Apr 11


before you listen, i hate my voice so much, and i'll tell you a little about what this song means to me. i wrote it after a friend of mine started ignoring be when i came out to them, which hurt a lot. i wrote it in bed late at night, crying, but only recorded it 7 months later. hope you enjoy, and please tell me what you honestly think.
also sorry for posting so much music, i can't really write so i'm making music instead :)
Apr 09

barred [final_recording] (i think)

Apr 05

writer's block

i sit on my bed,
a pencil in hand, 
a notebook balanced carefully between my legs,
not a single idea about what i should write.
i can't think of anything.
the pencil won't write the
words in my brain that i 
want to say. 
maybe i can write about you.
but i don't really want to.
this is so annoying. 
i put my notebook away and
pull out my guitar.
maybe i can write another song.
but instead my voice is stuck in my throat.
this is really annoying. 
i put my guitar away and
pull out my journal.
maybe i can write about my day.
but nothing happened.
this is not fun. 
i put my journal away and
pull out a sheet of paper.
maybe i can write about this. 
yeah, ok.
i'll write about this.
Mar 31

screaming in my head

i just sent a message 
to someone who i can't say the name of
because they hurt me
and now i'm screaming
because i can't talk to them
and no one knows i sent a message
so i'm in a full-blown panic
because i'm scared they hate me.

Mar 30

the channels (part 2)

i'm standing on a rock
staring down at the world and
i feel like i could destroy everything
with a simple flick of the wrist. 
off with his head!
the wind throws my hair over my face,
inviting me to jump and
learn to fly over and 
away from everything. i want to scream,
take me already! take me
like you took Dorothy; take me
away to a place where i can 
be myself and
there is no COVID and
everything hums with magic. 

but i can't.
there are people here. 
Mar 29
poem challenge: Assumptions

untitled part 2

They all think they know me.
They think they know the kind of music I like (punk/rock/metal).
They think they know the kind of books I read (horror/mystery/Ellen Hopkins).
They think they know my gender and sexuality (cis and straight).
They think they know my pronouns (she/her/hers).
They think they know me.

God damn, stop making assumptions on
who I am.

Yes, I like punk and rock and metal music, 
but I also like alternative and electronic.
Yes, I like horror and mystery and novels written by Ellen Hopkins,
but I also like secret romances and straight up books with
fucked-up characters.
No, I am not cis nor straight;
is that a problem?
No, the pronouns I use in school (but 
nowhere else) are they/them/theirs. 

You might know aspects of me.
But I assure you that you don't know
all of me.
Did you know that I want to learn the keyboard
Mar 28

the channels

It takes two hours to hike to the top,
provided you don't stop along the way.
For the first hour and a half,
all you see is brown.
I hate the color brown, unless it's a
soft shade of mahogany. The last half hour
teases you with lush green rhododendron plants and
water springs popping up everywhere and
the trail turning every ten seconds,
making you think that 
you're going to reach the top.
When you do get to the top, an
old fire tower with
rust creeping over the metal and
broken ladders stares down at you.
It looks like it's going to 
collapse on you at 
any moment. So you
hurry past the tower, 
being careful to not roll your
ankle on the rocks. Vines clot the
next pathway, and you pretend you're
Indiana Jones, doing insane 
parkour over the vines and rocks.
Suddenly, shafts of 
rock rise on wither side of you.
And you can't breathe.
Mar 26
poem challenge: Enough


I don't watch the news anymore.
I can't, because
every single time I turn the TV on, 
there's either a story about a 
drug abuse,
fraud, or
I don't feel safe anymore.
No kid should never have to
not feel safe. 

If I had gone to the 
rally on 1/6/21,
I might've died. 
All because I'm not the
perfect American teenage girl and
I'm not straight.
When will it be enough?

When will you finally put down your arms,
say that you got what you wanted?
When will you finally admit all of the
horrible things you've did, and
the people you've scarred?
What do we have to do
as people,
as citizens,
as those living under the 
United States Constitution that
our Founding Fathers wrote so
we could feel safe?

I. Don't. Feel. Safe. 

I'm scared for my friend who is
Mar 26

my grandmother's farm

my grandmother owns a farm out in
southern virginia, which is
redneck land and
Trump/Pence 2020 land. 
i feel insecure when i'm down there;
nearly everyone who lives in the area
wants things to stay the same.
i'm not straight.
i'm not cisgender. 
i'm not their idea of what a 
near-teenage girl should be. but
they don't know that. 
i'm sitting on the hill that overlooks the
cool spring river,
flowing into a lake. i think that
today is going to be the
most beautiful day of the year.
the wind whispers over my
scarred face. 
the sun beats down on me,
but gently, 
as though it knows that 
any form of pressure will
break me. my fingers
sift through broken rocks and i wonder
how were they broken? when you
look at a rock, you may wonder
what gems lie inside or
what kind of rock it is or
how it was formed. i think of
where it came from and
Mar 25

spring break, day 5.

It’s the kind of day that makes me wish
I lived in Miami: grey,
depressing to say the least. I start into
the fog, wondering questions that I
probably shouldn’t be wondering.  How did
I become so fucked up? What if
I ran away? What if
I never existed? What if
I die in the next 24 hours? Would anyone
even care? I know the
answer; of course someone
would care. I don’t want to
believe that, though. Sometimes
I think my life is meaningless.
I shouldn’t think that way.
You shouldn’t have read that.
But I’m keeping this honest, and
today is just one of those days where
I think I can’t feel any emotion. Just
bland acceptance; boxed
mashed potatoes with no salt.
I want to touch the moon. The
fog parts, the
clouds part, and
I see the moon.
I want to run my finger though
the dust, tell the world that I
have bottled moonlight. I want to