we had the same conversations like it was yesterday
i wore blue for days and days straight
i wore all my fibers as you
i knew you were blue too
i fasted
i was corrupt
you wouldn’t let my burn touch a thing
you laughed in the face of it
Saltblood Psalms
My deep breaths fuel my heart
Just one more night
After another
What a chore
A force of nature
To be here
To stay
To feel everything
A life of suffering—
I thrive off that shit
Like a brutal winter
My heart is raw and unfiltered
I dove deep to see her
The sacred red
Of the swallowed sea
She’ll find me
Begging
On plastered knees
She just wants to be safe
Satiated
Saved
Someone
Rooted into my soul,
he was vital, he oppressed
Potent love,
a bold kind.
Violent
His tongue barbaric
Puissant hand in hand
But he needed me.
I needed him—
I was afraid to say.
He held me.
He told me,
he’d keep me safe.
Shielding my power with his power
He was my someone
He was someone
Sacred Beauty, Silent Battles
I was taught to be beautiful, no matter what I was going through.
A sacred ritual passed down—lipstick, clean clothes, perfume. Even in despair, my outer world had to glow. I’ve mastered the art of seeming fine.
High-functioning depression means I show up glowing—
even when I’m collapsing on the inside.
Because I was taught: no matter how you feel, look good so no one would know.
People assume I’m okay because I look okay.
Because I’m pretty. Because I dress well. Because I smile. Because I post.
But that’s the mask. That’s the part I learned young:
if you look put together, maybe no one will ask too many questions.
My mother raised and instilled in me to always show up looking good—no matter what. And so I did. Even when I was quietly dealing with depression, eating disorders, suicidal thoughts/attempts, a bottomless abyss of self-hate etc. I never wanted anyone to know. I just wanted to survive.
And now that I’m older that’s backfired. Now when I say, “I’m not okay,” people respond with, “But you look so good.”
As if beauty is proof of wellness.
As if pain can’t wear lipstick.
Not all sadness screams.
Some of it moves quietly—wrapped in silk, masked with laughter, walking through the world unnoticed.
High-functioning depression is being praised for your strength, carrying sorrow with elegance. All the while drowning in silence.
It’s shining bright, yet being invisible because you’ve mastered the art of seeming fine.
It’s exhausting.
Opposites
Intention
She and I marry as she loosened her hair
I was warm between her legs
She was home
Welcoming
I loved to please her
I willingly submitted
She knew she was my baby
I knew how to make her come back
She was my intuition
Our whispering heads
Dancing heart
She played tug of war
Passioned
Me
I made love
She is my intention
Truly
Summer Love
Too Soft
Must
“One mustn’t fret, but instead breathe. Fall into the void of life. Smile, hands up. Embrace the ride..”
“One must ground daily with the percussion of the past performing. One must be here, find it wherever you are..”
Freegrandmaa 