#ghost's

[sharpjelly]

Ghost in the Horrid Henry book artstyle, that I drew a year ago.

I didn't even do half bad, yk?

[ghosthousemate]

the amount of rage I feel due to being the eldest child and only daughter is genuinely unquantifiable. like I totally relate to jokes about Eldest Daughter Syndrome leaving you burnt out from trying to manage a hundred expectations at once but I just wanna take a quick minute to think about how much anger that role produces. sometimes I seriously contemplate entering underground fight clubs to just Get It Out of my system y'know but then I spy a pile of unfolded clothes that have sat on the couch for a week straight. and it's like hmm time to try and curb my resentment towards every member of my family while also trying to allow myself the respect and dignity to actually Feel Emotions.

[ghosthousemate]

shout out to my disabled girlies who also get stopped on public transport by security to ask if you're going through drug withdrawals bc your disability shares symptoms with drug withdrawals. double shout out if the answer is technically yes bc you've been on prescription pain meds since 14 years old.

[ghosthousemate]

my favourite part of being neurodivergent and mentally ill is pushing the narrative that you're just A Bit Dumb and Lazy because the thought of explaining to anyone other than your psychologist that you couldn't take your math quiz because you were trying to convince your gremlin brain that the Void is not the solution to your problems is Too Intimate. Until you get to situations where you need to take time off to get yourself back into a healthier mindset and people like don't take you seriously at all. Like I'm terrified of emotional intimacy that I can't control to the point that people just straight up think I'm stupid because I'd rather they think that then like actually communicate. Anyway by favourite I actually meant least favourite.

[ghosthousemate]

the thought of being known by someone who was once a stranger is the kind of intimacy that causes the vine around my heart to tighten, inch by inch.

that sharp ache is the phantom feeling of someone holding my heart in their hand.

i hunger for just a drop of it, honey and blood on the tongue. thick and sweet. metallic.

i wonder at the taste of such divinity,

no god i've ever prayed to has sat so heavy in my gut.

catholic guilt has nothing on the ugliness of being known, euphoric and rancid in equal measure.

i covet just the thought of it for the sublime has always been grotesque.

there is no true opulence in perfection,

it has no humanity, no fallibility.

such intimacy is to be earned and given and there is no purity in something that is meant to be held softly, sweetly.

soft like flesh and sweet like blood.

to be known is to to be stripped of your skin gladly, bliss.

10/02/22

[ghosthousemate]

The feminine urge to close my curtains when drinking tea upstairs so the neighbours don't accidentally snitch to my ma that I drink tea upstairs in my room with the new carpet she expressively forbid me from drinking tea over even though I'm technically an adult.

[ghosthousemate]

sometimes i want to cleave myself open to see if my organs miss you the way i do.

you're a couple hours and a phone call away,

i just have to wait for my sun to set,

but it hurts it hurts it hurts.

it hurts like all the poets said it would.

my organs twist in on themselves,

drip with tar and blood and love,

they miss you they miss you they do.

i made a pot of tea and ached so badly to share it with you.

i saw a pen and tried to write you a letter but i've never been good with words for other people,

only myself.

i miss you.

02/02/22