i think i was born wrong. faulty, incomplete. something is inherently wrong with me, and i’m not sure if anything can fix me

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@7nvk
i think i was born wrong. faulty, incomplete. something is inherently wrong with me, and i’m not sure if anything can fix me
propaganda i am not falling for:
always moving on. some goodbyes need to rot a little. some griefs need to be held in the mouth like a stone.
beauty defined by algorithms. beauty exists in crow feet and smile lines
pretending to be chill. i’m not chill. i care deeply and inconveniently. i read into things. i write poems about eye contact
beige apartments with no soul. give me bookshelves and incense and loud art
sneaky links and unclear intentions. i want devotion. and also clarity
treating books as decor. read them. dog-ear them. argue with them in the margins
obsessed where stories where it is like. the mistakes are unfixable and the worst thing that could happen happened and nothing can go back to how it was. but there was still love in this and love will continue after this and love endures always.
theres something addicting about destroying myself then putting myself back together again
This is exactly why self-destructive behaviors are addictive. You destroy yourself so nobody else can, which is comforting. Then you put yourself back together, which is nice and makes you feel proud. It's tricky to recover from this because why would anyone want to stop doing things that feel so good ? Especially when you're not doing ok ?
the worst part of my day is waking up
sometimes i wonder if i could have been happy if my circumstances were different
don’t ever say that i didn’t show any signs because i did. i begged you for help and you left me to die.
new year, new suffering
having to press my fingers against my pulse to remind myself that i’m alive; that my heart isn’t just dead weight in my chest
i will give and give until nothing is left of me
i think that (if you want) you should have a nice hug <3
thats very sweet, thank u anon (:
i can’t remember a time when i didn’t feel this way. maybe it started when i began to feel far too empty for a 12 year old girl, and the rusty boxcutter on the counter started to seem enticing
it’s hard to focus when everything feels like a dream
anxiety traps me within my own mind and tears me apart quietly
trying to live up to these impossible standards in my head to feel worthy of love is exhausting
i wish i could go back to when i was younger and tell that little girl not to pick up the knife