BRIGHT 

A repost of some of my writing…

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Little bunny, what will you bring? You know it’s nothing new but it’s just as important. Little bunny don’t be crude, my pain is not your food.

Let’s hop into the new year.

WX. 

I don’t owe you 

Anything. 

Nothing at all. 

I don’t have anything else 

To offer. 

But you know that – don’t you? 

Just look at your damn sweater 

I have knit you everything I could 

It now has holes and you trip on the 

Threads. 

Perhaps you would like to tangle 

Yourself in those threads 

They didn't let you down 

You did. 

You dig, dig, and dig. 

i haven’t journaled in so long because i’m actually a bunny house wife and i’m busy feeding my kits. no but i’m so anxious to journal because once i start every single emotion that i’ve felt over the last few months will come out even the stuff i haven’t told my therapist and i’m not sure i’m ready yet to let it out… i feel like i need a breaking point, or a push at least

So they are hazel.

The gleam in your eyes, the way the sun hits them, and 

Makes you shine. 

Your smile- 

It beams with life. 

I’d love to see you dance, to see your body fly. 

You say you can’t sing, and that you’d wish you took 

Singing lessons as a kid, 

But darling your voice is a river, and it flows and flows 

And flows, 

Sure, you’re not peaceful, my chaotic little sunshine, 

I love the way you toss and turn throughout the 

Night. You’re blindingly breathtaking. Every word that 

Leaves your mouth is passionately formed from your soul 

And mind. 

You’re a mess. 

Not to be cliche- but a beautiful mess. You astonish me 

With every move you make.

Your laughter is honey to my ears. 

You make me listen, and see peacefully for once. 

Dear hazel eyes,  please don’t leave my side. 

Untitled Rambles

I feel sick. Again. Not in control. Again.

Shaken, misplaced, irregular

I have all the words ready to spew out from my faucet,

But they won’t come out, not right now,

And not right. Just jumbled word vomit that smells like grief, aching, and anxiety.

My insides feel all torn up.

All messed up.

Just like my mind.

I’m currently trying to find out if I’m even alive.

This stupid ringing in my ear,

This stupid voice in my head,

This stupid way that I look at him.

Pushing my feelings aside. No longer shoving them down his throat, just my fingers that he loves to suck.

My body that he loves to touch.

My body that is hard for me to touch.

Looking around to see others wanting me but I’m not sure if I even want myself anymore.

Cause he used to want me in a way that made my heart fucking flutter. He used to want me in a way that proclaimed love was real.

I promised to put myself first.

I promised to love myself.

I used to put myself first.

I used to love myself more than I loved anyone else.

I met him and fell down a landslide.

Is it me wanting to get pleasure because it’s so easily accessible, or is it me wanting to get pleasure to erase those feelings, to take me to an out-of-body experience, to just make my brain empty and my body full? I want to be loved, and I want to be cared for. By him. But it’s not possible, not right now, perhaps not ever, just not in the way that I love and care for him. So I’m putting myself first. I will be organized, I will be on time, I will take my medication, I will make my bed and do yoga and see friends. I will have sex for pleasure and to fill that void. I believe that love just isn’t on the menu for me right now. Not right now. I know it will come, I vow it too. But I stop my beckoning. I hold off on the searching and the begging. I’m young. It’s about me.

virginia woolf's 1931 new years resolutions : "to have none. not to be tied. to be free & kindly with myself. sometimes to read, sometimes not to read. to go out, yes—but stay at home in spite of being asked. as for clothes, i think to buy good ones."

can someone fucking linger near the door uncomfortably instead of just leaving. can someone fucking forget their scarf in my life & come back later for it. please

You’ve heard of one shots, now get ready for none shots! It’s when you think of an idea for a fic and then don’t write it

WINTER

The grey skies take over, fuzziness endures 

Staying by the fire could be helpful 

Just don’t mourn over the storm;

As you sit, gazing at the warm fire

You know you are still cold 

From the protection of  The lonely winter.