1989 Is For Anxiety Girlies Who Have A Cup Of Coffee In One Hand And Other Clutching Onto Sink Saying

1989 is for anxiety girlies who have a cup of coffee in one hand and other clutching onto sink saying it's gonna be okay i will be the best it's good it's good i am good

something i wish i had realized earlier: you can write poems on the same subject more than once. you can write, paint, draw the same thing over and over if you want to. you can spend your whole life making art about oranges. i think i always felt this pressure to get it right the first time like i couldn’t go back and use that inspiration again. but you can. you can go back and revisit it. you can pick up the conversation again and again if you have more to say.

I wrote a poem inspired by black swan by bts... check it out

HERE

After a decade of dreaming of hearing 1989 in New York and now being in New York for 1989 tv I am so dissaapointeddd that I have a midsem tomorrow.

But will that stop me from blasting album 8 hours before ? NO

in the same vein as my previous post abt people who casually like seventeen, can you please rb this post if you create for seventeen, whether its gifs, gfx, art, or writing!

Drowning

There are days when breathing feels easier. Not today, though.

Today every breath leaving your lungs rips open a cut that bleeds out your eyes and onto your cheeks. The salt water falling out in a hurry to pour the pain out. Like a falls, so mighty and strong, the never-ending pain keeps pouring on.

Today, it's all so wrong. The lights are too bright and sound too loud. A tick here and a click there, and a hitch in your breath that makes the pain too much to bear.

It would all be a lot easier to point fingers- at people, at time, at incidents and at places. Yet you constantly find all ten of them staring right into your soul. Blame it on youth, or the colours you can't let go. Nothing can change the stubborn brain with no remorse. "Protect yourself, wear the armour tight". No one told me that the armour might choke me at night. I struggle, never swam through the blues just rode the high tides. Free falling through to the lap of gravity, a dark ocean bed that awaits me. Breathing is not a problem for me tonight, for drowning makes it easier by burning my lungs. Water rushes up my skin and into my eyes, there's beauty in madness and peace in demise. Will I be missed? Should I hold back for tonight? Maybe it'll be alright and I won't lose my mind... But what if I never make it after all the incessant "fake it"s. My brain goes numb and my skin opens wide.

I exchange the blues for crimson, a shade that's my best friend. Mixing up the salt and the pungent smell, another night I chose to drown in my head. It would be easier to lie on thorns if it was the bed I made. I willingly pierce my own heart to protect my head from the larks.

Drowning my sorrows into stories I wish into the universe, for when they come true I'd still push myself into the deep end. Around the globe, I brought along the baggage. For new people to poke through and tell me my worth.