When I was younger, I thought I was as mature as a teenager
Now in my adolescence, I realize i'm still not as mature as teenager
Mature is a state of mind
And if the state of my mind is consistently and always scrambled, how can I be as mature as a teenager.
When I was younger I wanted to be a teenager
The freedom in driving and plethora of friends that I knew I would have.
My naivety
No one tells you that when you're a teenager, you can be surrounded by people, but still feel like no one gets you.
You also don't want to be the angsty teenager
So **** it up and
b friendly
Be popular
be cool
I don't think my mind or my mouth got the memo
Friendly I am
But I don't think i've ever hit that cool mark
But really, who needs cool when you can overthink your entire existence
Ah, being a teenager the best years of your life
Really just really soak that in

I think perhaps that I am too sensitive
The snowflake
The idea that my generation is soft and can't handle conflict might be true, because because in my eyes, all conflict is evil,
maybe I am stirring up conflict,
maybe I am the one whole holding the lighter and lighter fluid at the bridges that I burn.
Maybe I'm too sensitive.
A snowflake in a pool of lava,
I am just begging to burn in flames. Perhaps I just am unable to live a life without conflict.
Maybe I'm just messy.
Maybe I'm too sensitive
offended by everyones words
hurt by every pin
Maybe I'm too sensitive

I write and I write
Everything that I write.
I want to share with the world
But The words written within the walls of this little app are reason to be concerned for my mental state
Reason to put me under a psychiatric hold
Institutionalize me
Medicate me
Sedate me
Tie me to a hospital bed with handcuffs as the voices that linger in my mind consume my every thought
Hold me in a padded room
Hold me in a straight jacket
Hold me
Just hold me till my tears run dry
I write and I write, but never will these words be safe enough to share with the ones that I love so much.

Can't let gang know i **** with this  
Can't let them know
Low-key
Actually
Unironically
F. W.
Although
Gang
Doesn't ****
At least
Not with me

******* it.

I have always run a mile a minute.
My words moving faster than I could ever run.

Thought through or not words flow out of my mouth like water

I haven't been able to shut up for the last 15 years.

The grass, the caterpillars, tired of my talking.

The grasses are screaming.

The cats, the lizards, crawling away swiftly.

The caterpillars turned to butterflies in order to fly away from me.

And here's silence.

I've never heard silence not even in the depths of my mind.

I've always wondered what it's like but
It's a sword in a stone that I will never be able to touch.

I have always run a mile a minute.

My words are like a fire with every sentence oil is doused upon the flame.
I crave the extinguish of silence

And yet in the dark of mind when all of the crows have flown away
Silence is just an idea not yet formed

My notes app
Described only as a collection of my adolescence
The loss and gain of my teenage life
You dear.
You made it into my notes app
What an honor
Hold the presses
If you hurt me real bad or I hurt you
Sad, Mad, Absolutely disgusted
All of my everything
Written
Told
Plainly stated
My life.

I don't remember a time where I didn't write.

I've always written down everything that's made me upset since I learned how to spell sad

S.A.D.

A feeling I know all too well

I can't quite say i'm sad all the time, but sad lingers

It sits in the back of my head, begging for me to use the steak knife at the dinner table to turn my arms into lined paper.

I've always been a writer

Papers and pen

A shield and a sword

My words sting like daggers, but they are shielded and locked between the confounds of composition books

The thoughts usually hidden for the sakes of others flow freely between these gaps and lines.

I've always been a writer

I'm told I never stop talking

But the words I speak are carefully chosen

What's written, What lies within that spiral notebook those are my real words

I've always been a writer.

I want you to understand me
truly me
What makes me
me
What makes my muscle sore
What shakes me to my core
There is so much more to me than you will ever understand
You weren't delt this hand
no matter what I tell you
You cannot understand my struggle unless you have lived it
You cannot be the person I talk too unless you have felt Like life is not worth living
I know I have friends thats a fact I do not doubt
I don't want a friend.
I want a person that I can live life with forever.
And they will never leave me through love and sorrow.
They will want me around, not as a love but to love
The person who time stops when we're around each other.
But you can't be my oxygen and neither can I
I have to breathe the air that lies in the sky

When male penguins like a female penguin they scower the entire beach looking for the perfect pebble and present it to her like a proposal.
I want a rock
A pebble
So small but big enough to fill the entirety of my heart.
My heart.
I'm told that one person cannot be your missing peice
I'm not sure if i'm in love with the pebble, but maybe the idea of someone giving it to me.
I'm not in love with the Penguin, but the idea of what he represents.
Someone to walk with me through thick and thin and breathe my air.
Someone to sit next to me during a scary movie.
Someone to hold my hand under the table and giggle about a joke that no one understands but us
Someone to give me a pebble
But pebbles don't fill that void
that hole
Pebbles can only do so much
I can collect pebbles like Pokémon cards, but I will never fill that hole
Because a pebble can't be all of you
No person
No rock
Nothing but god alone can fill the void that lingers in my soul
But yet I continue to dig and dig and dig and dig
for the pebble that's perfect for me
But a pebble isn't what I need

I am trying to find solace in silence
Comfort in quiet
Safety in my slumber
As seasons of friendship end I struggle with the idea silence
Notifications on but my phone doesn't buzz
Work, school, work, school, study, practice study.
No need for texts if you don't have time
Breathe
Sit and breathe
Breathe and sit
I have never quite sat in silence
Always has there been noise
The noise in my head
The noise of my life
For one of the first times in my life in sit comfortably in silence

I write this a requiem for me
An act of remembrance for the girl I used to be
A view out of the rose colored glasses of which I used to see
Oh little baby me
You have a gift, no one can see
You breathe in air, no one else breathes
You have a halo that rises above me
The beam of happiness that bounces off your smile goes on for a mile.
Not to mention your style
Your existence makes life worthwhile
You are the lily of the nile
You are only perfection in my eyes
You baby girl are all that is good in this world
You are a shining pearl
Your goodness may have faded on me.
But for all I can see you are as perfect as can be.
You, you are no longer me
You are better than I will ever be
So here I write a requiem
I write this for me
Not the me that I am, but the me i used to be
The one that sees more than I see.
I write this for me.

I'm told friendships don't last forever. Some are just for seasons.
If our season is winter, I'm clinging to it like a living room Christmas tree you keep forgetting to toss.
The kind that just sit there,
Rotting.
Withering.

Winter's so great you forget about all the downsides
You've got christmas, snow, hot cocoa
You forget about wet socks, frozen car doors, the cold, the sun setting early.
You forget winter has flaws
Eventually the snow melts
I have to keep winter.

a snowball in the freezer.
I check on it every morning
And I leave it there,
keeping it frozen while little snowflakes fall off slowly as the seasons change.

Then,
Winter comes again
The snow is back
My socks are wet but my snowball is thriving.
New snow blankets it and i hold it till my hands turn purple
And when the winter goes away again
My little peice of winter goes back in the freezer.

Everytime I look in the mirror I smile
Not because I think im pretty
But because i don't want the mirror girl to be sad
Because to me she is separate
I don't want that girl to see me cry
Everytime I look in the mirror I smile
Not because I'm happy
but because she's pretty
Even if I am ugly
Inside out and all over
That girl will always be pretty
Everytime I look in the mirror I smile
Because that girl is me
She deserves to be pretty
She deserves to be happy
Inside out
And all over

Reports of my fame are greatly exaggerated.
My return has been long awaited
My words so weighted
Translated
I'm a big deal
Words
They make me reel
Run out of me like a river
I'm a giver
Give her some room
Let her breathe
A star like that needs room to see
See the next inspiration
Her next frustration
Cause writing it out is an obligation
A need
It scrapes at my skin till it bleeds
If those words don't get written i cry
cry so much I think im gonna die
The kind of cry where the air leaves your lungs
The cry where the only thing you can do is run
So I write.
Turn tears to literature
Confident I'm sure
My words are Shakespearian
The likes of Jane Austyn
Because again I am a star
An up-and-coming poet
I can tell that girl is going far
Reports of my fame are greatly exaggerated

I wanna be more than a warm body someone you want to see,
not see,
look into my eyes and see
See me
more than what you ever could be
contain so much pain suffering sorrow, an anguish,
but it is so beautiful.
So wonderful
so full of happiness and smiles and good things and bad.
I want to be more than a warm body.
I want you to mean something to me
Someone I mean
someone I see
Someone I breathe
Someone I need
I wanna be more than a warm body to you

I think "not winning" has allowed a jealousy to consume me
Im so proud of my captain and excited for her captaincy..
But god ******* **** it do i want it
Want to rip the crown from her hand
Listen to the voice
The old decrepit witch that wants the beauty
God.
Save me
Save me from this vice
Provide me salvation from the evil that lives in my thoughts
Serve me with grace
Let me lead with poise
Because it was not
all for nothing
I am still me
Still a
C.

You made me a poet
You made my pencil and paper meet
My words hit paper
All I am is a product of what you have made me to be
You made me a poet