dear tumblr,
i hate you.
i have written so many “poems” about how sad i am. and i can’t post any of them. because this is a popularity game. i am deleting my tumblr. after leaving this post over night. or until i wake up. i either need rehab. or need to get sober on my own terms. i just need to share. and as ridiculous as it is sharing how sad i am with a handful of anonymous 22 year olds, there are some who know me that i am sharing with. i am lost. and this is honest. i don’t know how to feel better or be better. fuck the internet. fuck popularity. and fuck being cool. i am tired. and i just want to be loved. or maybe i don’t. i am just terrified of what is next. i don’t care enough about money to make it in new york. i have made it clear that i need to leave. but i don’t know how. Pisces, you have both bettered and ruined my life. though we are no longer in love, i want you inside of me. for safe keeping. mine and yours. though i am dangerous. this is not about a boy. this is about a rotten brain. he just makes me feel at home. keep the photos. you are home here. you are home in new york, and i need to get out before that changes. because the homeless make me sad. and it is too cold to wear shoes made of paper. and the lonely make me sad. it is too cold to hold yourself. and the poor make me sad. it is too cold to be desperate. i’m desperate.
to be loved. and known.
i hate you tumblr. you don’t know me. and the internet never will.
art means less to me than it did and that is low. i will regret this post in the morning. but i am honest. acrid and honest. lonely and truthful and nobody matters but my heart.
i’m not meant to be human. i am meant to oversee. to protect. to love.
purely…
i can give my life. purely. take it. purely. i can’t keep up. i can’t keep up. i can’t keep up. i am an entity. not made for money. not made to be kept by family. whom i love. and want to protect. allow me to protect. in my way. in spirit. solely. in spirit. let me love them from afar. from above. from below. from wherever. there are children.
meant to be watched. and held. in infinite arms. i want to be infinite. i love you all.
this isn’t a suicide note. don’t fear the word suicide. it is just an honest cry. i will sleep now. and wake. and remove this history from the goddamned internet.
