I Am 10. I Ask My Dad To Write Down His Letters On A Piece Of Paper I Thrust Into His Face. He Looks

I am 10. I ask my dad to write down his letters on a piece of paper I thrust into his face. He looks at me oddly, he complies. I am 10. And my hands ache and my fingers are sore, and the page has torn and ripped, yet I continue. My pencil has started to shake, it's lead has long blunted, and a fresh shaving of graphite covers the faded one beneath it, the once sharp curve of the 'B' disappearing under the layers atop it. I am 10. And I wish my dad shared more than just blood with me.

And I stare at a sky which has turned into a graveyard. And I cry as a new star appears because another child has died tonight. And I mourn for the constellations that remain incomplete. For one of them is alive. But isn't that worse? And I watch shooting stars search for their place, their country, yet there is no sky there for them to travel to. Just smoke. And fire. And a hell my God didn't make. And I watch from my screen as a world disappears. And I see its citizens begging to be heard. And then I see the rest of us. And I watch as we stuff cotton in our ears. 

No bc someone please tell me how to get everything back

This was literally my life

GUYS MY BLOG JUST RESTARTED ITSELF EVETYTING IS GONE ALL MY POEMS MY LIKES MY MUTUALS MY PAGE WHAT DO O DO

Im going to cry😭😭

I feel the most poetic witnessing someone elses sadness. Someone else's loss. I do not know why. But my tears drip more freely then . My hand shakes less. my pen writes more. Maybe it is the fact that their misery seems to add a glow to them. A light. A beauty that not even time, with all of its slow decomposition, can fabricate. Maybe it is that. Or maybe it is their iron will, their burning heart, that makes it all so ethereal. My misery is nothing like this. Why? Why? Whywhywhywhy- my misery is a poison i inject into myself everyday, my misery is a shadow that takes my body's form, my misery is neither dark nor light. It does not glow. It does not burn. My misery is grey, ashen. It is my heart, with its crumbling arteries. It is my mind, with its disconnecting nerves. My misery doesn't seem poetic to me. 

When, suddenly, I have no motivation for anything. When, suddenly, I want to climb into my bed and bury myself underneath my anxiety. When, suddenly, I never want to wake up again. When, suddenly, academic validation is all I want. When, suddenly, I am too tired to pick up my pen. When, suddenly, I start losing weight. When, suddenly, my friends wrap their fingers around my wrist and gush about how small I've gotten. When, suddenly, my throat aches with every breath. When, suddenly, there are cracks on my skin that I can't explain. When, suddenly, I'm not survivng anymore.

Sent an email to tumblr and they cant do anything.

Im going to sleep everyone. Im just gonna deal with this shit in the morning.