an introvert's blog {not currently updating}

sometimes we fall in love with the wrong people. and we stay with them, because we think that our love is enough to mold them into the person we want them to be. it never is. and the inadequacy of your love will hurt you. you will wonder why you are not enough for the one person who is more than enough for you. ~~an older book of poetry~~ february 27th 2018- september 5th, 2018 special thanks to @avadel for the gorgeous cover hr: #1 in poems 7/22/19 #1 in sadpoems 9/1/19

Psyche - the human mind or soul - I let my feelings swallow me whole like tidal waves. I filled my lungs with the air of melancholy. I drowned myself in pools of wishful thinking. I fall apart and lose myself on the daily. - I honestly don't know what the fuck I'm writing. Just enjoy. Disclaimer - this by no means is a cry for help, I'm just letting my mind run loose. That's how sanity is maintained, my friend, if you didn't already know.

people write about things that do not happen. they will romanticize this world in hopes of filling themselves up. they write like their words are food. but i have always written to empty myself completely. i will romanticize feeling nothing. june 1st 2018- august 16th 2018 thank you, @blushingbieber, for the wonderful cover! hr: #1 in poem 8.3.18 #1 in poetrycollection 8.15.18 #1 in poems 4.28.19

Where there are words; there is comfort. ●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°● It's exhausting, The dreams I have; Trying to make what's fantasy, Include no hardship. Into false of hopes of reality. ●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°●°● ☆In this universe, there are only few things that could last. One of mine is poetry.

I had become a leftover. I am nothing more than a plate of food he forgets about, And soon he will dispose of me. He comes to me when he is hungry for love, I feed him hoping he'll stay, But he leaves. Because that's all I am to him, Just a leftover.

Pieces of my writing that got the chance to leave the notebook secretly hiding in the back of the white drawer filled with papers; papers to bury the notebook (and my thoughts) from the rest of the world. {;fragments of my soul;} {collection of poems, letters, short stories, and others}