Tuesday, July 8th, 2014

The smaller she got, the more compliments I received for her. 

"She looks so pretty!"

"She's so skinny now, I'm jealous!"

"She looks beautiful now"

She looks beautiful now? She always did! Her eyes are just like those of huskies and she's happy to say so, they go almost gray when she's angry. She has hair so different from everyone else's, long, and wavy, and red. Her voice brings audiences to tears of bliss and her intellect is far beyond her age.

But nobody cared until she stopped eating. 

She's my best friend and you've all made her believe that to be beautiful, she had to starve herself. 

Eradicate the notion that you have to be a double zero to be beautiful. The size of your body has nothing to do with how beautiful you are.

This is actually an old piece

He rubbed his nose along the back of my neck, tickling me. Lying on the couch, me cocooned within his arms, he parted the hair on my neck and kissed it, short little pecks all over my spinal region. He stopped kissing and just lay there, lips still igniting infernos of butterflies in my stomach by simply resting, warm and full, against me. His breath warmed my neck, condensing slightly. It was okay though. It was a sexy kind of condensation. He wrapped his arms more protectively around my torso, burying his nose in my hair. I grinned. I loved moments like these, small, secretive moments where words would disrupt the exploration of each others very beings. Moments in which we were one, yet were separate entities, synchronized breaths and hearts telling otherwise. Words would never truly sum up what I feel in these times, try as I might, I'll never be able to explain. No words do any of it justice. But three small, monosyllabic words come as close as possible.
"I love you," he breathed into my hair.

Thursday, May 21, 2014

My dad buried my dog the other day.

 I sat in front of her grave yesterday. I haven't seen her in months She was hit by a truck and I saw her when we thought she'd get better. She was getting so much better. Everything seemed fine.

A girl killed herself.

I didn't listen when her friend told me that she was going to. I've got to live with that. A girl is dead. But now she's with her mother. It looked like she would get better. Everything seemed fine.

My mother thinks I'm a whore.

I had sex with someone I love. It wasn't a crime. She told her best friend. Now the whole town knows. She started looking in my eyes again. Things were getting so much better. Everything seemed fine.

It isn't.

Thursday, April 24, 2014

Did you notice me today?
Probably not, even though I know we made eye contact
I smiled like I have in the past
But you looked the other way
Deliberately
I know because you looked back
Making sure I wasn't still smiling
And I was
So you turned away again
You used to be my best friend
You and the others
Now you've all cut us off
"Talk more," you say
But where's your effort?
I'm left remembering times that are slowly fading
And you're turning your head away
I suppose my clothes must be off-putting
Nothing like a fully clothed punk to lose a boy's attention
You were my best friend and now you have no interest in passing glances
It's not like I ever did anything to you
But you felt the need to mock me when I was most vulnerable
And when I stood up for myself
You disowned me
You were the one who brought on the name calling anyway
Even though my hairy arms meant nothing to you for four years before then
I'm willing to give you a chance to be my friend again
And all you want to do is turn your head away
Don't always expect my smile.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

He called our small town Stagnation. I never did figured out if he liked the play on words (or if he even noticed them for that matter), or if he just felt we were stagnant. I agreed with him fully though. Our small nation, barely a speck on a map, the unseen color on the spectrum, was stagnant as any other small town I'm sure, though we felt particularly trapped. And we had good reason. We were contained from the start, taught that life in a small town is the only way to live. No we weren't all friends, in fact we hardly associated with those outside our social standing or rather our economic standing. No money meant poor friends too. And so I grew up like that, the richest of a band of misfits. My house grew moss on the windows and had a constant cold feeling. Quite frequently we had leaks and drafts. The door vibrated when the wind blew and the water was undrinkable. But still I was the richest. We all came from nothing, some no fathers, some barely there, a couple no mothers. I had both, though not in the place. We were all stagnant.

He called our small town Stagnation, for we are never changing. Let's drink to that.


Whiskey Is My Kind of Lullaby

Thursday, March 13, 2014

Do you ever feel like you could live and die infinitely through the characters you most admire? Perpetually shaping yourself after those you find most exquisite. Molding our general behaviors, our idiosyncrasies to sync with those we find commendable in stories.

I will forever admire the charisma associated with Augustus Waters from The Fault in Our Stars. The magnetism associated with his easy smile, his limping gait no more a put off than his bright blue eyes. Loud and boisterous at times and other times taciturn, content in staying silent and happy, Augustus was kind and he knew how to love. Whether it was Isaac or Hazel, he was willing  to love, endlessly and passionately. He was charismatic and I wish I could be.



John Bender from  The Breakfast Club was neither charming nor friendly. He spoke his mind and he wasn't afraid to do so, and that is what I admire about him. He was a child who had grown tough in a world that taught him it was the only way to be and he learned to speak through that. I appreciate his struggle and I admire his honest and blatant views of the world, seen through the eyes of someone who has already seen too much. He is true to himself and I wish I could be.




We build ourselves from the bottom up, out of people we wish to be. I wish I were smarter like Hermione Granger, brave like Tris Prior, as full of love a midst adolescent angst as Vada Sultenfuss. We are exactly who we want to be, and yet, we never are enough. As long as new characters emerge, causing intense self-speculation, we will evolve into the form of who we want to be.

Infinitely, we merge with those we are shown, amalgamating everything we have ever come to love and creating a person we can come to love from it.

Monday, March 10, 2014.

If these are the best years of our lives, we've been cheated.

Where is it said that a fifteen year old girl should have to fight the battles her mother cannot? Stand up for her family against a tyranny at home. An overbearing presence, a dictator of sorts, elucidating our boundaries. Where is it said that she must protect those around her, only to get lashed at, knife-edged words thrown in her face, breaking her mind, breaking her heart. 

A double-edged sword, that's what life is. A double-edged sword and an out of control train. No way to go without maiming yourself and no way to know where it's going. Hold on for a ride that leads nowhere in particular. Beaten around, cut up, emerging lacerated and sore, but alive, because nothing has the mercy to end that for you, until you've endured all you possibly can. 

The best years of my life are yet to come.. My best years are not these. Not the war-zone ridden, can't escape if I tried melancholy years of which I live in now. For now I continue building castles on clouds, awaiting the day that I get out, ready to run. I won't be back. These are not my best years.