You ever seen grief hold its breath so long it grows fangs?
He broke my favorite thing. So I broke the version of me that cared.
I do not forgive the architects. I piss on blueprints and scream in Morse. Politeness is a chokehold. And sanity? A PR stunt for people who still trust chairs.
My nervous system is a haunted funhouse where every door leads to a memory I didn’t ask for... and the mirrors whisper in voices that sound like me but worse. There are landmines stitched into my muscle memory. I walk funny now. I love funny now...
I do not regulate—I detonate. I stim like a seance. I cry like a siren. If you're here for healing, I hope you brought bandages and superglue. If you're here for vibes, bring sage, an exorcist, and a stuffy.
Some of us didn’t break—we evolved asymmetrically. My joy has claws. My grief gets invited to the afterparty. I don't self-soothe—I self-summon. And if I start laughing in the middle of a trauma flashback, that’s just me folding time into a paper swan and feeding it to the void. I’m not looking for peace. I’m looking for witnesses. Welcome to the cathedral of contradictions. Wipe your feet at the threshold. We do not clean up nice.
I have licked the flames that were meant to consume me. Now I burn on command. I am not triggered. I am tripwired. Ask the last person who mistook my silence for submission. I’m the afterimage of a girl they tried to erase. You can still see her if you squint into the static.
I do not speak gently anymore... I speak like an alarm in a hospital that no one turns off. And now?.. My coping mechanisms formed a union. They are now demanding hazard pay. And I’ve got scars shaped like punchlines.
Laughter is my favorite form of vengeance.
I am not interested in being understood. I am interested in warping the grid. They said I was "too much." Good. That means they choked on me. I sing lullabies in a language made of red flags. And baby, I wave them like banners.
My trauma didn't make me stronger. It made me a MYTH.
I am the data they couldn’t delete. I am the glitch in their goddamn simulation. This is not a rebrand. This is resurrection in high-definition grayscale.
My shadow applied for emancipation. It says I’m “emotionally irresponsible” and “keep summoning entities without warning.”
My therapist asked if I self-sabotage. I said, “Only recreationally.” I left my inner child unsupervised for five minutes. Now she’s tattooing sigils on the couch and calling herself ‘CEO of Emotional Damage.’ If you hear giggling in the static..don’t worry... That’s just me and my intrusive thoughts doing a podcast. And yes, I am haunted.... And no, you may not speak to the ghost directly.
My nervous system is sponsored by: expired Red Bull, unresolved trauma, and a spicy little demon who thinks I’m “so slay when I dissociate.” I put the “fun” in “dysfunctional” and the “hex” in “text messages I send at 3AM.”
Offended? Namastay the fuck out of my chaos.
I don’t rise above—I drag it beneath me. I healed just enough to become dangerous again... This isn’t growth. This is evolution with teeth. And I’m not unbothered. I’m just beyond caring who survives me. Peace is a scam. I chose power and spite glitter.
To those who step on others to self soothe:
May your next delusion be honest. May your next goddess be vengeful. And May your next victim be ME in a mask.
I’m the happily-ever-after you should’ve feared.
For my haters who are also my fans in disguise:
Bite me or bow. I don’t care which—as long as your mouth’s full. 😈
