your starry eyed lover

k

[daylily-diary]

this blog is inactive!

my active blog is @elliots-final-project. i cant officially make that one my primary instead of a sideblog but it is my main blog.

love yall! <3

[mhbcr]

Don’t use AI to write. Use childhood trauma like a real poet.

[daylily-diary]

Happy first birthday to my blog!!

[daylily-diary]

Actually crazy to me that so many people in this world never have and never will dance their hearts out to Na Na Na by My Chemical Romance. What do you even do??

[daylily-diary]

How to summer: my boring girl summer tutorial

1. Only hang out with like 2 people

2. Doomscroll

3. Get dressed to do nothing

4. Play outside by yourself

5. Power through book after book cause what else are you gonna do?

6. Hyperfixate on at least 3 YouTubers for at least a week each

7. Learn a new gymnastic skill

8. Lie in bed lifeless yet full of life

9. Acknowledge your lameness; never feel bad for it

10. Find and lose yourself a million times over

[daylily-diary]

The sun is bright and shining above you and Vienna waits for you and it’s alright and for you there’ll be no more crying and one thing I can tell you is you got to be free and thank you for the music and time makes you bolder and in the end the love you take is equal to the love you make

[daylily-diary]

I’m so glad The Beatles were on a lot of drugs

[daylily-diary]

Somewhere between then and now I lost the ability to be free. Or maybe I never had it; I can’t seem to remember the last time I had no worries. I don’t remember much of anything before my first obvious sign of anxiety, the time in 1st grade when I started crying hysterically because I didn’t think I would finish my worksheet before class was over. As far back as my mind will let me understand, I have been so very afraid. Of what, I don’t know. I was raised on fear and complacency, not just because I was being controlled, but also because my mother was so intensely filled with anxiety that she projected it onto me. I was 6 years old with more worries than any child should ever have, all because of my deeply fearful and selfish mother. I wish so dearly that my childhood had not been ripped from my tiny, trembling hands and moulded into some sad excuse of a happy life. I think I will live out the rest of my days in a minute panic, forever sick with envy for the children who were simply allowed to be just that.

[daylily-diary]

Sometimes I wish you loved in the sick, carnivorous way I have always known. I’m happy that we are together in a gentle sort of way that feels healthier and safer than anything I've had before, but it just seems so different. All my life, I’ve loved in acts of desperation, clawing and fighting for something, anything back. When you grow up with the one person who is supposed to protect and love you most of all not doing so, you become feverish for it, hungry, like a starved vulture tearing at the decayed carcass of a small animal, scouring for meat but only finding shriveled up skin. And that is what I’ve always done. I have splayed myself out for people, literally and figuratively, in my search for love, given anything and everything I never should have had to for someone to hold my hand for a month or two before they get tired. So it feels strange, looking at you and knowing I do not have to give my flesh and bone for your affection. I do not have to dig within myself and rip out my beating heart for you, though I forever would, and you would not return it to me with a chunk missing in the shape of your teeth. My blood is not on your hands and all of the poetry I write for you is soft and affectionate; all of the music that reminds me of you is upbeat and could only make me cry tears of joy. Is this where I learn to love without tearing myself to pieces in the process?

[daylily-diary]

Oh god, why did I ever think I was going to end up with a man? Women have everything that men don't. Understanding, a gentle hand, the softness of their lips and their hearts. There is nothing quite like laughing with a girl like you are best friends, thinking of her as if you have been married for decades, holding her like your favorite childhood stuffed animal, and kissing her like you could sustain yourself for the rest of your life simply on the sweetness of your mixed breath. Fingers in her hair, her head on your chest, love in both of your eyes that only the other will ever see. Make her a bracelet, find her a rock, gift her her favorite snack. Freedom in your airy laughter. Certainty in the matching beats of your hearts. You know everything about each other and remember every little detail; you are in love and unwaningly so.

[daylily-diary]

How would I describe girlhood?

Dance, dress up, lie in bed, bake, isolate, yearn, clean, explore, blankets, candles, validation, cry, scream, kiss a friend, gut wrenching films, miscellaneous trinkets and wall decor, hangover, social anxiety, sunbathe, laugh, hold someone, be held, run away, unfinished books, sing, crushes are hell, stickers, parental issues, sexual trauma, pink, nostalgia, matching pjs, smell good, fear the calorie, fall in love with anything and everything, break your own heart, grow your hair long, cut it short. Who are you?

[daylily-diary]

I live for the soft devotion of platonic love. I drink a mango slushie and I think of her because mangos are her favorite fruit. I see a book she read and told me about how much she loved and I think of her. I think of all of my favorite girls in the whole wide world when I see anything about their favorite singers and bands. A color, a melody, a cloud, a single speck of glitter, anything that I see beauty in reminds me of my best friends. I am so grateful for the blessing that is my amazing, loving, perfect friends. You are so beautiful inside and out and I love you.

[daylily-diary]

I am akin to a fire, but not in a fierce, powerful way. In a delicate, violent way. She only wants to be heard and so do I.

[daylily-diary]

I am in love with the way she makes me feel so safe. She makes me feel like I’m allowed to love her. Usually when I have a crush, it makes me feel scared half to death, or hopeless that anything will come of it, or even just sick. She isn’t like that. My feelings for her remind me of a warm, fluffy blanket on an early spring evening. She’s just so, so indescribably lovely. She’s the kind of girl that I’m pretty sure Clairo wrote Softly about.

[daylily-diary]

I’ll follow you down ‘til the sound of my voice will haunt you.

[woman-of-whoredom]

[daylily-diary]

If he is a flower, I am a bee. If he is a flame, I am a moth. If he is the sun, I am a sunflower. Or maybe I’m Icarus.