i only write well when i’m sad and only eat well when i’m in love. my mind is an empty vault, but my stomach is full. i cannot weave together a pretty string of words, but i never go to bed hungry.

this is so asinine. this is so unheard of for me. i’ve always been the girl with too much to say that counted her ribs in the mirror. i could go on forever about how hard it is to love me, but be stopped short when asked why i didn’t believe it would happen if i knew that it existed. i never had an answer. it was just a feeling. a feeling that has followed me since i was a little girl who never knew what it felt like to truly be loved before. i thought my destiny would be to write about love, but never experience it. i thought my fate was to romanticize my loneliness, but celebrate every ring that slipped onto a finger but my own.

i know what it feels like to love someone, but i never knew what it felt like to be loved.

i know what it feels like to be looked at, but i never knew what it felt like to be seen.

the saying, “love comes when you least expect it.” is so cliché and sentimentalized. it’s used to placate lonely souls and quivering hearts. it’s something i was always told, but never believed. as a girl who believes so hard in things as distant as fairytales, it’s hard to understand why i believed love would never happen to me. but i did. i betted on my solitude more than my dreams. i spent my days with my left hand intertwined with my right and my nights with my own arms wrapped around my shoulders. my favorite voice was my own and my biggest fear was the idea of me with anyone else.

and then she appeared.

now, i spend my days with my left hand intertwined with her right and my nights with her arms wrapped around my waist. my favorite voice is hers and my biggest fear is the idea of her with anyone else. my name sounds prettier when it falls off her lips and my eyes search for any semblance of her in every room. all the colors are brighter and my mind is so much clearer. love songs now have a face and my love letters now have a reason.

to be loved is to be looked into, not just looked at. blown out pupils and starry irises that take in what’s in front of them and are curious to learn more.

to be loved is to be heard, not just listened to. mentions of what makes up my heart floats off my tongue and appears in front of me weeks later. what i was told was “too much” years ago is just a descriptive of my name with hearts dotting the i’s.

to be loved is to be cared for, not just used. i have never experienced a greater sigh of relief than having eyes that not just look at me, but look at me with love.

and it makes my heart burst and tears roll down my face because how did i get so lucky to be seen? how did the prophecy for my heart change, or was it written this way all along?

this is what they write about, this is what they paint. something so pure and timeless that poets and artists themselves can only hope to experience it, so instead they create it.

to be loved is to be seen, and i hope her eyes stay on me for the rest of my life.

my heart is a patchwork quilt cross-stitched in the pattern of the heartbeats by those who i love. the fabric holds the laughter of my best friends, the smile of my mom, and the purrs of my cat. it glimmers with memories of late night conversations and with flutters of the gentle hands who have held it.

if my eyes were made of film, i would have an endless amount of photos capturing the breeze in my best friend’s hair while driving to our favorite songs. the colors and specs of light glowing around her in just the right way to capture the halo above her head.

i would have an endless amount of photos capturing the warmth of my mom’s hugs and the tears in her eyes that shine with pride. the reels would showcase early morning eyes that were dusted with admiration and late nights of kindred love shared between two people who are so scared for what comes next, but buzzing with the feeling of finding their other half.

if i could paint, i would paint a mural of how my heart looks when someone tells me they believe in me. i would paint a mural of how my heart looks when someone i love believes that i do. silhouettes of butterflies would be floating all throughout the veins and colors that don’t even exist would encapsulate the glow of this sacred life that i have the honor to to call my own.

maybe that’s why i don’t paint; because i cannot capture the breath of this life.

i cannot capture what it feels like to fall asleep to the lull of safety coming from one room over. i cannot capture what it feels like to fall in love with someone after vowing to never do it again. i cannot capture the sigh of relief when someone understands as complicated of a heart and soul as mine. i cannot capture the swell of the choir in my ears that crescendos when i catch a glimpse of my dreams becoming my reality.

how beautiful it is to set aside the resting of my heart to feel it burn and flutter from the fire and wistfulness of love. how beautiful it is to fall asleep knowing that you have people who want you to win even more than you do yourself.

the belief of love is what keeps me going. i have all the proof in the world of it because the world i walk and cry and love on is painted by it.

what a privilege it is to undoubtably know that i will be loved in this life and the next. those that breathe life into the air that fills my lungs— i owe them everything that i am worth.

where do we draw the line between someone’s past being an explanation or an excuse for their present? how many times are we supposed to forgive someone for their actions because they suffered at the hands of someone who was also not healed? when do you stop having hope for someone to change their pattern without living with the fear that you gave up on them right before they were about to make the change?

these questions have been running through my mind for months now. if you’ve read my posts before, you have probably picked up on the idea that i live with a lot of hope in my heart. not because i have never had someone, or something, try to break it down before, but because i have just never given up on it.

i have hope that this world will shift their minds from power to peace one day. that people will start to move and interact with pure intentions. that people will think with their heart and not their head so often. it may be false hope, but it is hope regardless. and i would rather die than live with eyes that perceive this world through cutting glances instead of starry pupils.

but with this mindset comes a lot of disappointment. i have learned that people find it a lot easier to live through their past rather than recover from it. i have learned that it is a lot easier for people to be selfish and when the time comes to answer to their actions, they will feed you an explanation that inherently explains how their past has tied their hands and corrupted them.

i have never understood this concept. no matter how hard you try, you will never outrun your past. and it’s a hell of a journey to come face-to-face with it, look it in the eyes, and become bigger than it. people will swear their past does not define them, but as soon as they need to explain their poor actions, it is the first thing they pull out of their pocket.

this worked on me for a while. i never took it as an excuse, but instead an explanation. my “healer complex” took over and i saw it as a chance to heal them. to show them that they can be bigger than their past and that it is possible for them to not let it control them. i quickly learned that my words and wisdom had no power over someone else’s mind and just lived on a hope and a prayer that they would grow tired of hurting the person that loved them and had all the faith in the world for them to change.

it took many, many years for me to give up on them. for a very long time i saw it as a reflection of myself. that i wasn’t good enough for them to stop hurting me. that i wasn’t worth it. the thing is that i wasn’t the only one taking these hits. it was their friends, their family, any new girls that came into their line of sight. none of us were going to be treated with the respect and kindness that we deserve. none of us shared this cursed common denominator that explained why this happened to us, only that we put hope into someone that is hopeless.

it’s honestly pitiful. to see someone let themselves sink deeper and deeper into this hole of self-sabotage and selfish behavior. i always thought the act of growing and owning up to your past mistakes was innate and came with age, but it doesn’t. it takes strength to reflect and face the side of yourself that hurts others. it takes strength to recognize the person that you have become solely because you have been running from your reflection and are scared of who you now are.

some people just are not strong.

sometimes i wonder if i gave up too early. but then i remember younger me that ran herself dry over the hope that if she held on long enough, change would come. i look back on photos of me during that time and see that there is no sparkle in my eyes; only a broken version of a girl that was begging to be loved by someone that didn’t know how to. my biggest regret is that i hung on too long. hope is deceitful, but so is love. and i was head over heels in love with someone who didn’t even exist.

i have searched for some form of peace in this experience for a long time. for me, peace always comes with answers and i have had to realize that those answers will never come from the mouth that fed me only lies. what has brought me peace is knowing that a broken person didn’t break me. if anything, the woman i am now is not the girl that they met. that the woman i am now is untouchable.

sometimes i hope that i get an apology one day. a true, genuine, raw apology that reflects and recognizes the amount of pain that they put me through. that recognizes what i put up with and reflects gratitude in the fact that i didn’t have to.

but in order for that to happen, they would have to change. and i lost all hope on the day that i left.

sometimes i wonder if i was a swan in my past life. i wonder if i fell in love with another swan that dwelled in my same lake. we had a couple little babies that i fiercely protected while my mate fiercely protected me. a swan has only one lover in their lifetime. this noticeable pairing has been witnessed and studied which has caused us to deem them as the animals of eternal love.

i’ve always been so fascinated by this idea. that these animals have found their match and wouldn’t dare to look the other way. that what they have stumbled upon is too precious, too cosmic, to even consider the act of losing.

while i see myself in these graceful creatures, i can only be so similar because i have lost so much love at the fault of both my hands and others.

i lost the glow that i once glimmered with in my father’s eyes and the notability i was once worthy of in my mother’s. for many years, i fought for my specialty and credibility to stay anew, but rust grew on my shimmer and on all my talents. all that is left of me is a hole of a girl that just wants to be worthy of an eternal love without having to beg, change, and fight for it.

it’s hard for me to fathom being content with the departure of someone that i once deemed worthy of my heart because everyone who has ever touched mine will stay there forever.

i remember my first boyfriend when i see snow and my greatest heartbreak when i look up at the stars. i often catch myself thinking about the boy that kissed me under the glow of my front porch light the night i turned 21. and i know that my heart will forever mourn the loss of the girl who was my better half in the most kismet friendship that i will ever know.

i cannot bear to let anyone go.

for those that left, i grip onto the hope that whatever once made me worthy of having a spot at their table—whether it’s beside them or across—will fall back into their mind. that they will feel a lurch of confusion and need for redemption—to rediscover and rebuild what we once shared all those years ago—and most importantly, never let go like how they once did before.

for those that i lost, i grip onto the hope that they will remember who i once was to them and give me the chance to prove that i am still her. that i am still worthy of the presence of their soul and that their heart is safe with me. that i am nowhere near perfect, but will vow to make sure they know that for as long as i live, there is love surrounding their name.

i often feel that i walk this life with all these names of people stitched into my heart while they have pulled at and cut the thread that was once used to sew my name into theirs.

the more time that passes the deeper the thread seeps. i am no longer me, but instead everyone that i have ever lost and all i see is who i was never capable of being. all i see is that i am never worthy of staying for and will always hurt those who i love the most.

i know that i am not easy to love. i know that with my name comes a multitude of layers and reasons to not stay. i know that i am not, and haven’t been, the perfect friend to the people that only deserved the best. i know that i am not, and haven’t been, the perfect partner to the people that have only wished to see me smile. i know that the older i get, the harder i am to love. i let the cuts seep deep and i pick at the wounds so they never fully heal.

without them, i am afraid i will forget them.

i would rather live with false hope of their return than the reality of their forever departure. i ruminate over what i did to end up in this lonely place and beg for forgiveness in hopes that i will never experience this again.

to love deeply and eternally is a curse, and that swan planted a kiss on the top of my head as soon as i was born.

💜

“what is your love language?”

a girl asked me while we were sitting in her car after a date. my initial response was at the tip of my tongue before i swallowed it down and, instead, told her a lie.

“quality time.” i said.

she smiled and let out a little sigh before telling me that that was hers too.

the conversation pivoted and we finished out the night with fumbling over our words and messing with each other’s hands because it felt too early to kiss, but irresistible to not touch.

i left her car and walked up to my apartment with a lump in my throat due to being deceitful solely because i didn’t want her to know the deepest way to hurt me.

i didn’t want her to know that words are my greatest strength, but also my weakness. it’s the most profound way to love me, but to also destroy me.

words are my symphony. they feed my soul in a way nothing else can. it’s the most effortless way for me to pour my heart onto those that i love, and also the way to make me feel seen in the most raw, authentic way. words hold the utmost power in my mind. any shower of praise or affirmation one has rained over me is memorized and embossed onto my heart until the day i die.

the downside of this is that any words that are stamped next to my name are stuck there for life. the positive ones glimmer and the negative burn. they seep into my skin and saturate my veins with the heat of their spite. they sit heavier on the surface and sizzle as a reminder of their existence for the rest of my life.

my heart is branded by the words my father spit at me when he found out i fell in love with a girl.

my skin is engraved with the words, “too pale”, as was said during a conversation of rating my body.

my smile has a tag attached to it that reads, “too gummy”, and my lips, “too small”, that ensues a common Google search on how to fix.

my stomach is etched with numbers that are reflected off a scale.

my personality is marked as “dull”.

my dreams are marked as “childish”.

my name is marked as “replaceable”.

i am a walking mosaic of every word i have ever heard.

i am a culmination of every pro and con that has been bestowed upon me.

the glimmer starts to fade, but the sizzle never dulls. i have been harmed by what i love most. i will die by ripping off the words that people have etched onto my soul.

i have tried to fall in love with all the other languages, but nothing feels as good and hurts as bad as someone painting a portrait of you with their voice.

i can’t even trick myself into believing my love language is physical touch

because i have been harmed by that too.

there is nothing more disappointing than a person who rallies for kindness in public and seethes over someone’s name in private.

envy is a tainted, webbed life, and many will wrap the spindles of jealousy around your face in an attempt to suffocate your glow.

i want to choose my words lightly here because i am nowhere near perfect in a world of jealousy. i have had my fair share of moments spewing spiteful words in conversations with friends and lashing out in hurt instead of seeing other’s actions as a reflection of themselves, not me.

while i am not perfect, i do know there is a difference between my own insecurities and people’s insecurities that they bestow onto me. i know the difference between owning my mistakes rather than slapping someone else in the face with them as a cop-out of my own faults.

the older i get, i realize how selfish this world can be. people will come into your life infatuated by your shine and leave when you wouldn’t let them suck you dry. private conversations now hold no trust; the building of a connection was actually a ploy to watch you fall.

people are coddled by the idea of redemption with their heads always turned away from their reflection. they are running from what hurt them the most and rather than turning around to face it, they plant the mask on the next best thing and take it out on them.

hatred is now something that someone else deserves just because they have tied their own hands to it.

it’s easier to be a bitch than to clap at other’s success. it’s easier to steal someone’s happiness than to find it on your own. you will always be a threat to their facade.

you cannot keep throwing what you lack onto another because you are too scared of what it takes to grow. you cannot keep silencing the truth of the matter because you are too stoic to look at your faults and realize you have a long way to go.

many people have this misconstrued idea that their missteps are their completion of self-actualization and their mistakes have run dry. the ignorance of someone’s hardships being greater than everyone else’s turns you into a minuscule of a person.

who even are you if you do not have empathy?

i’ve learned that you are doing something wrong if you do not have people with their backs to you. i’ve learned that people who scream that they live by love and compassion are the most poisoned by hatred.

cowards follow the clouds, but strength will always lead you to the sun.

the life for those that live like vipers yearn to be heard.

the life for those that live by their hearts will always be seen.

and as we all know, actions always win over words. ;)

i only write well when i am broken and only eat well when i am in love.

the pulse within my invisible wounds override the ache in my stomach that ripples its way over to moldy bread on my kitchen counter and empty bottle of tequila on my nightstand. i’d rather let loneliness eat me alive than a person’s eyes.

the ache of feeling full is so counterintuitive. you fill your stomach to the brim with the knowing that it will always deplete.

how can something hurt that you just satisfied?

the void of the stomach lining never gets mad— it only begs.

it only begs for a morsel of something to feel and if you are strong enough, you can stop there. being full is with knowing that it will subdue, that it will betray.

being empty is with the knowing that it will stay the same. you cannot go further than empty. you will never be disappointed on empty.

when did i let the lines blur between my false sense of control and my reality? when did i allow myself to believe that an empty stomach is full of strength and a full stomach is empty of all defense?

the safety net of disappointment mimics my bed. there is an impression in the shape of my body formed into the fabric with a blanket and pillow ready for me. it tucks me in at night and lets me sleep soundly, with the hums of my past lulling me to bed.

holes have formed in the twine and the seams, letting in glimmers of what it would be like to not settle into sorrow. peace is one fall away if i am ever brave enough to make the jump.

change is a reckless bet of hope. hope that the outcome is better than the present. hope that the strength it takes to leap into something new is worth the risk. i have conformed myself to the idea that this endless lull of fright and somber is my destiny. no one will fill my cup of trust enough to make me look past my safety net that has grown to become my home.

i am a decomposing mess of everything i let hurt me and that is why i only bet on losing dogs. i would rather be disappointed than shown that i am worth fighting for— that i am worth winning.

why do people fear intricacy?

why do people fear the entanglement of souls, but not the entanglement of limbs?

aren’t those two acts intertwined? doesn’t your soul touch the others’ when your lips are pressed together and your breaths match one another’s rhythm?

but if you bring it up, if you talk about something deeper than their tongue down your throat or their hand up your skirt, fear ignites their eyes. fight or flight kicks into their system and they always choose to flee. sometimes they may even freeze before— stunned by the words that fall out of your mouth that perfectly encapsulate how their heart feels that their mind so deeply fears.

i only fall in love with cowards. there is some malfunction rooted so far down inside of me that causes me to magnetize the most dull, nomadic people into my life. they waltz into my surroundings, arms open wide with eyes full of stars, claiming they have never met a girl like me before. that they have never felt so captivated by a soul so deeply rooted into its existence.

they fall in love with my whimsical nature by day and deepened eyes and layered thoughts by night. i tell them all my existential thoughts that come off as intelligence, when really it is just my scripture. they tell me about what makes their heart stop and why they flee, but vow it’ll never happen to me.

they ogle over my words, but as soon as the realization sinks in that they are supposed to give me something back, their pulse rises and their mind frazzles.

they realize they cannot meet me where i need to be met.

they realize that my roots have been growing for centuries and theirs never did sprout. their fascination transitions to envy and their vows now come with a fine print they swore was there from the beginning.

they take back all their wondrous ooo’s and ah’s and claim they were just placating, that how i view this world is imaginary and they cannot bear to grow as soft as me.

they view their hardness as their shield and i view it as their weakness.

it is a shame to walk this world cutting their eyes at everything as if it’s an enemy and not an ally.

they swear they yearn for the idea of love, but run from a person whose name is the definition of it.

they swear their shield will be left at the door, but then place it in between us after turning the lamp off.

this world is filled with cowards, filled with people who fear the greatest power to exist, and they follow me everywhere i go.

i wonder what i did in my past life to deserve this. to deserve this wretched life of watching my sweetest devotion, the loss of my life, no longer look at me with eyes that love me.

i know they still see my twinkle. i know they still see the lovely longing that paints my irises and blown out pupils. being friends after falling in love is the biggest tragedy that has ever swept through my lifetime. it is the hardest thing to swallow, yet my biggest sigh of relief.

walking this earth knowing that my heart still beats to the rhythm of their voice while their heart beats to the rhythm of what comes after me is gutting. the idea that there is even an “after me” for them is gutting. because my lifeline is still on the path of “during”, and i am afraid i will die on this path as well.

i am afraid i will be 30 and getting married to someone that is steady, but not cosmic.

i am afraid i will be 42 and my daughter will ask me about how i fell in love with their father and i will fight back tears as i bite my tongue and not tell her about the girl i fell in love with long before him.

i am afraid that i will be 48 and my daughter will come crying to me and ask if I have ever felt the all-consuming pain of heartbreak that she is enduring. i am afraid she will ask me, “when will it no longer hurt?” and i will have to lie and say, “soon” because i cannot bear to see the look in her eyes if i told her, “never”.

i am afraid i will be 90 and on my deathbed and be filled with regret and sorrow that i am not dying next to who i thought i would be at 20.

i am afraid that i will be 90 and begging for death to knock on my door so i can finally have the chance to do this over, and meet her again.

love is such a pest. it eats away at everything i once admired because i tied everything that was me to her last name. the web is interwoven and knotted into the most complicated ties that i cannot seem to figure out how to undo.

some days i tuck the web under my bed to forget about it for as long as possible, but without even realizing it, i am knitting more knots into the yarn in my sleep.

it follows me everywhere i go, as does her heart.

i pray that i will wake up to find the web has shrunk or even no longer my property.

i don’t know when this ache will go away, nor do i know when this heart will mend.

but until then, i know that my eyes would’ve loved her in every lifetime.

i will forever hope i see it mirrored in hers once again.

poets are ever-praised and listeners are synonymous to ghosts. i could never be deemed as what i crave to be if all i ever am is never seen.

i overhear what i should not and absorb everything i am given.

i sit and listen to the nature in case i hear any prey’s plea that sounds similar to my own. i sit and listen to the whistle of the wind as it tickles the weakest of the leaves, trying to make them fall down with me.

i listen to the sound of my heart when it soars and when it quivers. i listen to the influx of beats it creates when i’m reading old love letters or thinking back on a time where it felt wanted.

i listen to the sound of symphonies that cascade through the little hairs in my ears that make their way down to the little hairs on my arms as they raise.

i listen to the swell in my friend’s voices when they speak about what makes their eyes twinkle and what makes their heart sever.

sometimes these moments transcend past other’s capacity and find the perfect place to nestle— in a heart like mine. into a heart that doesn’t let go and has the elusive belief that anything or anyone who stumbles across its gleaming gates is here to stay.

i take what i hear and amplify it. i take what is told to me and ruminate over it. i take what i want to hear and wish for it.

i am nothing if i am not listening, but i am everything if i am heard.

i am not a poet, i am just a listener. and all listeners have journals, i’ve just decided to make mine public.

oh, how beautiful it is to dance across this earth with arrows wizzing by, all missing my heart.

it’s so easy to fall into the quicksand of every single bad thing that happened to you. whether that be being cheated on, having parents that don’t meet basic requirements, your body being seen as an object and not an artifact, painful friendship or relationship breakups etc., it’s a lot easier to let these bad hands of cards define our downfall instead of defining our salvation.

for years i let myself live in the trap of despair. i crawled through my days with my past as my present— gripping onto what happened to me instead of figuring out how to make it my strength. it sucked the life out of me. i let it suck the life out of me. these big events that were unwarranted and felt so unfair to be written into the stars as my fate were all i ever thought about. most days i didn’t think there was ever a possibility of getting through it, but if i ever had an inkling of hope, i assumed that with dissection and lingerance, i would find the answer as to “why”.

i thought the only way to get over, to get through, was by searching for the puzzle pieces scattered throughout the horrific memories and once i had the puzzle complete, it would spell out the answer. it would give me the keys to being free from the shackles of my past.

if you haven’t already guessed, i never found all the puzzle pieces. i never got the keys.

i saw a therapist (that i swear is my guardian angel) from my freshman year of college to my senior year that gave me many, many pieces of sacred wisdom, but this one is the one that glowed the brightest:

“You cannot let all the bad things that happened to you define you.”

by letting negative events define your name, you are giving those events the power to consume you. and that is exactly what they did— they all consumed me.

as soon as i labeled them as a part of my past, and no longer my being, i devoted the time to figuring out how i can move through life with these arrows no longer in my chest.

it is important to spend time feeling these memories, but it is more important to remember that these memories are solely memories— not your life.

it is important to remember that they may have nicked or came close to your heart, but they always missed it.

some days it may feel like that arrow is inside you, but you have to look down at your chest and put your fingers to your pulse and remind yourself that your heart is still beating, that you are still going.

curiosity may have killed the cat, but never me. from stalking my exes online to googling every thought that ever passes through my brain— curiosity lives inside of me.

it feeds off me and i feed off it. i don’t have interests or hobbies; everything that i have ever laid my hands or eyes on has been imprinted on my soul.

i love philosophical conversations and dissecting why we love what we love and what makes up each other’s hearts. i love learning about what went right, or wrong, in people’s lives and how they have used those moments to stand up taller.

curiosity is the best meal i have ever digested and it makes my skin crawl when i think about the fact that there are people that just aren’t like this.

they don’t think about what is going on in other people’s minds or what makes the universe so meaningful.

how can you not be curious about this world or curious about the people that walk it?

there was a person that i was romantically seeing last year that may be the dullest person i know.

the days and nights we spent together were filled with starry eyes and soft hands, but their mouth rarely moved; their mind hardly churned.

this may seem harsh, but it is the truth. they were not curious about me or honestly anything. questions were rarely asked more than the basic, “what fills up your days”, never, “what fills up your soul”. sometimes i would try and crack open the can of curiosity just to see if they wanted to take a bite, but it always ended up with them watching me finish the can.

i don’t think they ever realized this, but i kind of grew to resent them for it. this may stem from envy of not feeling the greedy need to encompass yourself with never-ending knowledge of anything that passes through your mind.

but, to be honest with you, i would much rather live an oversaturated life of curiosity than never know how sweet it tastes to feed your soul.

they thought our level of connection was quite deep and i thought that we were still on the sand. the relationship felt so high school to me and they thought our relationship was the best one they had ever been a part of.

isn’t that interesting?

the relationship ended with frustration on my end and shock on their end. it was appalling to me that they thought this relationship was “perfect” and appalling to them that i did not. i think they saw my curiosity glimmer and wanted to just watch— never take my hand and join.

i feel like there are fewer of us out there than ever before. our society has the ability to dive head first into an infinity pool of whatever makes their heart flutter and i have found very few that actually take the leap.

knowledge is looked over, no longer absorbed. it is no longer a necessity, but an option.

and i just don’t know how people can look at it’s glory and not want to become best friends with every tendon and cell that makes this world turn.

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault

last night i watched a movie called “Sorry, Baby”. within the first 20 minutes of the movie, i could sense that something similar to what happened to me also happened to the female main character. i have always been apprehensive and pretty avoidant of movies that deal with sexual assault because i never want them to make me relive my past, but something in me told me to keep pushing with it. i was thankful to find out that the director didn’t depict the exact scene where it happened, but instead portrayed it in such a unique and sensitive way.

the director shot the scene from across the street as the female main character entered her professor’s (her abuser’s) house in the daytime and cut to it being afternoon, lingered on that scene for about a minute, then cut to night time with her running out of his house.

like how i said, i haven’t seen many films that depict sexual assault and the aftermath, but i feel like this movie is one of the most accurate ones out there. not only accurate, but realistic in a way that i just cannot put my finger on. it showcases how hard intimacy can be/is after, how misunderstood and cold clinical facilities approach the topic, and how women who haven’t experienced sexual assault try to make you feel seen just because “they are women as well”.

“When did this happen to you?”

“It was a while ago, like around three years ago.”

“Three years ago isn’t that much time. I mean, it’s a lot of time, but it is also not that much time at all.”

i feel like this movie was intentionally dropped into my hands at the perfect time because the three year anniversary of my rape was July 2nd of this past year. this tiny scene from the movie that i took the dialogue from and put above validated my healing journey in such a profound way. July 2nd, 2022 feels like forever ago. the hair that was on my head that night has long been cut off and the skin that my abuser touched has now been shed. the flashbacks aren’t near as frequent and it has become much more easy to talk about.

it’s been three years, and yet i still cry when people touch me. the fear of intimacy is very heightened in my brain, maybe even more than it was shortly after being raped. the few partners that i have been with since that night have been very understanding and always let me set the pace, but without fail, every time the clothes come off and delicate hands roam, the tears flow.

it’s one of the most frustrating parts of healing for me. intimacy with someone has always been something very sacred to me, and having that ripped from me broke me. i rotate between dissociation and heightened senses that both lead to abrupt endings. it has never been the same since and i deeply fear it never will be.

three years ago feels so far away, and yet it is also my shadow. i have changed so much in three years, but what happened to me three years ago also changed me. my life has been separated and categorized as “before” and “after”. i scroll through old photos of me when i can’t sleep to remember who i was before; to try and reconnect with the girl i was before. over the past three years, i think i have gotten pretty close, but not completely.

regardless, i wanted to share this with anyone who has also been through something similar to me, or even struggles with PTSD. calendars do not predict healing, and healing is not paced by a calendar.

our hearts are not broken, our lives are not over. i see each day after July 2nd, 2022 as a walk of strength, even if some days i had to crawl to get to the next one. and you should too.

my DMs are always open if anyone needs a heart to sit next to theirs and listen.

there is not one word listed in the dictionary that encapsulates how much i miss you. yearning is not enough of a suffocating word to describe what i would give to spend one more night under the stars with you. agony is not enough of a devastating word to describe how it feels to know i may never feel the calluses on your palm graze across my face one last time.

time has passed and many seasons have rolled through, and yet my heart has not found its way back home. i have grown to believe that it feels more content sitting next to yours in your chest instead of my own.

i have written many letters to it, but they always come back marked, “return to sender”. it seems as though my heart cannot accept the fate you decided and would rather live on a hope and a dream— that one day you will take it into the palm of your hands and decide that it can stay.

but i do know, one day my heart will return back to me, all bleak and bruised, once another one with a beating rhythm that matches your own pushes mine out of the way. i will see it, through my window, crawling up to my doorstep. fissures and bruises will paint its exterior; the healthy beat it once pumped will be gone, along with its warmth. and even though it would not listen to my pleas of the harsh reality of our failure and abandoned me for years on end, i will still place it back into my ribs.

i spend my days looking for your car in the parking lots of your favorite stores and my nights out looking for your face in the sea of swarming music and dizzy bodies.

i spend my nights at home filling my bathtub with soapy hot water, gently swaying to the tune of the playlist of our love story. i spend my witching hours in bed spilling pleas and tears into my journals and on my knees praying for a second chance at your game of love.

isn’t that pathetic?

i see her last name on street signs and the color of her eyes on my walks.

i choke back tears while i witness my friends fall in love and feel ashamed for envying the sparkle in their eyes.

i see her ghost in my bed and find her old love letters in my nightstand.

i heart my friends’ anniversary posts and end my nightly prayers with, “Why couldn’t it have been me?”.

how do you get over someone that is far past over you?

how do you unlove someone that you felt cosmic to?

somebody please tell me the spell, someone sell me the secret.

has anyone been successful in severing the ties or do we all walk this world masking our soddened eyes?

the world has lost its color in the daytime, but at least when the lights go down, all i see is you.

my mother is quite the eccentric character. i get my kooky, whimsical interests and adoration for little trinkets from her. my own house mimics hers; windowsills and shelves full of crystals and silly little baubles.

i was expecting to receive new characters to my collection, as i always do, this past Christmas. but to my surprise, i did not. instead, she gave me a necklace.

she custom designed a slender frame with three shiny diamonds tucked inside that is attached to a floss-like gold chain. the diamonds were derived and extracted from the wedding ring my father gave her almost 29 years ago.

three little diamonds, she explained, that represent her, my sister, and I:

the last ones standing.

my parents separated almost 9 years ago. my father remarried 3 years ago, my mother yet to move on. you may assume as the years have passed that any animosity from either side may have dwindled, but instead it has ignited. the two cannot be in the same room without the lashes striking me after. the two cannot communicate without the hatred for one another burying me alive.

my mother is repulsed by my father; my father has forgotten my mother.

their divorce was the hardest, is the hardest, tribulation i have endured. a child that absorbed every story and word that described love could not fathom her parents lacking it for one another. as i have gotten older, i see that their separation was for the better, but the weight of what they lacked is something i think about often and fear i will come to face as well.

but i digress.

the necklace that delicately sits between my two collarbones does not represent the last ones standing to me; it represents what used to be.

it represents the yearly beach trips we took. it represents the Christmas mornings filled with presents and laughter and love as one. it represents the car rides where all four of us would sing Journey songs at the top of our lungs. it represents my grandparents and parents all in the same room. it represents the wedding photos i would fawn over and the early years of love they would tell us about. it represents the few times i saw my father wrap his arms around my mother’s waist with a smile on both of their lips. it represents the days before there was any tension; before “we” broke in half.

it is proof of the fact that there was indeed something there, and enough of something there, to keep them together as long as they were.

and it brings tears to my eyes to know that i can hold those memories and proof around my neck.

even if this necklace is the noose that also killed my happiest days.

where do sensitive souls go to rest?

this past christmas, i drove an hour south to my grandmother’s house on my father’s side. it was a few days after the 25th, and my fourth christmas celebration with family due to both my parents and grandparents being divorced.

shortly after everyone arrived, we filled our plates with turkey, okra, cream corn, and mashed potatoes (can you tell i am from the south?) and made our way to the long table set up for lunch. i was one of the first to sit down. my father came and sat down to the right of me, both of us hungry and ready to fill our stomachs with southern delicacies.

my uncle came in next on the opposite side of the table and visibly stumbled over where to sit. his wife had not come with him on this visit, staying home with their kids instead. i watched him struggle with the idea of where to set his plate; where he belonged. it broke me. i quickly said, “Uncle Davy, come sit across from me.”. i immediately saw the weight of his anxiety tumble off his shoulders as he heard my words; words that translated to, “You belong here.”.

he quietly accepted my offer, sat his plate down, and began to fill his stomach with his mother’s, my grandmother’s, cooking. after lunch, the day carried on with presents exchanged and all the typical post-grad questions thrown my way.

i headed back home a couple hours after, grateful for family, but also grateful for the holiday extravaganzas to finally be complete. i took a shower, put on my comfiest pj set, and sat down on my couch to read the rest of my night away.

out of the corner of my eye, i saw my phone light up with a text from my dad:

“I want to Thank You for being gracious with Davy today. He said he didn’t know where to sit and you spoke up and encouraged him to sit across from you. Your heart is pure as snow.”

my heart swelled with love as my eyes welled with tears. a moment of someone’s uncomfortability that may have gone unnoticed by most will never go unnoticed by me. i felt his anxiety and self-doubt at that moment. i could see it on his shoulders and read it on the lines in between his eyebrows and the quiver of his lips. as someone that has been in that situation countless times before, i will always be the one to invite; to quietly translate to them that they are meant to be here just as much as i am.

i carry the weight of every room i walk into. i can read people’s state by the tightness in their shoulders and spine and the lack of sparkle in their eye. it pains me to see someone uncomfortable in a room filled with people at ease.

on my first day of junior year, i had made plans to eat with a friend i met at the tail-end of my sophomore year. she had told me she would meet me by the elevator right after 4th period and we could walk to the cafeteria together. right when the end of period bell rang, i made my way over to the elevator, straining my eyes to see if she was waiting there for me. as i arrived at the elevator and painful minutes passed by, i began to realize that she was not going to show up. i had texted her a few times asking where she was; subconsciously asking if she forgot about me.

i didn’t know anyone else at the time; i had only been at this school for the last three weeks of sophomore term. the idea of walking into that cafeteria with no one by my side, no one telling me i belong, was a nightmare to me. i felt like i had no other choice but to spend my first day of junior year lunch in a bathroom stall.

as i sat with my knees tucked under my chin, fighting back tears of rejection, i couldn’t help but think that i didn’t belong; that i didn’t matter enough to be shown up for.

if i carry the weight of the room, who is going to carry the weight of me?

i am one of those people that chronically fixate on what i didn’t accomplish more than what i did accomplish. every time i complete something, my maximum feels like my minimum— i feel as though i could’ve always done better, done more.

this vice has constantly made me overlook what i have accomplished and i wanted to take some time today to reflect on what that consists of.

things i should be proud of:

1. i gave love another chance —

   after taking over a year to heal and look inward, i gave love another chance and started dating. meeting a stranger in person has always felt terrifying to me. not only that, but i grew to hate putting my heart on the line. as the time between my last relationship grew longer, i started to feel like love didn’t exist for me, and that terrified me. while i didn’t leave this past year with someone by my side, i learned that i will in fact love again and i am more than content with that.

2. i published a poetry book —

   back in february, i compiled a book filled with poems and prose that i wrote during my darkest days. looking back on it now, i do wish i had taken more time with it, but at the time, it was the most healing thing that i have ever done. every single poem is from the deepest part of my heart and so personal to me. i was petrified to put my heart on the line like that and let it fall into anyone’s hands, but have felt overwhelmed with love from everyone who has read it. (if that is something that interests you, here is the link: Too Soft For All Of It)

3. i focused on my passions —

   like how i have mentioned many times before on here, i overflow with creativity. whether it is content creation, reading, or writing, it all lights my soul on fire. i consciously put all my free time into all of the above and felt so in my element while doing so. i downloaded substack halfway through december, on a whim, and am so grateful i did that as well. not only have i enjoyed reading fellow writer’s words, but have spent my mornings with tears in my eyes reading you guys’ comments on my own pieces. i’ve said it before and i will say it forever, i am so incredibly grateful for everyone that has taken the time to read the words from my heart. <3

4. i graduated from college —

   also in december, i graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in psychology. my college years have been the most difficult, pivotal years of my life. there were many times where i questioned if college was for me, but am so proud of myself for sticking with it and finally being able to hold all the hours i spent studying and falling in love with science in my hands.

my #1 resolution for 2026 is to recognize my bravery and accomplishments. i have let so many achievements, tangible or not, slip past me. i want to be proud of myself; i deserve to feel proud of myself.

i hope that this year is filled with peace and discovery, where all our prayers are answered and all of our dreams come true.

happy new year. <3

has someone ever told you they were in love with you and you don’t know why?

not because you feel unworthy of love, but because they don’t even know you.

if an average person has layers like an onion then i am the rungs of an aged oak tree.

i’ve never been one to build a wall around my heart, but i will also not offer it on a silver platter. i want someone to work for it, i want someone to be curious about it.

i want someone to be curious enough to ask what makes my heart soar and what makes it quiver. what happened to cause it to flinch at fast movements and quiet at the raise of a voice. i want someone to ask me what my dreams are like and listen to me explain my nightmares.

i want someone to ask what my name means and then tell me what my name means to them.

i’ve been called pretty because i dyed my hair or called smart because i have a college degree. i’ve never been called pretty because my heart is or smart because my mind is. i’ve been told i shine because i put glitter on my collarbones and that i’m strong because i didn’t let my past break me.

i’ve never been told i shine because my soul does or that i can leave my strength at the door, that i am safe.

i am not meant for casual, i am meant for soul crushing devotion.

are they too shallow or am i too deep?

am i expecting too much or do most people just lack what i overflow with?

my mind is like a river with a vicious current at it’s deepest and people see that as a quirk, but i see it as my scripture. it is the ins and outs of everything that is me and most aren’t brave enough to swim.

they’d rather look at it and smile or see the waves hit the rocks and turn their back.

how can you say you love me if you don’t even know what keeps me up at night?

how can you say you love me if you don’t know when my heart stopped beating?

“I want what they have so badly, to be perfect, to be loved from as many people as possible to make up for all my time spent suffering.”

a movie that was sold as a slasher film turned into the most impactful movie of my adult life. at it’s surface, it’s startling to find a character depicted as an emotionless, serial-killing, adulteress so relatable. if you sink further, you may find that most all problematic characters that do unlawful acts do it because they lack something primal.

while i lack in the area of offing my parents and cheating on my spouse, i connect with her on the reason why she did it: a girl that just wanted to be loved and to be seen.

Pearl was overlooked by her parents, friends, and husband. living on a farm where she lived repetitive days of taking care of the farm animals and helping prep the dinner table, her life felt so mundane. her husband was away at war (WWI) for the duration of the movie and her mother constantly overlooked Pearl while she tended to the house and cared for her own husband that was paralyzed and infirm, likely from war. stuck in a relentless cycle of taking care of other living beings that did not reciprocate any love back, she dreamed of leaving the farm and making something out of her life: becoming a star.

“Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night and the fear washes over me, 'cause what if this is it? What if this is right where I belong? I'm a failure. I'm not pretty or naturally pleasant, or friendly. I'm not smart, or funny, or confident. I'm exactly what Mama said I was, weak.”

i’ve always dreamed big. i’ve always seen myself creating; i don’t know exactly what, but i can feel the art in my bones. my biggest fear in life isn’t ending up alone or never falling in love; it’s not becoming who i am destined to be. it’s paralyzing not knowing which direction you need to take to get there, but also knowing that if you don’t make the right choice, you may fail.

sometimes i feel as though people don’t think i have what it takes. that i don’t have it in me to grow into something bigger than they have ever known, that it’s not meant for me.

how do you make your own perception of yourself so formidable and opaque that no one else’s can fracture it?

how do you make your own voice louder than everyone else’s?

“All I really want is to be loved. I'm having such a hard time without it lately.”

i will turn 24 in May and the biggest struggle that i have dealt with during my 20s, maybe even before then, is watering and growing a love for myself that fills the void of the love i never received. i was never shown a blueprint of what a healthy love looks like between two people, much less what it looks like to have healthy love for yourself. my maximum always turns into my minimum; whatever i accomplish is never enough for me. i’ve had old lovers try to make me into their dream girl and i have tried to alter myself to fit into their dream.

is it wrong to see myself in a girl that let everyone break her?

or should i take her downfall as motivation to prove everyone wrong?

regardless, my love for this movie is immense. as controversial as it may sound, it’s quickly turned into a comfort film of mine that showcases a girl that had big dreams and will do anything it takes to make them her reality.

Pearl deserved better.

and i do too.

You will forever be my greatest, What If?

Almost 7 years and counting, you have been the blueprint for my scouting eyes in every room.

I reminisce on our untold moments together

Watching the film roll down the front of my eyes

Transporting me back to the first time I ever felt seen.

Your curiosity with this doe eyed teenager that swept into your line of sight

Was enough to circle and play around with the idea of,

But not enough to turn your head away from what was already yours.

The fantasy was like no other.

The secret glances you threw me across the room,

The brush of an arm against my back when no one was looking,

The profound words you whispered late at night dancing around my heart.

Years went on,

I cut my hair and dyed it

You grew out your beard and admired the girl that was transforming into woman in front of your eyes

But just out of arm’s reach.

I found and lost new lovers.

You kept and doted on what was already yours.

The day I have dreaded for 7 years has finally come.

The date is set.

The ring has been placed on a hand that’s not mine.

The ceremony of two lives merging into one will be the film that rolls down the front of your eyes for the rest of your life,

While I will scroll through the pictures and daydream about a life where it is me next to you.

I wonder if you will catch yourself looking for me in the crowd of seated family and friends.

I wonder if you will catch yourself envisioning me as her as she walks down the aisle.

I wonder if you will catch yourself thinking you made the biggest mistake of your life while you hear her reciting her vows of devotion

And be confused why her voice isn’t mine.

You will forever be my greatest, What if?

And I will forever be your greatest, If only…

to the person that let their eyes linger, i’ll think of you forever.

thank you for reading. <3