libraryinthehut

[libraryinthehut]

Library in the hut

[libraryinthehut]

Library in the hut

[libraryinthehut]

🚦A twisted craving.

Tw- eating disorders, unhealthy relationship with food & emotional distress.

I wasn’t hungry, but I ate,

A twisted urge I couldn’t wait.

Each bite a bruise, each chew a scar,

A war disguised in a cookie jar.

It’s not about the weight or size,

It’s numbing pain I can’t disguise.

I eat to silence thoughts that scream,

To choke the ghost inside my dream.

The fridge becomes my secret blade,

Where every binge leaves me afraid.

A quiet shame, a bloated guilt,

A temple wrecked that I once built.

I lick the spoon like it’s a sin,

Then hate the skin I’m living in.

The hunger’s fake, the damage real,

It’s not for joy, it’s what I feel.

I stuff my pain in sugar crust,

Then spit it out with bitter dust.

A ritual, dark and out of hand,

Of punishing what I can't stand.

And no one sees it when I eat

The trembling hands, the quick heartbeat.

The way I stare into the void,

As if the food might make me void.

It’s not about the food at all,

It’s just the way I try to fall.

Not with a blade, or rope, or scream

But slowly, sweetly, like a dream.

It’s sabotage disguised as treat,

A soft decay I can’t defeat.

I feed the ache to keep it near,

To quiet down what I still fear.

And when they say, “Just eat, you’ll heal,”

They don’t know how I even feel.

Because this isn’t hunger, love

It’s a self-inflicted push and shove.

A twisted kind of comfort meal,

A way to fake, forget, and feel.

Not thin, not fat, just lost, undone

A girl who eats to come undone.

[libraryinthehut]

Library in the hut

[libraryinthehut]

🚦Criminally Right

We kissed in an empty classroom,

his hands resting soft on my waist.

He whispered “I love you,” breathless

I grabbed his broad shoulders in haste.

The thought of parting felt like death,

so I leaned back on the wooden desk.

His breath ghosted over my neck,

my spine arching at what came next.

His back became my canvas,

my nails sketching every edge.

I melted into his warmth

even my cheeks flushed red.

His hand held mine,

we hugged so tight.

We couldn’t stay the night,

but God

loving him in that moment

felt criminally right.

[libraryinthehut]

I want to be a observer or a quiet traveller with tangled hair, thrifted notebooks, and wide, hungry eyes. I want to move through train stations with chipped boots and a heart full of borrowed languages, noticing the way city lights blur through scratched bus windows, or how the wind tangles the stories of strangers into my scarf. I want to feel the sting of salt on my lips by forgotten beaches, the warmth of borrowed sweaters that still carry someone else’s perfume.

I want to sit in cafes watching people argue gently, sketch the tired smiles of street vendors, and write about how the world sounds different at dusk. I want to collect moments instead of souvenirs, the cracked voices of late-night radio, the way laughter echoes in hostel hallways, the smell of old books tucked in foreign corners. Maybe I won’t always belong, but I’ll always be watching, gathering pieces of the world to stitch into the kind of story only i could tell.

[libraryinthehut]

I love brave people. The kind who keep showing up with quiet courage. Who wake up with a heavy heart but still open the curtains. Who wash their coffee mug, fold their blanket, sit through the silence without turning away. Who untangle their hair, water the dying plant, paint their nails, charge their phone, put on clean clothes even when it all feels pointless. They light a candle, change the bedsheet, wipe the mirror.

They might change their playlist Or haircut Or just tie their shoelaces with trembling hands. They take small steps as if the world isn’t falling apart inside them. They make plans they’re not sure they’ll follow, write lists they might never complete, but they try anyway. They think in solutions, not complaints. They don’t settle before standing, don’t bow out before one last breath of effort. They’re not loud about their strength, but it’s there, in how they keep going, keep trying, keep believing in better. They’re a different breed. Not winners in the usual sense, but quiet, steady fighters.

[libraryinthehut]

🚦a quite exist

I fucking hate waking up

Waking up alone

Alone in the name of God

Feels like I’m buried alive

Alive near the pond

Wishing for death

Death that’s less cruel

I eat just enough

to keep the grief breathing.

I move just enough

to not rot where I lie.

I stopped praying

when silence felt holier.

Started talking to the wall

like it might finally crack open

and swallow me whole.

I write because I can’t scream.

I stay because I don’t know how to leave

without burning everything behind.

I breathe

but nothing fills me.

Tell me

is this living?

Or just

a long, quiet

exit?

[libraryinthehut]

🚦Why I Wore Full Sleeves in 40° Heat.

In silence wrapped, the night draws near,

A whisper hums that no one hears.

Behind closed doors and quiet eyes,

A storm brews under calm disguise.

The world moves on, it doesn’t see,

The war that rages inside me.

They praise my smile, my clever charm,

While I reach for a friend called harm.

A silver kiss across the flesh,

A moment’s peace, so sharp, so fresh.

It doesn’t judge, it doesn’t lie,

It knows the pain I can't deny.

Each mark, a tale I couldn't tell,

A scream where silence used to dwell.

A map of wounds, both old and new,

Etched proof that something once was true.

They say, “Be strong,” and, “This shall pass,”

While sipping tea from fragile glass.

But strength, to me, is paper-thin,

And all I trust lives deep within.

A hidden stash, a secret place,

Where shame and comfort interlace.

It isn’t death I truly crave,

But silence from the thoughts that rave.

The memories I can’t outrun,

The battles lost, the damage done.

I carve them out in cursive red,

A twisted prayer the skin has bled.

I wish someone would break the script,

Not turn away, not let it slip.

Not say, “It’s just a phase, you’ll grow,”

But ask me why I feel so low.

Not every wound is made to kill

Some beg the world to just sit still.

To feel, to breathe, to touch the flame,

To finally put a face to shame.

But still I rise, though cracked and scarred,

With bandaged wrists and beating heart.

I’m not a tale of just despair,

There’s fight in me beneath the care.

One day I’ll learn to touch the light,

Without a blade to feel alright.

But till that dawn, I hope you see,

There’s more to harm than tragedy.

So if you pass a trembling hand,

Don’t rush to judge, just try to stand.

Beside the ache, behind the eyes,

Where haunted truths and silence lie.

Because the ones who hurt their skin,

Are trying hard to stay within.

Not seeking death, nor chasing pain,

But aching just to feel again.

[libraryinthehut]

🚦wife of a ghost

She brushed her hair like it meant the world,

In a room where silence gently curled.

Her name was gone from every door

But she kept folding clothes for war.

She loved a man who never came,

Lit candles under his fake name.

Cooked two meals, but only ate one,

And left his plate out with the sun.

She ironed time and swept the air,

Hung lullabies on every chair.

Each morning she would set the bed,

Then count the things she never said.

Her hands were clean, her eyes were sore,

She danced alone on kitchen floor.

She wore his jacket in July,

And taught the mirrors not to cry.

He might be dead, or far, or near

But still she wipes his half the mirror.

And when you knock, she might not speak

She’s saving her voice for him next week.

[libraryinthehut]

I want to live in a world of vampires and werewolves and the spells of witchcraft. I want to soak in that dark. I want the silence of old forests, the weight of forgotten magic, the kind of night that watches you back. I don’t want answers. Just the pull of the unknown, and the comfort of never being fully safe. I want to wake up to strange symbols on my door, to stories passed in whispers, to love that feels like a curse.

I want creaking floorboards in candlelit rooms, claw marks on trees, books that breathe when touched. I want full moons that mean something. I want to know the names of things that were never meant to be spoken.I want to walk through fog that knows my name. To brush past strangers who carry secrets in their scent; blood, moss, fire. I want rain that leaves marks, mirrors that don’t always reflect, and doors that lead somewhere else when the clock hits certain hours. I want rituals held in abandoned chapels, velvet-lined coffins that aren’t always empty, and eyes that glow just a second too long in the dark. I want to live in a place where nothing is explained, and everything is felt.

[libraryinthehut]

🚦like water

I fall

I cry

I stumble

I try

I rot in rooms I built to survive

I choke on words I meant to hide

I claw through days in borrowed skin

Each breath a bruise, each smile a sin

I wear my wounds like second skin

Call it grace or discipline

I bleed in silence, drown in grey

But don’t mistake me for decay

Even ruin learns to stay

They build the dam

I break the gate

And like water,

I’ll find my way.

[libraryinthehut]

I want to be the kind of woman who has a favorite wine, a signature scent, and books with handwritten notes in every margin. Who keeps fresh flowers in her home and speaks in a calm voice that still somehow commands attention. Who collects vintage lighters and silk scarves, even if she doesn’t smoke. I want to write in cafés in cities where no one knows my name. To attend exhibitions alone, linger in front of paintings, and know exactly what perfume to wear with a black velvet dress. I want to live slowly, deliberately, like my life is a quiet ritual. To be mysterious, not for show, but because I’m too full of thought to ever be empty. I want to be artful in everything. From the way I brew tea to the way I exit a room. And I’m not in a rush, I'm in process. To be the type of woman who makes people feel nervous with her energy.

[libraryinthehut]

[libraryinthehut]

Don’t wait for a classroom to teach you. If something makes you curious, chase it. Look it up. Watch interviews. Find a podcast. Read. Read like it’s oxygen. Your brain is not meant to be idle. It’s meant to wonder, to question, to explore. You don’t have to know everything, you just have to care enough to look. Fall down Wikipedia rabbit holes. Get obsessed with weird topics. Learn about trees, cults, politics, Greek myths, psychology, street art, anything. Everything. The world is a giant open book. And you, my friend, have hands built for turning pages. Don’t just sit there waiting to be taught. Teach yourself.

[libraryinthehut]

🚦push away

I'm a coward child

Scared of being hurt again

So I shut my door, with no windows open

Suffocate myself to death

In short, I push people away

I bite my tongue before I speak

Afraid my voice will make me weak

I smile just right, but not too wide

Keep every soft part locked inside

I dodge the calls, I leave on read

Replay their words inside my head

I ghost the ones who try to stay

Because love just never learns to stay

I build my walls, then paint them white

Say “I’m just tired” to dodge a fight

But truth is, peace feels far from me

‘Cause closeness tastes like injury

They say they care... I say “I’m fine”

Then draw a sharper, cleaner line

I'd rather lose than beg to stay

So I push and push, then walk away.

[libraryinthehut]

I’d rather be the girl with tangled hair and muddy feet, whispering secrets to the stars, than be a quiet version of myself designed to make everyone else comfortable. I’d rather sit barefoot on rooftops than cross my legs in rooms where I don't belong. No, I won’t soften to fit the room. I’ll leave the room before I ever leave myself.