society-ofdeadpoets - Tumblr blog

[society-ofdeadpoets]

[society-ofdeadpoets]

little abstract painting of dream in his realm

[society-ofdeadpoets]

"just put yourself out there" what if I scared. what then.

[society-ofdeadpoets]

i don’t want to be a person you love

“I love you,” you say. 

But more days often than not your voice goes unheard. I’m stuck on a useless loop of wondering where you are and what you’re doing– if you’re safe with people who care or in danger with those who don’t– or worse, if you’re lying dead in a ditch or if you’re alive and well but choose not to have me around anyway.

“I love you,” you say. 

But the other people you’ve claimed the same ideal to only have bruised hearts and eyes to show for it. Perhaps I’m fortunate you “love” me from afar, or maybe it says something telling that not even someone as terrible as you can stand me.

“I love you,” you say.

But there’s a crackling fire of fury in my chest that I fear will become me. I’m cut from a cloth of you and all I’ve ever known you to be is clenched fists, harmful words, jail cells, and wasted potential. I dread the day I look in the mirror and see you. 

“I love you,” you say. 

But there’s a grim knowing tethered to my bones that you are not and never will be the reason I know what a parent is. In fact, you’re the sole reason I pray I never become one. Dying would be easier than having a child of my own repeat my fate. 

“I love you,” you say. 

But every memory I have of you is disguised as a nightmare. From the long painful nights of you walking out doors to the mourning that followed the days after. To the message that told me you had died which bled into unanswered phone calls until I found out you hadn’t. Through the violent outbursts, crying, lies, threats, and abandonment--  every single fucking moment with you has been an unwarranted trauma. 

“I love you,” you say. 

But you don’t even know the meaning. 

So I respond, “I don’t want to be a person you love.” 

9/25/22

[society-ofdeadpoets]

as a bisexual stranger things fan i’m pretty sure you all could guess that i’m in love with eddie munson. but, just to clarify…. I AM IN LOVE WITH EDDIE MUNSON.

[society-ofdeadpoets]

winona ryder's character in stranger things has never been wrong even once and every time the fucking gravity turns off or whatever she says "hey thats weird right" and everyone in a 10 mile radius is like "woah category five woman moment incoming"

[society-ofdeadpoets]

Back to the Future dir. Robert Zemeckis | 1985

[society-ofdeadpoets]

Pat Parker // Nikos Kazantzakis

[society-ofdeadpoets]

what’s your spotify wrapped 2021 opening credits theme song

[society-ofdeadpoets]

if you hate winter you havent found the right winter coat yet. a good winter coat will change everything

[society-ofdeadpoets]

Anxiety

I sometimes go from place to place, chasing for a short-lived moment of peace that I crave. It's hard to get out of my own head and be something other than the depression anymore. It's a flaw, letting a singular emotion take over who you are as a person. I have yet to meet a version of myself that I like, but this one I find to be the ugliest. She goes through the motions and lives in a constant state of worry. She either feels too much or nothing at all. She fears the things she loves most.

And unfortunately, she thinks:

Something's wrong. Someone is hurt. They need you and you fail to be there. You're sick. You're dying. You're too much. You're not enough. Your mind is made up of defective thoughts. Your hands are cold and cracked from how obsessively you wash them. You can't walk off the dread or the knots that settle in your stomach. People are watching. People are talking. People are people and you don't feel like a person. You aren't you.

You aren't the same. You aren't the same. You aren't the same.

Who is she? I think about that when I look in a mirror or when I pull out chunks of hair from the stress or when I scratch at my hands in an attempt to wake them up after an episode. I feel like a clone; a shell of a copy of who I once was.

I'm a worse version of the worst version of myself. The insanity of that statement is laughable, which is why I do it to cope. I laugh loudly to the point where my heartbeat accelerates, my chest tightens, my hands fly over my aching stomach, and tears form in my eyes.

But once the laughter fades and I sit in a blaring silence, my heart continues to race, my chest fills with dread, my hands go numb, my stomach forms knots and my tears turn into ones of anger. It's at that moment I realize I'm consumed by the anxiety.

11/29/21

[society-ofdeadpoets]

i hate people who can just do the things they decide to do without their brains holding them hostage

[society-ofdeadpoets]

Fuck texts, calls, write me a letter instead.

[society-ofdeadpoets]

waking up to the sound of rain >

[society-ofdeadpoets]

i wish all of us a very "get more irl friends" in these coming months

[society-ofdeadpoets]

I wish lesbians were as easy to find in real life as they are on tumblr

[society-ofdeadpoets]