TreeThugger

@tr33thugg3r.bsky.social

255 Followers 568 Following

poetry, pixels & everything in between. i'm trying to find the balance between knowing the truth and acting it out 🔗 Linktr.ee/tr33thugg3r they're teaching me what it means to be normal

Everyone gets crossed. That's life. Everyone has a breaking point. That's aftermath. Some people collapse inward, make a shelter out of damage, prove no one can reach them the way they can reach themselves. Others rupture. And whoever's closest inherits the mess. Hope you're not nearby when I find mine. ·• TreeThugger •· [Image: on the left, a blue tinted painting of a person in a cocoon and on the right, a red fiery person exploding with a person running away.]
Sneak peek title: The Science (And Addiction) of Self-Harm A confession of a self-mutilator..
Jane Hirshfield I am asked a question. My life asks me a question. I suggest a better question, One I like more the sound of, With more pleasing grammar. My life humors me. My life asks me that. I don't know an answer. Life is stubborn and clever. Life says: you must choose. I can't choose. I leave the question. I go into the garden and weed. My life weeds with me. The knees of my pants are stained.
A man sitting in a chair at a table by himself. An empty chair is across from him. He's facing the door. i sit where i can see the door you ask if I’m okay i say yeah like it’s muscle memory you tell a story i miss the middle your kindness feels real that’s the problem i don’t know how long people stay when they don’t have to ·• TreeThugger •·
Plucked from the ground, I hoped You would bring your beauty home with me. And you did - For about half a day. It didn't take long for your color To fade as you began to wilt, cut off From the environment that nurtured you And gave you all the nutrients You could ever need. You tried to shine your light, A brilliant hue against the hard greywash, But I should have known It would be too much to ask. And I'm afraid the same thing Is happening to me. ·• TreeThugger •·
The best part of remembering myself is forgetting whatever version I’m remembering. I like when an old idea of me slips out of my hands & crashes somewhere soft where I don’t have to pick it up again. Though sometimes the worst part is wondering if there really was a “better” me, or just a string of approximations that got tired. Like when I try doing something & end up staring thinking about the moment my life zigged instead of zagging—if it even did.