Sophie's Diary

just a 20 year old who is trying to heal's diary

[quanze]

Intro post!

20 y/o femme

Very big into poetry but also yugioh, anime, random tv shows, art, and naps

Very big lesbian

This is a semi nsft blog so minors please DNI

My asks and dms are open

My tags-

#Sophie's Poems🌺 - any of my poetry peices

#Sophie's Rants🌺 - any of my random text posts

Um I'm bad at this so please dont mind 😭

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If you are listening

You loved me better than I deserved,

and I didn’t see it.

I was too busy trying to fill holes

Ones that had already been filled

I said I’d outgrown us,

but truth is, I was just scared

of how completely you saw me.

Every person after you

has been a mirror I can’t stand to look at

because they all show me

how gentle your love really was.

You were enough.

I wasn’t.

And I don’t expect you to forgive that.

Just to know,

I would do anything for one last chance.

[quanze]

Yall ever read your name in the unsent project and read smth that feels like it really was directed towards you

Now youre kinda just sad over your ex again

Hahaha me neither

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Cropping a band shirt, for a band you have no clue of, and only wearing it for your shitty tiktoks cause you lack the confidence to go out in it has got to be my favorite gender

Crappy photo but eh

[thebatrifle]

”sesbian lex” “wuh luh wuh” NO!!!!! don’t be ashamed to be a dyke!!!! proudly scream that you have lesbian sex!!!! you kiss girls!!!! you want to eat them out!!! you like biceps and boobs!! dyke!!!

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God knew my ego would be too powerful if I was cis

So she made me a tgirl with anxiety and a nicotine addiction

[quanze]

I cannot be trusted with a razor anymore

All it took was like 5 tiktoks and I got an eyebrow split

Anyways eye reveal ig

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Mirrorwork

By sophia.

Oh, to be comfortable in my skin,

to see the mirror not as an enemy,

but as a window into myself

to look and say without hesitation:

Yes, that’s Sophia.

But the mirror is fickle.

Some mornings it lies,

dragging me backward

into a body that feels borrowed,

a language that stumbles off my tongue,

a costume sewn with someone else’s thread.

I have lived as a ghost in my own house,

walking halls where every portrait

bears the wrong name,

where the furniture cuts against my body,

where every reflection asks: Who are you?

And still, I build.

I sandpaper my voice against stone,

I learn the music of myself

syllable by syllable,

I drape my frame in fabrics

that say belonging,

I etch Sophia into every gesture,

every breath, every heartbeat

that insists I exist.

The world does not make this easy.

They slice me with pronouns

that are not mine,

they fold me into categories

that cannot hold me.

To them I am a riddle,

a puzzle missing pieces,

but to me I am a garden,

slowly blooming,

no less beautiful for the waiting.

There are days I see it

the tilt of my chin

that finally feels familiar,

the way light touches my cheek

and calls me by the right name.

On those days, I dare to smile

into the glass,

not as rehearsal,

but as revelation.

And yet

even in the ache, in the waiting,

I know this body is not my enemy.

It is my canvas,

my stubborn ground,

the soil I will sow with persistence.

Each change is a seed

hormones, surgeries,

the tiny defiance of lipstick,

the victory of a stranger’s

unprompted “she.”

One day, I will no longer whisper.

I will no longer need to practice

the miracle of recognition.

The mirror will steady,

becoming not a battlefield

but a testament.

And Sophia will not just live

in my mouth like a prayer,

she will stand whole before me

flesh and spirit aligned,

a truth no one can rename.

And when that day comes,

I will not whisper it.

I will sing it loud enough

for every past version of me

to hear and be soothed.

Yes.

That’s Sophia.

At last.

[quanze]

Hunger

By sophia.

I was once full

Fed off your love like a buffet

Each kiss a course

Each moan a drink from your chalice

Now I am starving

Ribs echoing my breath

A hallowed organ built for worship

Yet stripped of its saint

My body remembers your feast

The way your tounge was a chalice, intoxicating

Your thighs an offering

Your claws digging into my as a symbol of my devotion

Now the only claws I feel of famine's

An unrelenting hunger no meal can quiet

No lips could sate

Now even the air tastes of you

Salty and bitter, yet still a comforting sweetness

The ghost of your breath still lingering on my tounge

I dream of banquets

Of teeth grazing against skin

Of slick fingers dragging heaven to earth

Yet I lay, begging for famines end

One last meal of you

To choke on your sweetness

So that I die, not starving

But finally full once more

[quanze]

I know this is obvious but the worst part of a breakup is the damned loneliness of it all

This is the first time I've been truly single in like 4 years, like i kinda hopped from situationship to situationship for 2 years and then got into a 26 month long relationship, so idfk how to do this stuff

Like, I dont miss my ex per-se, but I miss having someone to just call.

And like its weird because my friends dont know all the intricate details of my life so if I tell them something that happened I have to sit there and explain other shit that happened to make the story make sense.

And it doesnt help that my irl friends find my yapping to be annoying as sin, so even if I had the energy to explain all the backstory to every story they'd just hate it.

Like I miss having someone that knew what all was already going on in my life and atleast had a slight obligation to not be annoyed by it

[quanze]

I HATE LEG DAY, WHY MUST SQUATS BE SO MFING HARD

I HAVE NOODLE LEGS NOW

[fraiseonmain]

୨ৎ All I need is greasy food, a horror movie, a comfy couch and a girlfriend to make-out with during a murder scene ୨ৎ

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On my knees begging for this to happen to me

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"Omg what if we buy you a subaru since thats the lesbian car"

-my mom

Yk atleast shes being supportive 😭

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Sophia.

By sophie

I dont think the sophia you once knew exists anymore

Hell,

I dont think she ever did

All my life

people have wanted to carve different shapes out of me

My voice

My body

My smile

Shaped like clay in hundreds of hands

And i thought maybe I can find my real self in the right person

But maybe

There is no real sophia

Maybe she drowned years ago

in that ocean of conflicting wants and desires

Maybe she was the 8 year old

Who learned love isnt unconditional

That it could be taken

Snatched away mid sentence

Maybe she was the middle schooler

Who learned how sharp the world's teeth are

Maybe she was the teenager

Who i left behind to be myself

Maybe she is the adult

Who never learned to heal

Just got better at hiding the wounds

Or maybe she is the facsimile

The forgery

The papier-mâché version of me

That everyone poured their desires into

My family wanted a son made of iron.

My exes wanted a rock

to stand on until the waves wore me smooth.

My friends wanted the happy one,

The one who's smiled lit up a room

And I

I want the real me

But she doesnt exist

I don’t know who I was today as the sun goes down,

I don’t know who I will be tomorrow when the sun rises once more

Maybe then she will be born

But maybe she never will be.

Because every version of me dies

the moment someone new needs something else.

And maybe

maybe that’s the only truth about Sophia:

she’s a graveyard of past selves,

built on the bones of girls she couldn’t save.

Maybe the real Sophia

is nothing more than a doll

waiting,

patient,

for the next pair of hands

to twist her into something worth loving.

Sophia is me and no one all at once

Turned one of my journal rants into a poem/spoken word peice (ill be honest I dont knoe the difference)

I hope you like this one despite it not being sapphic or yearning and a little more full of emotions as my previous ones.

Anyways more yearning and sapphic stuff coming soon when I find my darn notebook

[raspberry-femme]

born to ride, forced to scroll.

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Honestly mood asf

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My altar

By sophia.

I gave all my love

Whole and unbroken

Like the heart of a lamb

Still trembling in my hands

I knelt at the altar of you

Where smoke made of longing curved upwards to a god who never cared

The marble beneath me was cold

Yet I stayed head pressed against it

As if stone could hold my prayer

You stood above me

Haloed not in light but shadow

"Pathetic" you declared

As though you were a god ready to unmake me

"I never asked for your worship.

Our love is toxic"

Still i stated bowed

Spilling myself

My blood, the libation, and my flesh, the offering

I thought if I gave enough

Skin, bone, breath, worship

Perhaps you'd grand me the favor of being seen

But you turned away

And i, the faithful Heretic

Clung to my offering

Because even if this love is poison, it is mine

My altar, my sacrement, my ruin

And I would rather be devoured by my own sacrifice

Then, walk without faith

Sorry for not posting in a minute been kinda busy

Hope you enjoy this one

[quanze]

If only I had a cute lesbian here with me while I write poetry in the sun