writtenbycali

[writtenbycali]

entry 5 // June 25, 2025

Carved

I wish I could carve off

every inch of skin

he laid his hands on.

Take a blade to the places

he branded with breath,

dig out the fingerprints

he left like rot beneath the surface.

I want to peel myself

from the outside in—

strip away the silence,

the shame,

the filth

he taught my body to wear

like it was mine.

I didn’t say yes.

But my skin remembers

like I did.

It recoils from touch,

burns beneath clothes,

whispers dirty

when no one’s speaking.

He walked away clean.

I stayed behind

bleeding into bathtubs,

wishing hot water

could scald me new.

Could melt the memory

out of my flesh.

They say it’s not my fault.

Then why does it live

in the marrow?

Why does my reflection

look like a crime scene

I keep coming back to?

I want to be reborn

in a body he’s never seen.

One he never touched.

Never ruined.

But I’m still here—

stitched into skin that betrays me

every time I breathe.

And God,

if I could

just tear it all away—

I swear

I’d finally feel clean.

[writtenbycali]

entry 4 // (draft) June 20, 2025

one more little flower

They said, “plant good thoughts”—

so I buried one

in the corner of my skull,

where sunlight never quite reached

and the soil tasted like static.

It bloomed crooked,

a little violet thing,

shivering against

the iron bars of my reason,

gasping for something

that wasn’t rot.

But the others came crawling.

Not flowers—no.

Thorns with lullabies,

vines with sharp tongues,

weeds in the shapes of memories

I swore I’d buried.

They grew loud.

Louder than sleep.

Louder than love.

Louder than the quiet voice

that used to call me back.

Now, the mirror won’t meet my eyes.

Rooms bend at the corners.

Laughter echoes with too many teeth.

And somewhere beneath the noise,

that little violet wilts,

petals curling like fists.

One more little flower,

I whisper,

like a prayer,

like a promise,

like a lie.

But my hands are shaking—

soil on my palms,

blood in the dirt.

And I can’t remember

if I’m planting it

or burying it.

[writtenbycali]

entry 3 // June 13, 2025

she smiles in pink

like morning light spilling gently

warmth that wraps around the quiet air

a bloom unfolding slow and sweet

her smile — my favorite place to stay

it’s in the way the sunlight lingers

soft on petals freshly kissed by dew

the gentle curve of hope and kindness

painting every moment new

when she smiles, the world feels softer

like a whisper only hearts can hear

a tender promise wrapped in pink

that love is always near

her smile is a secret melody

a quiet song that pulls me close

in its glow, I find my peace

the sweetest truth I know

[writtenbycali]

entry 2 // May 25, 2025

spilled ink & smoke

She sat on a curb with mascara running down her cheekbones and a cigarette burning between two chipped fingernails. Rain clung to her hair like a lover who wouldn’t let go, soaking the spine of the poetry book stuffed into her coat. Sylvia Plath, half ruined, pages warped and weeping.

Her stepdad’s words still rang in her head: “Get out. You don’t belong here.”

Her mother didn’t stop him. She didn’t even flinch.

So she left—half-drunk on cheap vodka she stole from the cabinet, heart too full of words she never said. The bottle now sat in her bag next to a half-eaten granola bar and a pack of matches she didn’t remember buying.

Everything felt surreal. Like she was watching her own life from above, like a character in one of those novels she used to read under the covers at night while the shouting downstairs made her headphones useless.

She took a drag, exhaled slow, watched the smoke unravel like a poem she couldn’t finish. There was nowhere to go, not really—but that felt less terrifying than the idea of going back.

She wasn’t fragile.

She was frayed.

And tonight, that was enough.

[writtenbycali]

Entry 1 // May 22, 2025

i thought summer would fix it.

i used to tell myself that if i could just make it through the school year, i’d be okay.

school was loud. exhausting. too many people, too much noise, too many fake smiles.

it drained me.

every day felt like i was holding my breath.

so i kept thinking—summer will be better.

summer will be quiet. peaceful. safe.

but here i am.

first day of summer break.

and the quiet feels like a trap.

there’s no one texting me.

no one asking to hang out.

the people i thought were my friends?

they’ve disappeared like i was some obligation they finally got out of.

i thought i wanted space.

i thought the silence would help.

but now all i hear is the echo of people moving on without me.

and it stings.

i didn’t like school.

but at least there were people.

at least i felt visible—even if it was in passing, even if it was fake.

now it’s just me.

no distractions.

just me and this aching feeling that maybe i’m easy to forget.

summer isn’t what i hoped it’d be.

it’s not freedom.

it’s just loneliness in a prettier setting.

[writtenbycali]

“I have so much to say to you that l am afraid I shall tell you nothing.”

Fyodor Dostoevsky