The Survival Collective
I'm writing a biographical poetry/ prose book. This is it. Content Warning: subjects include alcoholism, thoughts of suicide, thoughts of self-harm, depression, mental illness, anxiety, gendered slurs, etc.
Home Theme And let the mouths babble. Introduction Table of contents

What I Once Was

The girl I once was was a little timid. A little naive. Still learning.
The girl I once was was hopeful and chaotic and had eyes full of bright light and promises.
The girl I once was could roar like a lion and tear down who she wanted, but she never wanted to.
The girl I once was took pain and suffered only a small time before she could lift herself back up.
The thing I am now is afraid of her own shadow. Restless at night with fast and heavy heartbeats and eyes stained; she knows better.
The thing I am now can’t find solace in a better future, wears heavy, dim eyes and only desires to remove her own skin and disappear.
The thing I am now lashes out from fear because people can only enjoy someone so long before it’s an old rag.
The thing I am now takes in each wave of pain and suffering and locks it in place to intenalize while the world demands it be hidden to the public.
The thing I am now isn’t even half the girl I used to be. She is not a woman, she is a shell of a human being, she is a disaster; a result of hazardous care and a lack of self-preservation.

I’m Lost.

I miss the feeling of happiness.
I miss being able to live everyday not like I’m dying on the inside, but like I’m flying.

I miss the feeling of confidence.
I miss looking at myself, and seeing something worth a second glance; worth time and effort and care.

I miss the feeling of security.
Of feeling safe in my own home, instead of the sudden need to binge eat until I puke and stay up countless nights, shaking and alone because I’m too frightened of how worthless I am to call out for help, and I’m too plagued by the monster up the stairs at the end of the hall, sleeping next to my mother.

I miss having a home, because I am without one, and I am lost.


Tonight is filled with light.

Floating grey smoke and low sounds.

Soft pianos.

I am flying, I am sailing,

past deep holes, high peaks.

Higher than the sun, higher than I’ve ever been

all while still knowing I have to come down soon.

The world doesn’t matter, the pain is not stronger

And I am not weaker.

I’m just fine.

Don’t Send the Letter

Dear boy,

Why do I like you? Why do I even REMOTELY like you? You’re a fucking idiot, and a stupid hopeless romantic and I hate you. A lot.

But I also want to feel your skin. Want to have your heat at my back, blowing through my ear. I want your soft kisses and curious touch.

I get what you’re going through, and it sucks. And it hurts because you think you’re going to last forever and you’re so in love it hurts and then they leave. They fill in the blank with someone, and you can’t decide if you’re in rage and hate or sadness and despair.

But I’m angry. I’m angry because no matter what I say or do, I’m not ever good enough. I know from experience. And it hurts because I’m just a dopey, angry little cunt with a butch haircut and a flabby body. And anyone that you or anyone else chooses over me is pretty, and feminine with long hair, and a dainty body and blonde or some exciting hair color with eyes that aren’t the color of shit on a warm day.

I want to smack you in the face, again. I want to kick you in the shins and yell and scream at how dumb you are because someone who treats you like shit isn’t worth it and I want to yell because you never talk to me and I’m the one who always has to talk first.

But I want to kiss you and tell you that things get better because I told you that everything was fine and this is my own fault, and because I know it gets better for anyone that isn’t me. And I still want to talk to you even though initiating terrifies me because if I were anyone else I would never want to talk to me unless I had to respond out of politeness.

I want to stop feeling even the slightest feelings for you because you’re so frustrating and I deserve some sort of stable fling, or anything because I can’t handle uncertainty and I’m afraid you don’t respect me as a person and it hurts.

But I want to hope you might pick up on what I’m feeling so I don’t have to go yelling it at you and I want to see what comes to me because I’m never good enough to try for more than I get and I couldn’t ever blame anyone for not respecting me because I’m always so worthless.

And that’s why you’ll never say yes. People are only attracted to stable, confident people and I can’t be mad because crazy isn’t attractive, but I wish you were attracted enough to see that maybe I won’t be such a wreck if I ever get stable ground under my feet again.


I’ll probably never tell you this.

I Bled Today

        I bled today.

And when I bled, I wept.

Not from sadness, not from anger

But from hope; happiness; a life worth living.

        I did not bleed yesterday.

I cried and cried for hours.

Terrified of the nightmare coming true.

Of shame, and abandonment; of pain, and loneliness and ruin.

       I prayed last night.

I never really pray.

But I sat and I cried and I begged.

Because a baby herself can’t suffer what she’s not ready for.

      I was recklessly irresponsible for a single point in my life.

But I never really was; I was calculating and I’d thought I had the math all right.

My math was a little backwards, so this week I waited.

I sat, terrified, every night.

     I bled today.

And I cried.

Because my nightmares washed away by the dam breaking loose

By the river flooding over

And releasing something I could never truly appreciate before today.


I am a normal human being.
I am unimportant.
I am small.
I do not deserve the life I’ve been given.
So the world ruined it.
It made me stupid.
It made me a nobody.
It made me a screw up.
And so I shall be.


There are tiny little beasts.

They have teeth and claws and viscious voices

burrowing through my skin.

Writing everything wrong;

Everything disgusting;

Everything frighteningly obvious.

The tingling on my sweat-slicked skin is nightmarish, coarse, loud.

With eyes shut, they only get louder

Breathing becomes harder.

Thinking is impossible.

Fear is my only thought.

Shaking my only movement.

Eyes overflow

Am I dying?

Am I drowning?

Am I falling?

Everything seems better than this little hell wrapped up under the comforter, in the dark of night

With no one else to save me.

I’ve done the worksheets.

I’ve done the breathing exercises.

I still don’t know why they happen.

So suddenly, without warning.

My brain screams ‘Panic Panic.’


I know what rejection is.
Rejection is an ignored phone call
a “want to be single”
a “no”
no response at all.
I know what rejection means
You’re annoying
You’re not pretty enough
You’re personality is ugly
You’re nothing anyone wants
You’re crazy.
I know what failure is.
I give up trying to talk
I back off without trying
I’m too scared to know the answer.
It’s all assumptions,
Everyone will always tell me it’s wrong.
But when everyone else rejects you,
you’re too scared to face it again.


My want is my worst enemy.
Emotions are something I shouldn’t have.
But, your strange charm and wit reel me in every time.
I’m lonely and desperate and wanting for attention.
You give me the attention of bare skin and sudden touches
under hot breath and lightly gnashing teeth.
I want closeness.
I want gentle touches and warm embraces.
Soft kisses as the hours waft by.
In silence; noise; anything.
Without the need to please the lustful ideas that rest in our minds; but not opposing.
I want the feeling of being alive without pushing the limits of my being.
I need to feel like I’m more important than I’ve convinced myself I am.
And it won’t happen.


You’re no good for me.

Your skin reeks of cigarettes that you said you once quit.

Your fingers feel calloused from guitar strings.

You’re no good for me.

You don’t ask before you lay light kisses all across my face.

Your lips, softer than cotton, leave tingles on my skin as they recede.

You’re no good for me.

Your touch is sudden; without warning.

Your embrace is strong; gently squeezing; holding; longing.

You’re no good for me.

You’ve already burned me; your wandering lust.

Your breath is minty and cool against my lips.

You’re no good for me.

Your wonder pushes boundaries that I should enforce,

Your eyes stare into me, brown pools of awe.

You’re no good for me,

But I’m lonely; wanting; hopeful; desperate; stupid.

My mind says no, but my heart and lust so desperately fight,

Ignoring the past.

I should know better,

You should be wiser,

We should be smarter,

But we’re not.

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