After a few bowls, several painfully loud tracks and harbored indescribable emotions, it results in awkward, unintelligible excerpts by a twenty-something year-old girl named Michelle that constantly thinks about food, sex, art, music and more food.

d e a r f r i e n d


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Dear Friend,

It’s been awhile, hasn’t it? I apologize.

I haven’t really had the inspiration to write. Granted, my mind and inspiration have been elsewhere. The past few things I’ve written haven’t been the most happiest or uplifting pieces either, so you might’ve been worried. Rest assured, I am in a much better place now. I know I worry a lot of people, especially with how much of a recluse I can be, but please know that I am okay, he is okay, we are okay – all is well.

I honestly don’t know where to begin. Despite the insomnia, terrible diet, weight gain, chain smoking, university, wisdom teeth coming in, my boyfriend’s flatulence, mine and my cat’s love-hate relationship, and me being a lazy fuck, I’ve mustered up some kind of urge to write.

You guys are probably really sick of me talking about myself, love, relationships, souls, assholes, girls making out, and blah blah blah, all that bullshit, but unfortunately, that’s what I like to write. I’d like to think that some of you enjoy reading what goes on in this little, chaotic (and extremely messy) purple head of hair of mine, but I don’t write for others. I write for myself.

I generally write when I’m in emotional turmoil, as you could tell from before, but I also need to start writing when I’m inspired so I don’t seem like a depressed little Tumblr girl all the time. I am, unfortunately, a grown-ass woman (as much as I hate to admit that I’m no longer 18 and that everything cannot be excused because I’m a teenager and I look 12 half the time, which I blame the asian genes for) and that I need to showcase what I’m actually capable of creating…which isn’t much. Oh well.

Let’s just say that life will throw a million lemons at you and people will tell you to make lemonade out of it, but what about lemon meringue pie? Lemon chicken? The lemon you squeeze over calamari? The lemon wedge on a glass of some kind of mixed alcoholic beverage or a chaser for a tequila shot that will make you temporarily forget all those problems actually exist??

I’ve tried all those methods and let me tell you something – I’ve learned to cut the lemon into slices and to eat it just like that. Sour and extremely terrible for the enamel on your teeth, but hey, eventually you get used to it and when life decides to throw more lemons your way, you know you can suck on it and swallow with no problems now. Pun intended.

Enough of my quirky babbling, let’s get back to writing.

I’ll see you again soon, Friend.

Yours sincerely,



a l i v e

Ghosts are real.

They’re the people that left a burning hole in your heart; mind; soul

They’re the people who still haunt you, even in their absence

They’re real because they still haunt your soul

But they’re still wandering this earth,

Alive, breathing and real.

s m o t h e r

I woke up today already feeling sick.


No, not the type where I feel like I’m under the weather. It’s the type of sick where I’m having such crippling and severe anxiety and depression that I always feel like I’m going to fucking throw up. The worst part about all of this, is that I’m so used to hiding it that no one notices and this is after years of people telling me my problems are irrelevant, invalid and minuscule. But, it’s actually getting to the point where it’s starting to show through in my actions and my facial expressions. You know it’s bad when your boss notices; the person who you’re the farthest away from being emotionally conntected to.


The walls I built so high are crumbling down, but not for anyone. It’s crumbling down because everything hidden behind it is destroying those barriers since there is no more room to hide in my mind anymore. It wants more room; it wants to occupy a bigger space and it has decided to take over my whole body. It’s starting to physically affect me, as opposed to only making my thoughts run wild. My walls are being destroyed from the inside – from my own thoughts, from my own self.


I thought my self-destructive days were over.


God, why do I find it so fucking hard to talk to people about it? Why is it so hard to open up to people? Why is it so hard to ask for help? I’m honestly so fucking sick and tired of wanting to kill myself all the time because of how bad my anxiety and depression is getting. It’s beginning to be normal to feel this way. My anxiety and depression are smothering me. I can barely breathe half the time, and no, it’s not from smoking. I quit that awhile ago.


I literally choke when I mention my mental illnesses to someone. It’s like my body isn’t allowing me to tell others so they can help me. My depression is holding me captive and I can’t even scream for help because of my anxiety. This is not normal. This should not be happening. This is how shit gets horribly bad.


I’m screaming so loud internally just so I don’t have to listen to my thoughts trying to take over. It’s like I’m being shot at constantly in the chest and my thoughts are barricading my mind from thinking of something positive and it’s suffocating me. I don’t need to hear that I’m not good enough or that I’m worthless or that I’m helpless. I don’t need to hear that shit.


This is going to get to a point where I become dead inside and I will no longer be able to feel for a long time. I’ll be numb. People say it’s better to feel something than nothing at all but honestly, I would rather be numb.


On a sort of lighter note: I’m trying to force myself to eat breakfast and it’s a really hard task, but I’m doing it. I’m probably going to throw this all up in about 10-15 minutes like I did yesterday. It sucks because I really do love food.


Fuck, I need a cigarette.

l e t g o

It’s been awhile since I wrote like this, but I took a moment to myself while having a smoke in the chilly March air on the balcony and looked up at the faint stars and realized something:

As big as problems may seem to you right now, they will be irrelevant in the future. Remember that.

These problems are minor. We take so many things for granted because we’re so caught up in useless, minuscule problems that no longer matter. Don’t let those problems weigh on your mind and soul – it’s not worth it. The past is the past. The problems in the past should also stay in the past. There’s no reason to bring these forward unless it’s affecting your life at this very moment.

As much as I want to run away from all of this, I need to remember there are people here that care about me and don’t want me to leave. Just as I would feel if it were the same situation with them.

Like I said, these problems are no longer supposed to be a part of your life.

Let go.

s o u l


There are people out there that have pieces of your soul. Maybe your most delicate pieces too; pieces you can no longer take back. Whether taken by force or given, that part of your soul is no longer yours. You lose a part of your soul to someone in the past, hopefully to be healed and replaced with a new part of your soul. But what if that doesn’t happen? Do we live with that empty void in our chest? In our souls?


My soul is scattered amongst so many people. But it isn’t only scattered amongst past relationships. This is so much more than that.

I still have a part of my soul with me, my most delicate part of my soul, and no one has ever been close enough to see it, let alone touch it or have a grasp of it.


I’m still so young, so my soul hasn’t been rebuilt yet. I’ve been stripped down to almost nothing, but the only thing keeping me going is that part of my soul I protect so dearly. There might have been someone out there that almost got to see it, but I didn’t let them. I push people away before they get that close, or they leave right before I let them catch a glimpse of it.


That is one of my biggest fears: someone I love leaving with a part of my soul. I rarely ever give anyone a part of me, especially after the first person who took a piece of my soul and broke it into several fragments that I can never get back, rebuild, or piece back together.

I hope that one day I’ll be able to fill the cracks left behind from everyone who has a fragment of my soul. I’ll never be whole again, but I know one day, that someone will make me feel like a whole person again. I’m tired of feeling almost soulless. I’m tired of people peeling me a part and disappearing afterwards.

I’ll hold onto the last bit of my soul for myself and someone who can share this part of me and put together the fragments with theirs – a soul mate, a friend, a lover, a family member, and anyone else.


My soul is mine and I don’t know if I can let someone take another part of me again. Hopefully the last person who is holding it will keep it and cherish it without crushing it into smaller fragments to the point I can no longer handle it.


Maybe he’s been the missing pieces of my soul all along. I just need to finally let him in and hope that he won’t leave and shatter me again.

w a l l s


The problem with getting close to someone – breaking down their walls and/or letting them break down yours – gives them the ability to destroy you in so many ways possible.


And that’s absolutely terrifying.


How do you know if someone is worth letting in? How do you know if you can actually trust them with the most delicate parts of your soul?


You will never know. And that is also terrifying.


That’s where risk comes in. You either jump into whatever it is with caution or completely reckless.


You see, that’s where I have a problem. Never have I not jumped into something recklessly because I’m more of an emotional person than logical, and that fucks me over every time. I never learn sometimes – I feel too much and I never think enough. But I over-think while I let my emotions run wild and that’s never a good thing.


So, where was I?


Oh, yeah. Letting people break down your walls and vice versa.


There’s never a clear answer to whether or not someone is worth giving the power to destroy you. That’s where you step in and you try to think logically on whether or not this person is capable of keeping these fragile parts of your soul in their hands without crushing it.


But, let me tell you something.


These type of things are never easy, I get that. But how are we going to learn anything if we keep ourselves shielded from letting people in? Each individual that we let in can teach us something new about the world. They can even help you learn something new about yourself that you never knew existed. Trust me on that. If they destroy you, then you can take that experience and make yourself into a better person from that. If you need to take a step back and be reckless to fix yourself, then do it. You will learn so much more by taking risks than keeping yourself safe behind your four walls.


Let yourself get hurt. Let that person in and give them that power to destroy you. Only then will you learn about these different types of people, how they work, who to avoid, and who to let in. It will eventually get to a point where you’ll meet someone one day that will change your mind on everything you thought you knew about protecting yourself and you’ll say,


“Fuck it.”


And your whole life will change.

g h o s t


This took me a lot longer than I expected to write. Only because I started writing this when I was in a better place with a whole different outlook on the world, a very naive view of this place. But that changed as days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, and months turned me into this whole new version of myself that I never thought could exist.

Rewind to a few months ago where I supposedly had my life in order: I once had a friend (or rather, acquainted a stranger, for lack of a better word) in this suffocating, nondescript city that I honestly believed was something else; a breath of fresh air – something special.

I remember crashing at this friend’s, sorry, I meant to say stranger’s, house from being too whiskey-wasted. Ah, whiskey, the bane of my existence. It was a little night of adventure and swimming in a sea of blankets in our intoxicated state (lol oops smh).

I woke up an hour later after tossing and turning, tangled in his sheets with alcohol still rushing through my veins and decided to sneak the fuck out before I felt that all of that was real. I stole the shirt he put on me to sleep in and lost my sock in the process of it all, but I didn’t care. I wanted to leave as soon as possible.

I left before either one of us had the ability to hurt the other, before I realized this all actually really happened. The last thing I wanted was to get attached to someone who was already emotionally disconnected and seemingly – a ghost.

I smoked a lot of his cigarettes that night, so I left him a few of mine on the table and I left him a little message with the magnetic poetry I left behind on his fridge so he knew I didn’t treat him like a one night stand because I’m not that kind of person.


“See you someday, my friend. Smile.”


And I snuck out.


How do you go about writing something that was only a small palpitation in amidst the several beatings of an intoxicated heart? Almost the tiniest tremor but in that slightly terrifying moment, you thought you could die. That small frisson stopping you in your tracks and you realize that you need to take a step back, breathe, and calm down but you don’t want to. The feeling is addicting so you hope it might happen again; the adrenaline that you get from experiencing the closest thing to death but not actually dying. That’s what it felt like to get lost in him.

Let’s blame Starbucks, horror movies, a boy with unruly hair, Southern Comfort, and Jack Daniels for what you’re about to read. Whiskey – the one thing that will turn me into a version of myself I never thought existed – thank you for screwing with me this past summer. As if having me puke all over an old boyfriend’s bed (twice), breaking chairs, double fisting Jagermeister and Absolut, and jumping into a pool of Coke wasn’t enough. Thank you.


“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”, that’s the start of every conversation between two old, forgotten friends out there. That’s how all this shit began. Along with a stupid Facebook friend request, quite a few shots, several cigarettes, and this fucking sneaky little bastard.

I may or may not have a thing for tall boys with curly brown hair and a goofy innocent grin to complete the package. I guess the reoccurring pattern is really catching up to me and biting me in the ass. Fuck.

He was someone I knew when I was younger that I considered a friend. I barely knew him, but at that age I was too young to differentiate between a friend and someone I talked to in my classes once or twice a week. I have faint memories of laughter, pairing up for scenes during acting classes, nonsensical conversations and goodbye hugs from those far away days.

I was timid, awkward, introverted, and an entirely other human being at the time and I’m sure he was too, because meeting him again a few months ago made it seem as if I were letting a complete stranger into my life, then letting him walk right back out after he achieved some kind of goal, as if the situation that happened between us was absolutely irrelevant in both of our lives. Much to his oblivion and to mine, it was relevant, unfortunately.

You know when you notice something in someone that you don’t necessarily see in other people and it intrigues you without even realizing it? Whether it’s physical, emotional, or mental, it takes a grip of your mind and you don’t realize until you’re haunted with memories of something that you wished didn’t happen? That you were better off not over-thinking things, that you could’ve done differently to make them see that you’re not just some bitch to fuck when they were feeling lonely and horny? That a better outcome would come up if you did this or that differently?

The ‘something’ that made him different was that being around him was equivalent to taking ecstasy – the experience I had was just like a steep, bumpy roller coaster ride. I experienced an extreme high where everything just felt amazing, but once the effect wore off, the low felt like an absolute train wreck. I don’t think anyone had given me so much anxiety before in my life. This new level of anxiety opened up my eyes to how much I could really handle.

There is so much I’ve learned about myself the past few months than I have in a long, long time. I guess once your soul has been bared down to a blank space, there’s nothing to lose at that point. So it’s okay to start with a new slate and build yourself up once again into a better version of yourself, even if there’s a few bumps on the way that don’t even make sense to your old self.


I have a hard time opening up to anyone, but with the help of a few shots of hard liquor and my clouded, deluded mind, I started to spill out all over a canvas for someone to see – ghost.

You see, the thing about this ghost, was that he wasn’t fond of letting ‘new’ people in. I started to feel a little special there because he seemed to have let me in. But I just piqued his inevitable curiosity when I showcased something he wanted. Something to light a fire in his stagnant life; a temporary muse; another notch on his bed post. Whether or not those were his initial intentions, the aftermath of it all left a burning hole in the back of my head and a sickening feeling in my stomach.

The fact that I was an intriguing conquest, but not fascinating enough to hold a little longer once it was all over, not even as a friend – and I know for a fact that I make a pretty damn good friend – made my brain hurt more than it should have. No one should have the power to do that to someone.


(I can be a conquest, but that wasn’t even the beginning of it. I’m all mountains, caves and deep, dark forests with fires waiting to start with thundering downpour following. Add a few NPCs and (unnecessarily difficult) side quests and that’s basically me in a nutshell. Combine both Skyrim and Diablo and play it in Nightmare mode and wish yourself luck. Or if Ramona Flowers (Scott Pilgrim) and Clementine Kruczynski (Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind) became one, that would be me.)


It made me think something was wrong with me, that I’ve done something wrong, or that I wasn’t good enough. I started losing my self-worth because all I believed at that point was that I was only good for physical attraction, an empty encasement for people to lose themselves in temporarily. And the worst part of it was that I let myself fall right back into him more than once. I am much more than this whole fucked up ordeal but for some ridiculous reason, I still did it. I was self-destructive. I was becoming a person I never wanted to be. I lost respect for myself when it all came crashing down and I found myself lost in something that only existed on one side of the story.

This is probably not the only time he’s done this to someone, considering he seemed to be well aware of what he was doing, even if he acted oblivious. But let me ask you this – why? This boy could have anyone he wanted and if it was just for physical attraction, why come back to me again and again after the first time? Why not go for the next girl? Maybe I should have known better than to let him, but I didn’t. I didn’t know what I was doing. I don’t know what I’m doing. All I know is that I am a human being and that I deserve to be treated so much better than this.

I barely knew his favourite colour or how he took his coffee but I knew how his lips and hands felt and how I now have an appreciation for brown eyes because of him.

I honestly believed he was such an endearing goof.

I’m deathly terrified of becoming attached to anyone and this fucking boy – this ghost – has just worsened it even more. I never get attached to people and he almost hit that mark. But he didn’t. Thank God.

In the grand scheme of things, he has no idea that I felt like this with this stupid situation as a contributing factor. Not that he’d care anyway.

He’s most likely onto his next conquest. I just hope the next girl (or boy) isn’t as weak as I was at the time.


Of all the people to cross paths with, why did he have to cut through mine?


Ghost, if you happen to stumble across this, know that you weren’t the only thing that frustrated me this summer nor were you the only thing or person on my mind. I had other concerning things to worry about other than a boy who couldn’t even explain a reason for ghosting someone after stripping them down like that or who can’t even send a text to say, straight up, that you no longer wanted anything to do with them. Or even just text back in general. How hard is it to text someone back? And to be honest, you were probably one of the only things that made my summer relatively better, even if you were a dick (and quite a bit of a fuckboy). Thanks for helping me forget the shit going on in my life for the time I spent with you. That’s one thing I am appreciative about you for.

P.S: Can I have my magnetic poetry back? And my shorts? Copper can keep his gifts – he’s probably ate them all already, not that I mind. I hope he liked them. He was one of my favourite things about you. I hope your weeks/months have been well and hopefully you’re still not being pretty shitty to other people and not be able to explain why. Hopefully we’ll talk again as friends or maybe never talk ever again. You’re unpredictable and I can usually read people easily but you were the first person to make that the hardest task for me. I guess all those acting lessons paid off, eh?

P.P.S: See you someday, my stranger, my ghost. Smile.


a l w a y s


We spent a summer on her balcony, chain smoking into the early hours of the morning, talking about taking over the world and what adventures we would embark on together. I loved her and she loved me too, but we never talked about it. We could both feel it, yet we never said a thing to each other.

And now she’s gone and we are no longer together.

We’re on separate paths and I keep trying to hold onto this string between her and I, dragging along a huge piece of our history behind us – despite being worlds apart – to have some kind of closure, but she’s moved on to better things.

So am I, but I’ll keep her in my heart and memories. Always.

I’m so happy for her. I hope she doesn’t replace me in her heart because no one could replace her in mine. 

t r a p p e d

He was one hard pill to swallow, and he was one regretful, unforgettable night with her head in the toilet, expelling the contents of everything the pill released through her pulsing veins.

She’s never been bitter about anyone or anything until he decided to touch her soul and ruin her. She was a free spirit; a wanderess. She was never one to settle, to never invest, to never be tied down. But suddenly, she found herself locked unwillingly in a cage, fighting to break through the indestructible bars with her weak fists. He was the captor and she was the victim. But she cared for him and she didn’t care how much it killed her to be trapped, even when he couldn’t give two fucks about her.

Being trapped began to drain her of her free spirit nature. She soon became introverted and locked away – cold, distant, and bitter. She’s never been like this before.

She was tainted by his poison and there was no antidote to save her from the wrenching pain it was causing her muscles. But, she believed he was the cure to the pain he was causing her.

Love shouldn’t feel like this.

“It’s not love.” She murmured to herself.

Delusional and masochistic. That’s what she was. She clung onto dear life to something she so badly wanted that the only rational way to explain her addiction to this pain was ‘love’. But it isn’t.

a n g e l

Brown eyes, unruly curly brown hair, an innocent grin and dark ripped jeans with a cigarette between his lips.
That’s how I remembered that the devil could be disguised as an angel
Because an angel would never cause this much pain to someone’s soul.