me—but he never did. The second I went against him, the second I no longer agreed, is when the reign of terror began. A man I learned last year helps design weapons being used in Gaza, and told me this like it was casual conversation. Ultimately he is this way because he knows the blood on his hands will never be counted against him. This is a system he benefits from and has no reason to change. I on the other hand had been discarded from this same system time and time again, frequently blamed despite the fact that I had been set up for failure. I knew I couldn't live with myself if I stayed idly by and pretended like this wasn't wrong. So I fled without a word.

The thing is, no matter how much we may try to avoid it, everything about our lives is political. Where we live, what we wear, our health, our trauma, our relationships. It might not be as in your face as it used to be, honestly I think this country has a very good habit of rebranding itself just as trouble is about to find it. I guess I realized that all we are really doing is running circles around the problem, hoping that some miracle will come and save us so that we ourselves don't actually have to do the real work. So that we won't have to stand up to our family or our peers and tell them that they are wrong, that their beliefs (and even their actions) hurt others. You see this with abusive dynamics all the time. We may think we are making change when we are hiding behind a screen in the comfort of our own home, and that is what I thought I was doing for the last 10 years, but all it really does is distract us from the true action necessary to make lasting change. To actually be political is to stand in your beliefs even when it's hard, even when no one else agrees.

Most people probably would just stick around and continued to argue with the immovable force, or just pretend that hideous fact didn't exist altogether, but I am not like most people. In the best way possible I am my father’s daughter, and I stand up for what I believe in even when it came at great personal cost. But nothing in this world feels the same anymore,
I didn't understand why what is happening hurts me so deeply. Every time I spend even a few moments looking at what is happening in Gaza (or anywhere else full of tyranny) the world inside me starts to crumble. I once again thought it was because I was a failure, but after some reflection I think it is something much deeper that I am scared to admit. That I am tired of fighting.

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It's hard taking a loss, especially when you know it was the right choice, but it exhausts you in a way words don't touch. I have spent so much of my life fighting to be heard that now it just sounds like noise coming out of my mouth. Sometimes the words feel forced, like I am just taking a stance so that you don't see the enemy in me. Frankly I am no longer interested in defending myself, I just want to exist peacefully. I mean isn't that the goal we are all striving towards?

And don’t get it twisted, I know the fight isn't over, it has only just begun. I don't plan on giving up—I mean my blog name is literally ‘Unamerican Girl’—but I am in need of solace. Over the course of this journey I have found myself even more radicalized, I view rest and care as integral parts of my liberation. I move much slower and with much more intention, and have gotten much better at discerning what is worth my energy. Some fights you simply cannot win and sometimes you just have to admit defeat. Not because you deserve to lose, but so you can regroup and remember what it is that truly matters to you. They want you to be reactionary and show them your entire hand because ignorance is this regimes greatest weapon, and I could never be willingly ignorant. For now I will sit back and watch, planting the seeds I wish to sow, waiting for the moment I am strong enough to strike.

So yeah, I don't want to be political right now, or at least not in the way I used to be. I want to make art that makes you think, become a person so truly themselves that you stop and wonder how you ever lived life any differently. I want to have great sex and eat good food, I want to invest in myself and my goals without a moment of judgement or critique. I want to know a love so fully that I can no longer think of all the pain that birthed me, it would simply be a story I write sometimes as a warning to those who are not yet knowing, but also as an invitation to something greater. My life is the political landscape of liberation, that is why I created this persona in the first place.

I know many of you will not agree with me, psychoanalyze me in the comments if you must, but really all I see in you is a younger, more naive version of me. A person who believed so much in their ideas that they thought nothing could stop them. Really I am so glad that people are finally taking a stand, it had been so lonely always being the only one to speak up. For so long I felt like I was the only one who cared and I am glad to know I am not alone. But the older and wiser version who speaks now is urging you to be careful, to be mindful of your actions before life too forces your hand.

xoxo, SiREN

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some part of me had hoped that I was above this, that in order to keep food on the table I wouldn't need to sell my body, but the world is insufferably voracious, and I am tired of being hungry. in theory such a world exists where people are treated equally, but not the one we live in today. we can kid ourselves and pretend that we have freedom, that our shouts into the void are heard, like they aren't being calculated into an even greater weapon that knows exactly how we work. nothing is sacred anymore, so why care at all about being good?

I originally started posting ass last summer. I had no idea what I was doing, my sexuality had barely blossomed at the time (doesn't help my case that I like to be a good little girl). the messages and requests were uncomfortable and I was terrible at boundaries online, I fear these men knew. it ended up being okay though, I had some consistent fans who kept the pantry stocked. I learned some things about myself, mainly how I like to be nude outside. I love the thrill of a risk. while I was just starting out I was so self conscious, but looking back I feel a fondness for that version of me. a kind of innocence and nativity that I fear are forever lost.

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some time passed, I moved across the country, bounced from place to place, learning the true dangers of a woman in sex work. one man tried to kidnap me in his car because I said I worked at the strip club (only for the day, but it was a day enough for me). I opened the window and screamed, begging to be let out. eventually he did and nothing else happened except a text message about how he'd pay me $100 to have sex with me. I threw that phone away, and I got really careful after that.

that's the thing about sex work, it's good when you're in a pinch. when everything else in your life has dried up and you have nothing left to give--which is where I was. the issue is, these men know this all too well and love to treat women like prey. when you're behind a screen at least there's that physical safety, you can turn your phone off and ignore the whims of men. enjoy the peace of your own company and not worry about wandering hands as you try to rest. it is empowering, and the best thing to happen to sex work probably ever. unfortunately, not everyone agrees. I have seen plenty of terrible takes by supposed feminists on this cursed website, but the one that gets under my skin the most is the idea that sexualizing yourself and *gasp* god forbid you capitalize off of it is somehow wrong. what's actually wrong is how in a world where personal freedom is harder and harder to find, you continue to police your peers for trying to survive. you should be ashamed.

but let's be honest, it's still a job. nothing is without it's pitfalls and I too become dissatisfied with it from time to time. my dream is to be an artist, a writer, a musician. all things I've been actively working on for years now, only to reap little reward. it is so incredibly frustrating to only really be seen of value because I am hot, and not because I am intelligent. a wound that lives deeply within me. I wish I didn't have to sell my body, but I also don't think this is wrong either. it's just a phase of my life to help me find some stability and rebuild my confidence. to help empower myself as someone who has experienced a significant amount of sexual trauma. I am much better about boundaries now, no one can message me without tipping, and I prefer it that way.

despite everything, I am hopeful that things will work out for me. those dangerous experiences, the embarrassingly poorly edited content, the lack of resources, will all be things of the past that helped create an even stronger, more fulfilled version of me. I used to worry so much about my image, about what I put out into the world said about me, but I think what it really says is that I am resilient. that despite countless obstacles I kept learning more things and kept trying. maybe this is about sex work, but maybe also it isn't. maybe this is about how we treat women who struggle, and what we say about the women who make it out.

xoxo, SiREN

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xoxo, SiREN

The animal in me is hungry, restless, tired of your mind games. This beast has spent years beating at the walls of its cage, it isn't working, it is driving us insane. The zoo keeper treats me like an object, telling me where to stand and when to eat, all the ways in which I must change. Like you aren't walking into the lions den as fresh meat. As if I am not granting you mercy.

I'm tired of thinking, of wondering what if I do, what if I don't. Every day the same shit, spinning out in the same ways. Like life is a flower and I am just picking at the petals, hopeless for an answer, yet avoiding what my gut tells me. Stuck in my head, stuck in that moment, overthinking every detail. The only person I'm really honest with is my inner critic, and they're a mean bitch. Never really changing, always kind of staying the same, tracing the walls in this stupid cage. What an aimlessly boring way to live.

The people are always watching, eyes always on me. The outside is looking in, desperately waiting for me to give them a show. Crunching on their snacks and sipping on their drinks, I can hear it from the pit. Their ease echos, reminding me what I miss. I can feel their eyes trail my body, like I was made for them and them alone. my actions a subject of their conversation, I watch them point and speak in hushed tones like I don't know that I am the one they are speaking about. I am a queen, I should make them bow at my feet, but for some stupid reason I believe in mercy.

To many I am a strange exotic thing that cannot be tamed, like an alien from outer space. I have been called every name, I am the woman scorned. I tried to hide it, placate the people with feeble attempts at humility, pretend it didn't hurt where I had been burned, that it didn't ache where I was stabbed. I wished to change, to not be the woman that finds their name cursed on many tongues. Fighting my fate, ignoring my destiny. It took me to an even darker place than I had ever imagined, one within my own soul. I betrayed myself trying to make them listen, begging to be loved. Maybe I must accept that I was born wild, that I do not wish to live in anyone's cage. This is simply just my way.

For a while there I forgot who I was, shame was the face I wore. I had made so many mistakes, this prison was my choice with a heavy dose of fate. I came here willingly, tired and hungry. I had been on a very long journey, the world had fallen beneath my feet. This place, it caught me, allowed me to rest. My head was so weary, but time has now passed. I am bored of this trap where I so willingly laid. I am tired of sitting in place, waiting patiently for the moment it is meant to change. For my chance at freedom, to sleep anywhere I choose. For no one to know where I am, for them to never know what I am doing next. What strange thing I have planned, to what direction I will exit. A kind of freedom only gods know. I miss freedom, how could I have let it slip through my grasp? I will never be such a fool again.

So go ahead and call me wicked. Curse me under your breath, pick apart who I am, psychoanalyze my every step. You will need to know that when I let this beast free, when I kill my captor and roam the streets. The jungle is calling, I hear it sing through this facade you built. I need to be where the wind knows my skin, I am ready to let out the beast within.

xoxo, SiREN

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There once was a woman between a rock and a hard place. She had exhausted all of her resources, fallen from grace. She was shamed, ridiculed, and had many debts to pay. Everyone wanted something from her, but she had nothing to give. She had no choice but to fly away.

She fled, telling no one, praying to a god she no longer believed in to know something different. She rode the bus for days, not knowing where she was going. She kept going to the end of the line, a city called Houston. The bus dropped her off on the side of the street in the middle of the night. A place she had never been—young, beautiful, and alone. There was nothing to hold her, but she was finally free of everything that had hurt her.

She had very little, pennies really. Only money she could find was from selling her body, and it wasn't much. She slept in the street, in parks, and behind the library. Men would try to snatch her, intice her with things she needed. Unfortunately for them, she could not be bought, didn't mean they knew to stop. She knew to run when men looked at her like prey, to find another place to sleep that night. She did not expect freedom to come at such a high price.

The street was dangerous for a woman like her, there were men who could smell her desperation, eager to take advantage. She had to find a way off the streets. She stayed in hotels and hostels, bartering her way to safety. One night she slept with a man so she had a dry place to sleep, but that night ended in flames. She learned the ways of this life quickly, bartered, stole when she needed to, but this wasn't the life she deserved and she knew it. This wasn't the life she set out to find. She felt like God had given up on her. Eventually she got a job that gave her free meals, and she made just enough to keep a roof over her head without selling her body to the highest bidder. It was a relief that words can't quite touch. She finally had a place to sleep.

The cheapest place she could find was a hostel in the south side, a place people often deemed dangerous, but she was just grateful to have a roof over her head. It was small, full of people in situations like her. People who live day to day, not sure if they can afford a place to sleep and a warm meal before the next time they get paid. People who do dangerous things to survive. She had a strange love for this place, even if the bathrooms were always dirty and someone was always causing trouble—not to mention the annoying man who always made calls on speakerphone all hours of the day. It taught her to appreciate the simple things in life and what she had, and to accept simple kindnesses again.

There was an older woman who worked there, she liked to help people in need. She helped the young woman trust again, laugh again. The girl had become very guarded in her time on the street, and the years before she had been so isolated from the world. It had been so long since she lived, she had almost forgotten what it felt like. This woman felt like a mother she never quite had, caring for her when she needed it. She told her many stories of her life, did voices with a fantastical flare, made her food sometimes too. It made the young woman forget about the things that haunted her, but the old woman was tired. She worked day in, day out with little appreciation, and after a few short months, she announced that she was quitting and the hostel was closing down. The young woman had to find another place to sleep. She felt the fear in her chest again.

The young woman was scared, where was she to go? This was the cheapest place she could find, food was already expensive enough. People had told her of other options, but many of them required fees and leases, money she did not have. Hotels were expensive too, a week would be her entire paycheck. So she started looking on airbnb. She found something she could afford, she had a plan. It gave her a bit of relief.

On her last day at the hostel before she went to the new place, she said goodbye and left many of her things as offerings. She was sad to leave this place, but she also wanted to know better things. The first place she could find was still in the south side, in a part she had not been. it was difficult to get to, far from her job, and the owner wouldn't even provide towels. She stayed there a few weeks, but was very unhappy. At night she would hear gunshots, people yelling in the street, her roommate left cocaine out on the kitchen table and didn’t clean it up. It was cheap, but at what cost? She knew that this was not a place she could stay, so she kept looking.

She found another place, a bit further into the city. She had her own room in the garage of a middle aged man, many of the rooms were used for airbnb. All kinds of people lived there, mostly young men, many of them involved in a charitable organization. Some working to pay their rent, others came drifting in and out of town. It was more comfortable, there was a backyard, and scooters you could borrow. It was much better than where she had been, although a bit more expensive (and cluttered might I add). Most of her paychecks went to it, she had to get a lot more careful with her money so that she could afford to eat.
Many nights the first few weeks, she would cry herself to sleep—it was the holidays and she was alone. She was so tired, so very tired, and sometimes hungry.

She was one little person, alone in a world that had discarded her. Even though things were better than where she had been, and so was she, she felt like all people wanted from her was silence. No one wants to hear stories when you're poor, it's always about grinding to the next step, no empathy for the weak. This was all she could afford, and she heard that people wanted to boycott the place that offers her refuge from the street. She used to think like these people, that our money had power, but even if it did, to be able to boycott means you can afford different things. She was scared to tell people about the life she lived, she was ashamed of having so little. They would probably have opinions, advice for how to change, but she didn't want that, she just wanted to be heard in her pain. This was the best she could do, but to others it always seemed like it was never enough, she simply couldnt keep up with the demands of the world. She was ashamed and judged, like her story didn't deserve to be shared. Even though she was the one who lived through it, and she had always believed that difficult stories were the most important ones to be told.

The weeks went on, the winter a bitter cold. She spent much of it asleep. Work was slow, her hours cut, she was lucky to have a meal a day. She was isolated again, and she hated it, but trust was hard for her. It is very difficult being a woman alone, even the most wellmeaning of people can cause harm. She didn't like how the men looked at her, judged her, always trying to get close to her. It made her feel hollow in her own skin. So she tried little things to feel better, would go out to eat just for a change of scenery. One day, she got lucky. When getting a smoothie she found some artists painting on the street. She smiled and laughed again, a part of herself she had forgotten, reaching the surface of her soul. She stopped questioning the universe so much, she started to think of this place as home. She had found refuge despite everything the world had thrown at her, maybe there was something to believe in after all.

Her luck started to change, she started making friends, got invited to events. Finding those small pockets of magic in this big city, it had so many hidden gems. It helped her forget the heaviness she had been carrying. She would go out on her days off, painting, laughing, dancing, singing. She started to find herself again, she realized that maybe all this struggle wasn't in vain. It wasn't an easy life, she had given up so much that she had, but life is not meant to be easy, it is meant to be lived, and this was a life she could see herself living. She started to remember why she set out on this journey in the first place.

Some days she still wakes up scared, worried about the days to come and what they may bring. But no matter what the world says, she has her faith. She knows she did the best she could with the cards she was dealt, and no matter how little money she may have, she still deserves a belly full of food and a place to rest her head. No one deserves to be treated worse for having less.

So before you judge her and call her names, ask yourself if you could've done the same thing.

xoxo, SiREN

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Money and me have a pretty rough history. I have always kind of struggled with it, and have been low income for my entire adult life. It sucks, and can be very laborious. You are constantly humbled and expected to take shit from others, often without your consent. It is not an easy life, but I think at some level it has brought a lot of value and richness to my story, and has taught me about patience and humility. I have slowly gotten better with money--especially on a tight budget. I know how to make things last. It is a much more sustainable life. I wish we would talk about these things more without shame. Like poverty isn't some thing that should be kept behind closed doors, or in neighborhoods we deem unsafe, or even out of our relationships. God forbid someone need help, how dare someone have needs that they have trouble meeting on their own. Like communities should only exist if they have money and everyone does their job. Sound like anything else you've heard before?

When I was young, my mother had a crochet business on etsy. I thought her work was really beautiful, but after a year of little success, my father made her shut it down. His reasoning was that it had a been a year and it hadnt turned up a profit. I think at some level I had internalized that, believing that because I am not farther along that my goals are something that should be abandoned. But the truth is, I learn by doing, and some things just take me a bit more time than others. Sometimes progress cannot be quantified, it is something deeply personal, a part of a greater story. I wonder who my mother could've been if she kept going, if she had ignored him and found her own way. What kind of role model that could've been for me. Unfortunately that is not her story, but that doesn't mean my victory won't come one of these days, and just because it's been a year of struggle, doesn't mean abundance isn't waiting for me right around the corner.

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As I have been curating my creative vision, I have realized that it will probably take more time for me to reach my goals. I am being disruptive to the status quo, embracing counter-culture, things that go against a system that has infiltrated every level of our lives. What we do shapes our reality, and everyone has become disconnected from our real one, afraid to look up at the world around us. I am for the people who look up, for the people unafraid to stand on their own. Unfortunately, most people are not ready for change, thus I am on the fringe of society, planting the seeds of my future. I guess this is the time where I find my disciples, not my religion.

There's another level to this that I haven't spoken much on. I am tired from all this physical labor, and all I really want is to live in a home and be in a healthy relationship. I want my work to fuel my life, not distact me from it. I want being successful to be easy and come naturally to me, not something I constantly have to be working on. I will not blindly accept workaholism as the way to get where I want to go. If the land cannot stand the digging and drilling and poking and proding and cheap flights for a weekend getaway, why should I? If it isn't sustainable to the world, why would it be sustainable for me? Maybe I'm just someone who likes to dream that the world would love me for who I am, that I could find success in my unique approach. Which again, is not an easy feat. Truly good things never come easy.

So yeah, I'm not where I want to be yet, and that's okay. I like who I am and what I am working on, and I know I will get there one day. Right now my priorities are simple, my life relatively quiet. Doesn't mean it will always be, and when my vision comes to fruition, this will likely be the only time in my life where I can just enjoy it without pressure. Where I have no expectations to meet, where I can exist without being recognized or asked for a favor. I am making my peace with obscurity, I am living this moment to the fullest while moving slowly. What about you, are you able to embrace the unknown with gentleness?

xoxo, SiREN

xoxo, SiREN

xoxo, SiREN

Dearest Reader,

Last year I had a major falling out with a friend. I was betrayed, my trust broken, my life ruined. I am not the same person anymore because of it. My heart was shattered and I pushed everyone away as a result. It was one of the most painful heartbreaks of my entire life, and I found myself completely alone. I had convinced myself I didn't need anyone, and I got a taste of my own bitter medicine. Like a self fulfilling prophecy of my own demise.

There have been so many times this past year where all I really wished for was somebody to talk to. Where I could just pick up the phone and talk about what's heavy on my chest without worrying about being too much. So many people made me feel wrong for desiring closeness, for not wanting to be alone. I don't really have anyone I trust that I can call right now, probably not many of us really do. I think we've all kind of forgotten what it means to be a good friend, how to be there for each other without feeling the need to save. Exercising trust and acceptance of other people's differences. How do we expect to build a free world if we cannot learn to coexist?

The funny thing about all of this is I actually don't think I am a very good friend. I am quick to unfollow and block, I hate texting, and carry a lot of darkness within me from years of relationship trauma. I am not the therapist friend and really don't want to be. I don't write this because I am a good one, but because I know what its like to be bad. I have spent so long lacking that I just don't want to anymore. I don't want to be alone, but I also don't want to settle. I think that's a lot healthier. I hope I'm not alone in this, that I am not simply speaking to the void. That one day I will find my people who wish to listen with open ears and hug me with open arms too.

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Since that relationship imploded, I have been very tentatively trying to rebuild my trust in people. At first I didn't want to, I wanted to shut the entire world out. But it was so incredibly lonely, and spending too much time inside makes me sick. To combat this, I've been putting myself out there, trying to connect with people. I've failed a lot, making myself look like a fool more often than not. I don't know why I'm such an idealist, I mean I have every reason to be jaded and hateful. In this world however, so does everyone else. It makes me think sometimes, is my pain really that special? Am I the only one who is hurting?

Truthfully the internet nowadays feels like looking in a time machine of my own inner demons. Since COVID I have been on a pretty extreme healing journey of body and mind, I’ve been spending almost that entire time working on myself. I am so glad I did, but now that I am on the other side of that path, I see things differently. The wound I see with a lot of people is avoidance. canceling plans, staying in, criticizing your every desire. Not to mention beauty standards and the almost intrinsic need to hide our flaws, get lip filler, and join a gym. Feelings of the self rooted in lack. It is so loud that sometimes I don't want to be on my phone, I just want to exist as I am without being constantly told what to do or given unwarranted advice. I miss being a kid and watching stupid YouTube videos about unicorns, or going over to my friends house to watch America's Next Top Model and draw. Even writing skits with my best friend and performing them for our loved ones. The whole world is a stage now, I miss the simplicity of when things weren't so dire. When we allowed ourselves to just be in comfortable silence.

I have always really valued friendship. For much of my life it was my safe space. I grew up in a very violent home and sometimes my only peace was found in other people's houses, eating dinner with them after school. One time in high school when I was really depressed, my friends gave me a surprise party just to cheer me up. They didn't have to do that, but they did. I wish I had appreciated them more. I wish I had been a better friend, maybe some of them would still be in my life now. I have always dreamed of lifelong friends, I hope that is still a possibility for me.

A lot of us seem to be afraid to put ourselves out there and show our flaws. Maybe even scared of what conflict could arise if you are not careful. We have become so afraid to show our ignorance and acknowledge that there are still things we can learn. I believe everything in life is a skill, and in a world full of enemies and comic book level villains, it is more important than ever to learn how to exist in harmony with others. I don't think peace exists in avoidance, it exists in conflict resolution. In acknowledging your place in the world while making space to recognize the difference of others. At the core of it, what we all want is so simple, so why don't we make it easier for ourselves? Maybe it's time to find ways to come together, not tear ourselves apart.

We do need each other, even though sometimes I still wish that I didn't need anyone. That I could just lock myself away from society, never to be seen again. It isn't living though, don't let your grief stop you from feeling the joy of seeing love in another person's eyes. There is still a chance that things could work out, that what you desire, desires you too.

In this series I plan to ask a lot of questions about friendship, and explore not only what it means to be a good friend, but a member of community as well. I also plan to explore what relationships work for me, and even what boundaries are necessary to thrive. Of course this will be different for everyone, but this is meant to be an experiment, I am not fully sure what will come of this. I will report back to you, my listeners, on what I've learned as I try to make new friends, online and in person. Friendship is important to me, and with this loneliness epidemic going around, I want to do my part in making it a little less lonely, if I can.

I am really excited for this series, I hope you are too. Now tell me, what do you think makes a good friend?

xoxo, SiREN

p.s. I am an artist and you can find me on instagram, YouTube, and patreon! I have always dreamed of doing this full time, so please consider subscribing so that I may make that dream a reality. <3

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as an artist, of course I want to be successful, but that isn't my only priority. I want to know love and connection and closeness. I want people who will be honest with me about how they feel, who I know will make time for me when I need it. unfortunately, most people aren't, and I've grown tired of begging for honesty. if you can't show me that respect, why should I give you mine?

I'm realizing too that I've changed, that the person I see mirrored in others is now a distant reflection. in the past I would have settled out of fear of being lonely. now I need reciprocal respect in order to move forward in the relationship. I have high standards so that I do not repeat these same old wounds. that is what is healthy for me, doesn't mean it isn't uncomfortable sometimes. self care has become a much bigger focus lately because of this, I'm sleeping a lot, eating things that make me feel good. at times it feels indulgent, like I should be doing something else, like I should be grinding harder towards my dreams. the thing is, I've done that before. workaholism is a generational curse that I am constantly fighting. I see it in little ways, in the constant posting and desire to stay on trend. I can't keep up, and I don't want to anymore. I want to feel good in my body and soul, I don't care what price it may come at. I am running a marathon, not a sprint.

my body is tired, I need to rest and recuperate before every step I take. maybe that means I won't keep up with the algorithm, that I will reach milestones slower than you. I am still taking steps and moving forward. any growth is still growth, and I'd rather build it slowly than have it crashing down around me because my foundations were shaky. I have some projects I've been working on for weeks, if not months, that are not where I want them to be. I draw a line here, write a sentence there, then go back to bed. slowly chipping away at my masterpiece. I like to take my time with things, I don't like to be rushed. I am realizing that is just who I am. it feels lonely sometimes, standing by your values. being still when the world is moving at hurricane pace, everyone desperate to keep things the same, so scared of what this grief could mean. I, however, have become friends with the reaper, and he tells me it is time to slow down.

my body is a sensitive one, so is my spirit. I have no other choice but to listen to it. some days just managing my body is its own job. I used to wish that I could push myself harder, that I could make things faster. lately I am not sure that is a value of mine, or that I'm willing to sacrifice what I believe for the bag. maybe I'm alone in this, but I truly want my life to be sustainable as much as it can be. I don't want to be in relationships that don't fulfill me, or to be a bad friend because I am so focused on my work. I don't want to overwork myself at all, and I definitely don't want to make work that secretly I hate because I just desperately wanted to be heard. being truly heard is hard, rare even. most people just nod along and lie. that is not who I am, nor what I want in my life. in order to live my most beautiful life, I will take my fucking time so that I can create something truly divine. and that baby, is the truth. I hope it doesn't scare you.

;)

xoxo, SiREN

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xoxo, SiREN