overthinking

 I replay your words a thousand times, searching for a meaning you never meant. 

wake up.

thank you for the confirmation. i should have known better, should have been smarter, wiser, more mature, seen what it is as it is. the writing was on the wall, i just didn’t want to see it - i see that now. 

it is what it is and no amount of delulu is ever going to change that. so stop daydreaming, stop fantasizing. just stop. 

i should have known better. i mean nothing. and therefore you will mean nothing. 

fuck female rage. what about female exhaustion? girls who have raged a year too long, souls weary from no one seeing or caring about this anger, mumbles of "it's not fair" through tears with only them to console themselves, where do i put this exhaustion anywhere but back in my bones again

She won’t beg or cry for help. She’ll sleep less, drink more caffeine & work more hours. Music will get louder; she will isolate from the world. She will fight her demons alone, so that no one can throw it in her face later. 

quiet

I would trade my soul for silence, to escape the relentless flood of emotions that drown me, a quiet surrender to the emptiness within.

“People who weren’t fed love with a silver spoon as a child end up learning how to lick them off knives as an adult.”

Can someone tell me why TikTok quotes teach me more about myself than my $220/hour therapist does? 

lady lazarus
sylvia plath

I have done it again.   
One year in every ten   
I manage it——

A sort of walking miracle, my skin   
Bright as a Nazi lampshade,   
My right foot

A paperweight,
My face a featureless, fine   
Jew linen.

Peel off the napkin   
O my enemy.   
Do I terrify?——

The nose, the eye pits, the full set of teeth?   
The sour breath
Will vanish in a day.

Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be   
At home on me

And I a smiling woman.   
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die.

This is Number Three.   
What a trash
To annihilate each decade.

What a million filaments.   
The peanut-crunching crowd   
Shoves in to see

Them unwrap me hand and foot——
The big strip tease.   
Gentlemen, ladies

These are my hands   
My knees.
I may be skin and bone,

Nevertheless, I am the same, identical woman.   
The first time it happened I was ten.   
It was an accident.

The second time I meant
To last it out and not come back at all.   
I rocked shut

As a seashell.
They had to call and call
And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying
Is an art, like everything else.   
I do it exceptionally well.

I do it so it feels like hell.   
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I’ve a call.

It’s easy enough to do it in a cell.
It’s easy enough to do it and stay put.   
It’s the theatrical

Comeback in broad day
To the same place, the same face, the same brute   
Amused shout:

‘A miracle!’
That knocks me out.   
There is a charge

For the eyeing of my scars, there is a charge   
For the hearing of my heart——
It really goes.

And there is a charge, a very large charge   
For a word or a touch   
Or a bit of blood

Or a piece of my hair or my clothes.   
So, so, Herr Doktor.   
So, Herr Enemy.

I am your opus,
I am your valuable,   
The pure gold baby

That melts to a shriek.   
I turn and burn.
Do not think I underestimate your great concern.

Ash, ash—
You poke and stir.
Flesh, bone, there is nothing there——

A cake of soap,   
A wedding ring,   
A gold filling.

Herr God, Herr Lucifer   
Beware
Beware.

Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair   
And I eat men like air.