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[iamhalseymusic]

My post isn’t to claim I get treated any worse than other people with a platform. Although the gory photos are really something else… I just wanted to vent and this is my blog and that’s where I do that stuff. If you don’t like it, no worries. You can move along and it won’t hurt either of us. Thanks for all the kind words from people who have left them! I have a great life and I’ve gotten to meet so many amazing people in this journey who have moved me and given me a tremendous amount of courage. I just needed somewhere to put my thoughts and I remembered not too long ago, I was a 19 year old girl with a blog and this is exactly where I put them. So I came back to a familiar place. 💓

[iamhalseymusic]

It’s been about two years I’ve been trying to navigate the climate that is having a social media platform with such a wide reach. I try very hard to preach a positive message and lead a good example. I’ve tried to take this new life that is having money and a voice and use those things to support the charities and causes and people I believe in. The problem is, I use social media just like everyone else. Twitter didn’t suddenly become different for me when I got “famous”. I still tweet my thoughts and wish I could delete them but unlike you, when I tweet something it’s seen and judged and duplicated immediately across the keyboards of millions of people. When I came out about the things that have plagued me such as my bipolar disorder, or my miscarriage, or my endometriosis, I did it because I wanted people to know they aren’t alone and I hoped to take the most awful experiences of my life and shine a positive light on them. But every time I share a piece of myself I wish I could rip it back immediately and coddle it close and protect myself. Every single day I sign into social media and hope to talk to fans and get to know my listeners better and snoop around for funny memes and interesting news and instead I sign in to pictures of bloody fetuses, jokes about hoping I’m infertile, suicide wishes, some of the most heinous shit I’ve ever seen. And I try not to let it get to me but after a while it starts to add up. I’m a person just like you, and I don’t deserve to have my skeletons mocked and abused under your microscope. I didn’t “ask for this” when I started making music. I asked to be able to share my art and share myself with people who will understand. I’m perfectly capable of taking criticism and believe me, after being the source of every hate trend, meme, trolling for so long I’ve gotten very very good at it. But gory, hateful, almost inhumane attacks are not something I’m equipped to handle. It’s torture. I’m just as tired as you are of the back and forth between my hiatuses from twitter to my returns to the drama to the hiatuses; a vicious cycle. I am so fortunate to have social media to thank for my career as it gave me the opportunity to connect with my fans in a way that is so unique and intimate and personal and honestly unlike any fan experience I’ve personally had as a music lover with any other artist. I want to keep those beautiful relationships alive but right now I’m sitting in my bed, 8 days into recovery from a couple painful surgeries and it’s not good for my health to be reading this stuff or getting myself stressed about it. Maybe I’m going crazy from being inside/in bed for so long and it’s making me more irritable or sensitive. Maybe I just actually am crazy and I let parts of my mental illness slip through the cracks and make me an alarmist. Make me a drama queen. Make me too sensitive. Too extra. Whatever it is I know it can’t continue, and in the spirit of being as honest as I’ve always been with you guys I bring you this message. I don’t want to become cold and resentful as I’ve seen so many of MY favorite artists do. I don’t want to be forced to numb myself from everything in an effort to stop the pain, because then I won’t feel the good either. And god do I want to feel the good. You are all so special to me and an incredible positive light amongst a hateful dialogue. So thank you. I’m not taking a another “break” or going anywhere. But I know I just can’t do this anymore. Whatever that means I have to change or do. I just wanted to get this off my chest. Thanks for listening.

[iamhalseymusic]

I’m okay. I appreciate your love. But please no hashtags. I posted here cause I have a very small following on this blog and I wanted to talk to you guys not entertainment weekly. It will only open me up to more hate. I don’t wanna have to delete everything all the time. Thank you for your messages. I gotta spend some time focusing on my recovery and clearing my head. Lots of love.

[iamhalseymusic]

I cried two times today because of how much I love Japan.

[iamhalseymusic]

Bi awareness week.

After this buzzfeed mess I feel obligated to remind you that your sexuality as a bisexual is validated no matter the ratio of men to women you have dated. You are whole and you are valid and you are loved, and I will always seek to represent you to the best of my ability. I am an autobiographical artist and I create my art to the story of my life. And my sexuality has greatly influenced this expression of love, lust, and loss. I am here for you and I am proud of you, as you should be towards yourself. Be proud, be you, be visible.

[frenchsander]

[hotelhalsey]

[coffin-skate]

me: *is naturally affectionate* me: *has major trust and abandonment issues, fears rejection* me: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[weloveincircles]

You were red, And you liked me because I was blue.

[iamhalseymusic]

I am so tired. I am just really fucking tired. Not in the “I’m so tired of this bullshit” kind of way, in the “I wish I could open up the window on this airplane so the air pressure would crush my throat like an invisible fist, and I could finally sleep in past 7 AM tomorrow” kind of way. There’s 2 modes. There’s: “shaking body, carbonated chest cavity, is the room turning black or am I just strung out on some imaginary caffeinated high?” And there’s: “wow I can’t feel my footsteps land on the ground, everything is moving very slow, my voice is resonating in my own skull and are you SURE my tongue belongs in my mouth?” I’m the kind of out of body you get when you walk into a fluorescent lit gas station bathroom when you’re violently high (or you just woke up from a really long nap in the backseat of a car). So many time zones so many places to see. I’m gonna start writing again. I promise. But every time I touch my pen to paper I have nothing to say. My life used to pour from my fingers tips so quickly I could barely read my own handwriting as it slanted to the right so hard it threatened to turn sideways. But now I have nothing to say. A memoir full of poorly doodled flowers with mismatched petals. I dunno how to sing that though, so I better figure something out soon. I’m gonna start writing again. I promise. I promise. I promise. I pro

[iamhalseymusic]

It’s remarkable that the same crusaders on the Internet who advocate for the protection of minorities and people with mental/physical disabilities, are the same people routinely mocking / verbally abusing people in the public eye who have a mental illness. You wonder why musicians rarely speak up about their mental illnesses, and the Internet made me wish I never said a fucking word. How counter-productive. Hypocrites.

Thank you to anyone who takes mental illness as seriously as it should be taken. Thank you for being an ally.

[iamhalseymusic]

I was rash about all things. I picked a meal before reading the whole menu and walked into tattoo parlors with zero idea or direction. There were times when I’d find my warm smile wrapped around a forkful of something mushy and sweet. But there were times I’d walk out bandaged and unsure about the ink scarred into my skin. I was rash about all things until I was on the phone with my mother at 10 pm on a weekday telling her I’d found the person I would marry. She’d heard it before. Her calm demeanor was that of a woman trapped in a marriage that grew like weeds from the seed of a rash decision. 3 children sprouted in a garden and the varicose veins in her legs twisted around roots like angry claws clutching the soil. I was rash about all things until you opened a door and smiled a smile that threatened to erupt across your face and shatter your cheekbones to little pieces in the wind. I flinched. I expected it to hurt. I carried you around all day like a locket pressed hard between my skin and the thin denim of my shorts. Your voice echoing through my ear canal like a wave washing against a lighthouse. Banging banging banging against the brick as gentle as a wave in a storm can possibly be. Your beautiful mouth and the way it circled around words like a vulture in the sky. Careful and calm and ready to swoop in. I was a foolish girl with distracted eyes and I was rash about all things, and you were a calculated assassin with a foolproof scope on your weapon. So tell me, who would win in a fight? I’ll tell you, I win either way.

[iamhalseymusic]

simon says.

her eyes are brown like coffee grinds,

they’re spilling out and soak my mind.

a wild, caffeinated high.

I’m up all night.

I’m up all night.

her lips are pink, my candy prize.

they pull apart and soak my thighs.

a wild, syrup sweet surprise.

I’m open wide.

I’m open wide.

the only thing more alive than I, a neon light.

buzzing like a worker bee, and burning bright.

and if we were two moths, I think I’d fall behind.

and follow you directly to the bulb to fry.

simons says, is not enough to fall in love.

but simon’s back don’t curve as nicely as yours does.

if you speak the words, I find that I’m obliged.

if simon says I love it, well he didn’t lie.

[iamhalseymusic]

tokyo narita

so we laid down on the floor next to our brand new bed just so we could listen closer to this new Kanye West but I can barely hear over the music in my head. all these 808s and heartbeats banging in your chest.

told the driver keep it going, he can run the meter. So we could finally hear VIEWS on some decent speakers. yellin everytime the beat drop like a cheerleader. spillin a flask of Avion on your brand new sneakers.

now we at the Vogue party and the whole thing’s catered. so we said that we’d leave early get some pizza later. but my hands go down your jeans and you distract the waiter until we take it somewhere better like the elevator.

till we back out on the 405 with Baby Bash you’re making me laugh and i’m just trying not to crash but all we do is drive Suga how’d you get so fly? I see people staring at us from the overpass.

but these days I’ve dropped the keys to Anthony’s Mercedes. we standing naked in the kitchen listening to AMY. and in those weeks you fucking lost it cause you just wrote “Crazy”. it seems like you never listen and I hate you lately…

[iamhalseymusic]

FREE LOVE

I got 3 million kids and they crying on my shoulder, Whole wide world covers their ears from the sound. So go and fly your kids first class out to Disney But ignore that you’re walking on a burial ground. You’d rather wrap your son’s hand round the trigger of a pistol Than catch him in the mirror with a mother fucking lipstick Crazy white girls say they tryna “free the nipple” But they quiet when somebody pulls a gun on a “misfit” This shit is getting old Cause u know it’s in our code And if you don’t fucking like it Than don’t show up to my show. This shit ain’t free, love. What ever happened to free love?

[iamhalseymusic]

Death is an unfair opponent with little tact or consideration in its timing. In other words. An asshole.

[iamhalseymusic]

One time I was gone somewhere across the world wrapping my tongue around unfamiliar languages and screaming from stages, and the boy was home watching the stars just to have something in common. He tore pages of paper into hundreds of tiny strips and wrote a love letter on every single one. He put them in the pockets of every pair of pants in my closet. To remind me he loved the way my body curved and how fortunate he was to love a girl with legs to carry herself straight into his arms. Thighs to wrap around him. And a warm place between them that beckoned him to crawl underneath. So now, a few times a week, I reach my hand down and recover “I will love you forever.” from the pocket of my boyfriend jeans and my heart aches like a sore tooth. Little tiny strips of paper. In all of my jeans. A fortune cookie reminder of a lost love.