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.

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. 

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.

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😭😭

🦋 If you get this, answer with three facts about yourself and send it to the last 7 blogs in your notifications (anonymously if you wish to). Let’s get to know the person behind the blog 🦋

Okay so,

1. Im a HUGE F1 fan (sideblog: @neptunescore), like i will discuss it with anyone and everyone not matter whether they themseleves like it or not.

2. I have a minor obsession with like, (idk if theres a specific word for it) but stuff like crocheting, knitting, embroidery, cross stitching. I have/wanna learn ALL of them.

3. Writing poetry really started as a joke, my [someone i know] wrote a poetry book and i just wanted to show them i could do it as well... ended up loving it, aand here we are!

Any way thats 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.