I am Taking chances to figure out who from my work I feel comfortable trusting.
I am Taking chances because I know eventually I have to get out there. I can't spend life alone forever.
I am Taking chances because I am fearless and brave. I am who I am and no one can ever change that.
I am Taking chances because I know someone out there will value who I am.

Lost people are simply people who want a tribe.
Broken hearted people want people who can fill that void.
Broken minded people want people who can understand them.
It is easy to know because I used to be a lost and lonely person a long time ago. I was a troubled, strange adorable kid who made friends fast and they were usually as weird as I was.
Finding broken people are easy to search for when you are one.
I won't tell their true stories I have a moral code when it comes to friends of old. My past is mine and no one can take that away from me. I can only tell my own stories from my perspective.

Slow, deep kisses.
Another nameless woman, months ago.
The weight of her crushing my legs.
But I didn't mind.
Mousy brown hair and light tan skin.
Light blue eyes and dark pink lips.

The men I work with at the gas station in my small town respect me and treat me as their equal. But the new kid questions my ability to work there. He is the Boy with an Innocent Heart.
He spreads rumors about me, insults anyone who tries to help him, gets into arguments with the kitchen manager and begs for more responsibilities from the store manager.
He thinks he is going to recognized for his cutting corners attitude but he doesn't. He is childish, lonely, unimpressive, a ****** canoe, problematic, spoiled and a selfish *****.
I work just as hard as any of the men I work with. He is worst than the Lazy Man.

A time of joy. A time of giving thanks.
Family and friends.
Lots of food and dessert.

That is to say going to church isn't fun for me yet it is fun for me.
That is to say I know the Holy Spirit and Jesus is real because I felt their presence. It is just sometimes I question if God is there because I don't know if he listens to my prayers.
That is to say I know He exists because you can't have the Holy Spirit and Jesus without God. I know my Heavenly Father loves me even if my church hates me for being bisexual.
That is to say I am spiritual not religious. I believe God the Father, Jesus the Son and the Holy Spirit loves people who are good people.
Because the outcasts, black sheep of the family, rebels and people of all sorts deserve to be loved and I think the Holy Trinity loves them.
That is to say to be godly is to love your neighbor and follow the ten commandments which I do follow the ten commandments and love my neighbor. So to be godly should be that simple. Because to cherry pick the Bible would be ignorant and stupid. I don't care who hates me for the way I see the gospel.

It was 3 years ago. It was a night of passion.
My lips collided with hers and the world slipped away.
Ripping off each other's clothes.
Loving gazes and joyous smiles. Skin again skin. Soul against soul.
Every kiss in effortless abandonment of what is and what was.
That Night with Her was the best night of my life.

That of a broken-heart better than lovesick for with this broken-heart I know our love was true.
That of a broken-heart better than lovesick; I still remember your soft lips against mine and how you smiled as you were in my arms as my hands shook.
That of a broken-heart better than lovesick for we said we loved each other and we meant it.
That of a broken-heart better than lovesick because you said, "I don't regret what we had and would do it again; I am glad to say, "It's better to have loved and lost than not at all."
That of a broken-heart better than lovesick for one day my broken-heart will heal and you will be a scar on my heart better than lovesick because our love was real.
That of a broken-heart better than lovesick even though you are with someone else, I know we were happy together.
That of a broken-heart better than lovesick, I want you to know you weren't just an experience to me, you were my lover.

I haven't been called a spinster but I can tell what people are thinking when I walk by myself.
Or when I am at church with my mom then I get weird looks because I am 24 years old and single. So yeah you can call me a spinster because it is accurate.
But I am good alone. I don't need a relationship to define me. All of my friends are married and have kids or are in a relationship.
Sometimes I feel lonely because I don't have someone but when I am with my family or work friends I don't feel alone.

We all live in the profound feelings and the unwavering declarations of the soul. That of which the mundane is another walk in the park.
There is nothing wrong with declarations or feelings but we live in the mundane world a majority of time.
That of which the park that where we all walk in is filled with past hurts, betrayals, past joys, grief, reality of your perspective and traumas. It's a bizarre park but the walk is part of the journey.
Walking through is better than running away. So walk through the park and become your better version of yourself since the profound are the breakthroughs.

That one wedding long ago, she was in a night blue dress.
I was in trance looking across the dance floor to this beautiful creature.
She glanced from her friends to me then she smiled at me.
The more we gazed at each other, I felt electricity.
With every twist and turn I was trying to impress her with my dance moves.
And I did impress her with my dance moves then she disappeared.

That which every human knows of fear, we, humans have the natural instinct to fear anything from the dark to love itself.
That which every human knows to fear love at some point in life, either from too many heartbreaks or a bad relationship that haunts your very being or both. Or simply the fear of being lonely, going from one relationship to the next without not knowing you truly are and what kind of person you want.
Or the fear of being alone, here is the thing there is a huge difference between being alone and being lonely. Being alone is a decision. Being lonely is a feeling that comes with depression. The fear of being alone is going one companion to the next because misery loves company. In a way I understand those fears because one of these fears are mine. Sometimes the only way to defeat fear is to make new friends or to stop going from relationship to relationship and figure yourself out.

Some people act like robots slipping in and out of reality.
Some people live on highs Artificial or Natural. Medicating their pains and sorrows with smoking and drinking.
Trading highs and lows for mentally crashing in pits of despair to drowning dark thoughts in pain meds. How idiotic and how human are we to live with lives like these?
Rich people finding thrills in scandals.
Poor people seeking attention to dull the emptiness of their home lives.
How fearless and bold do you have to be to pour out your heart to a total stranger? Is it desperation or is it wanting comfort?
No one knows.
The mysteries of life and the unknown beckons those who seek vengeful abandon.

I go to his studio and gallery. He creates all types of art.
He teaches people how to make art of their own.
He is an old, kind man who creates connections with other local artists in the Midwest. He is a friend of mine.
He is surrounded by other people's art and his own.
He wears rectangle glasses and have white hair marking his age.
He is going to let me read my handwritten poems at his studio in the winter.

The Blue Door is the door to my mind palace. I open it every now and then when I have the strength to. In my mind palace is rows and rows of books I have read along wooden bookshelves. My journal shelf is an ever growing catalog of knowledge from over the years. Every year there is a new volume in my mind. My journals are like my encyclopedia of emotions and love history. My type gets refined with every year until it's a list of characteristics and personality traits I seek in a person. The Danger Book behind the Red Door is all of the times I shouldn't have done but did anyways, regrets, past mistakes and the what ifs of me. These are all in my mind palace. I have learned from that summer don't get locked in the mind palace or bad things happen.

You with your precious learning blue eyes and tan skin.
You regulate your blood sugar problem known as Type 1 Diabetes.
You are the new kid and an intelligent kid at work. You are the boss's pet. You try so hard to please everyone else it's adorable.
You are a good friend and a hard-worker.
We trade life stories and nobody cares what we talk about.
You aren't an idiot and I like that about you.

I fell you in the 6th grade. You wanted to be friends.
We stayed friends. You met my best friend. At youth group growing up throughout the years you were the popular weird boy. I saw you perform at church. You went to my graduation party. I went to your wedding and you got married to someone else. I am proud of you.

The Church I Don't Belong In because if they knew I am bisexual I would be a martyr.
The Church I Don't Belong In I volunteer for events for my church all the time but I feel I don't belong in my church.
The Church I Don't Belong In, sure I was raised in that church but I am not straight as they all expect me to be. Because if they knew that I am bisexual they would look at me differently.
The Church I Don't Belong In, sure they are my friends but they don't know the real me. I have ex-girlfriends which would shock many of my church friends.

As most abusers like to put their victims in the honeymoon phase.
Then the sweet guy that you meet becomes a monster come night time.
He doesn't consider your mental health and he doesn't consider your emotional health. It's always him, him but never you, you.
He needs you to be an enabler of his gaslighting abilities.
He needs you to be anxious about his anger.
Always being scared of the monster behind the nice guy mask.
He doesn't care about how many times you say no to his marriage proposals or how many times you shrug off his affections knowing they aren't real.
He wants you to have no boundaries but you establish them anyways hoping to be secure in enforcing them. He still wants all of your attention while ******* up to your better angels.
He doesn't understand that when you can't trust someone there is nothing to build off of except the trauma he gives.
He doesn't understand that he don't know the act of love because of his selfishness. He only understands that if the spotlight is on him then better make a good show.

Sometimes I will call myself "The Phantom" because I love The Phantom of the Opera and I live in the shadows of my older siblings. No one thinks the mild mannered, overly polite writer can be a  reckless rebel with a wild side so strong that it scares people. Sure I don't wear a mask I live out in the open. But my emotional scars are secrets and I don't reveal them to just anyone. I wear my blue jack as my cloak and my fashion sense is spot on for having a traditional, socially aware family dynamic. My wardrobe is to please crowds and make my quirky heart happy. I am a low-key business woman. I know how people function. I know society's perspective of me. I make the most of my mood swings. If I am going to make it in this world I might as well impress people with my intelligence while doing so.

Young people chattering in Coffee Boy's coffee shop wondering who I am and glancing at me as though I am some sort of wonder.
While I drink my cold brew with vanilla sweet cream. I knew they were talking about because everyone couldn't stop looking at me and I have sensitive ears. Ever since I broke things off with my ex-boyfriend I seem to be the talk of the town. Coffee Boy is happy that I am coming back to his coffee shop. We are good friends, Coffee Boy and I. Coffee Boy never really liked my ex-boyfriend sure he joked with us about him and I hanging out as friends. But when I explained things to Coffee Boy he understood. My ex-boyfriend Ken hated everyone including his own family. I didn't like how obsessed Ken was with me. Coffee Boy always respected me and valued my creativity. Ken called the coffee shop seeing how I was and Coffee Boy told him not to come because I was there.

The Desire to kiss her.
The Desire to know her.
The Desire to be with her.
The Desire to prove the world wrong show people what true love really is.
Love is without gender roles. Love without hidden agendas. Love without regard to ability. Love is about effort. Love is about being a dork to voice intentions. Love is about stepping outside the comfortable to do something idiotic for the purpose of selfless courage.
Love is like magic it always comes at a cost. Love isn't easy because if love was easy everyone would have it but they don't.
Love requires loyalty, your broken self, honesty, authenticity, good communication, vulnerability, accountability and the truth of your feelings.

The Divide of you and me came gradually over the years.
You became a monster of your own making scarring me with trauma of you wanting to **** yourself when we got into fights, you obsessing over me and making me the reason for you to live.
This codependency I can't take it anymore.
I can't stand your sexist jokes, your pleading for us to be more than friends, you draining all of my mental energy, you thinking your better than everyone else and you repeatedly ignoring the fact that I would never be happy with you. I am one of the rare good humans.
I remember you being a sweet boy with bluish green eyes and now you are a shell of a man pining for me, a woman that will never love you the way you want me to.

Overstimulation is pain across the mind and not being able to breathe. It's a high that health class doesn't cover.
The Edge of feeling anxious and tired is like wanting to sleep but not being able to. It's as though the air is heavier and moving around feels pointless. You don't need a textbook to know the equilibrium is off in the brain. It's wanting to scream in agony but not being able to.
It *****.

You are a 9 months younger than me. You have grayish-green eyes which are sometimes dark blue. You are a genius at math and science. You are straight and I am bi. You could have gone to Harvard or Yale when you graduated from high school but you chose Lincoln, Nebraska. We are best friends. We went to prom together with our friends. I had a crush on you in high school. How stupid of me falling for a straight girl. You are passionate about music and writing. At Writer's Club you were outspoken and had a good sense of humor. You get more beautiful with time. You wonderful Catholic Irish nerd accepting me as a queer person.

He thinks everyone is an idiot so himself is one too.
You with your demanding blue eyes and smelling of **** when clocking in to work. You normal, average micromanaging man who thinks because you were popular in high school you can rule everything. You aren't the boss of me. You entitled idiot.
I am too smart for you. I may have been the special needs kid but at least I know what people think of me. You with your superiority complex it will get you no where. I hope your vaping habit give you wet lung disease.

I push my issues your way you give a death glare and ask for my opinion on things.
I become the opposite of you and you think something is wrong with me.
I am someone you don't want to mess with. You ask for a war of wits, I will see how you can last with my iron clad stubbornness and everlasting defiance. I don't need to wear a mask to be vigilante, I have nothing to cover up. I am the Crazy Writer so I will bring an army with me and I won't hold back anything. My words are so sharp that you will bleed from a sentence. I wave my flag in honor to be a rebel.

You may fit into the perfect Christian girl lifestyle but you were never me. You never walked in my shoes because you were a coward.
You are afraid of your own shadow because you leave a trail of broken hearts and lost souls behind you. Those lost people trusted you with their lives and you spilled the blood to the popular kids.
I guess that's why you only ever had me by your side. They couldn't handle your perfect green eyes and rockin' ***. Your pure hearted and virtuous bull crap is underneath that mask you call your personality. You selfish, self-absorbed, relentless, innocent and spoiled brat fooled everyone around you but you haven't fooled me. I see right through you and I hate the monster you have became.
I trusted you but never again. You push everyone away from you and keep your secrets to yourself because you are afraid of dying alone.
Remind me to never bring you to my wars ever again because traitors like you deserve the sadness that comes with being alone. Look at your own sins and cry your heart out because this is where I say step off away from me, demon.

We were friends in SGA because I was the vice president of Writer's Guild. I fell for you the Beautiful Secretary. You had my heart with your harsh personality and those blue eyes. You made me feel normal. I have never once felt normal a day in my life. We went to the small group in college. I went insane then you forgave me.  You Snapchatted me saying, "Brandi, take me back!" I couldn't take you back then because I didn't feel worthy of you. I know it's been 2 years but I am better mentally now. I can promise you will never be bored I have mood swings due to my bipolar disorder. I know your friends thought we were dating and it made you uncomfortable. You are worth giving this white flag to. I had a war with my myself. I am sorry you got in the middle of it. So Beautiful Secretary I know as a Crazy Writer I can't rewrite the past, those chapters are there for a reason.
The Fall of Chaos was something I never saw coming.
The Witch Trial is done and over with. Will you give this Crazy Writer another chance? I still miss you Beautiful Secretary!

It was my freshman year of college. You played flute in concert band. I played clarinet. You made me nervous. You nearly kissed me when I was staring at your red lipstick with your polka-dotted navy blue dress. I meant to ask you out sometime during college. My heart always raced when it came to you. I was speechless around you which is a compliment to you because when it comes to music I never shut up. Yes I know this is gay poetry. I mean this. All of this. I know I am socially awkward sometimes stoic. But I mean well, my intentions are pure. I like taking things slow. I wanted to start out as your friend then give you a love confession but I didn't get the chance to. You can ask our ginger friend for my number if this won your heart. I just wanted somewhere to start.

Your sky blue eyes, your smooth voice, your sarcasm, your rockin' body and how you make me feel as though it's just you and me on this planet. I fell for you in my freshman year of high school. I hug you gently in my strong thin arms fear of breaking your fragile bones. You make me feel valid. When I hear you sing I call you Soul Singer because everything about you is soulful in the best way. You are a pastor's daughter. You are opinionated, have the best humor and full of puns. You took advanced classes and got started on college in high school. You helped me get through the loss of my best friend. When we sing together your raspy, deep voice mixes with my melodic, dark, sweet voice it's as though our souls are lighting up the world. People thought your band was my band. I never told you because I didn't want us to lose the good, strong friendship we have. You are just as wild as I am and it shows. I love you anyways! Happy Birthday!

You walked into youth group like you owned the place with your mother not far behind you. It was the 6th grade. I couldn't stop staring at you. You hung out with the gothic kids in middle school.
I hung out with the nerdy kids in middle school. On my birthday we slept over at your house in town. You chose me to be your best friend. You came from a rich family. I came from a poor family. You were an artist, I was a creative writer.
In the 7th grade you brought new friends who came from rich families to youth group. When they started bullying me, you fought for my honor and starting bringing your gothic friends to youth group. You the creative indie, goth girl and me the creative nerdy girl. We broke societal norms. I never doubted your instincts for one second. You moved away to Bloomington-Normal and you were excited. But you kept coming back for me. On my birthday we went to the Rockin' Lockin'. You brought a crowd and I adored every minute with you.
In the 8th grade you moved back to Ohio, you came back for me. You had your spark in your grayish-blue eyes. Girls wanted to be you and boys wanted to date you. Yet you chose me as your best friend.
In my freshman year of high school, church wasn't the same without you even youth group seemed empty without you. You were my missing piece. You came back before my birthday. You slept over at my place and went to the Rockin' Lockin' together as always. 5 days before my birthday I loss you, my best friend.

I saw you across from me at choir class in the 6th grade. I fell for you.
The popular choir girl. You blended in so well in this small town.
You told me that I was "brutally honest" in the 7th grade.
My mom didn't understand my obsession with you. You met my best friend with storm blue eyes in the 8th grade. We sang in Praise Band together in the 8th grade. I still don't understand why you were jealous of my best friend.
In freshman year of high school I loss my best friend. You were there for me. We got close.
In sophomore year of high school we went to homecoming together. You looked stunning, we had fun.
In junior year of high school I trusted you with my anxiety and depression.
In senior year of high school we graduated together.
In freshman year of college I came out to you and you rebuked me.
In sophomore year of college I tried talking to you about girls and you shut me down.
In junior year of college my mood swings were drastic and I told you nothing. I dropped out of college during the COVID-19 breakout, my depressive episodes happened when I had exams.
Now we don't hangout anymore. I still know who you are and I remember everything you love. I trusted you. Do you miss me? When people mention me do you even bother to say we are still "best friends"? What do those two words mean to you? You rather be praised by others than be loved and cared for by me. That's your hubris.

The Girl with Green Eyes never once stopped the rumors and gossip about me.
The Girl with Green Eyes never once defended my honor when I wasn't around.
The Girl with Green Eyes isn't a best friend at all and she isn't even an ally to me in my personal wars anymore because I don't trust her.
The Girl with Green Eyes was a fluke on my judgement and I don't know how I could that she was always ordinary.
The Girl with Green Eyes deserves her loneliness and her crowds because she never deserved my love nor friendship.
The Girl with Green Eyes isn't human because demons like her deserve to burn in hell.
She will forever be haunted by my poetry because I don't care anymore about what she thinks of me.
This vengeful angel have stories of truths to tell and that demon or siren whatever she is won't ever hold me back.

She has sky blue eyes, dark pink lips, blonde hair, pale skin and freckles all across her face.
She was wearing a white dress with blue flowers on it. Practically emphasizing the blueness of her eyes.
I didn't catch her name but she is the new girl at Four Seasons.
Our hands touched briefly as I gave her my debit card to pay for my new clothes. For a moment I didn't want to go anywhere. She has a calming presence and a wonderful smile.

The Gregarious Guy has dark brown hair, scarlet lips and pale skin.
He is strong, sweet and talkative.
He wears black frame glasses that brings out the dark blueness of his eyes.
His voice is rough and husky.
I work with him.

She looks down on everyone.
Her venomous glare from idiotic old men to young poets.
She is content behind her computer.
Her salt and pepper colored hair and bright pink lipstick.
If you annoy her then she raises her voice.

He is a good friend of mine. He has been my friend since I used to work at Casey's with him.
He is reasonably smart, sweet, mindful, thoughtful and spontaneous.
He has night black hair, deep, dark brown eyes and light tan skin.
He is a year younger than me and somewhat handsome.
I am hanging out with him tomorrow as friends.

He is boisterous, loud, sweet, and empathetic.
He has bright blonde hair with streaks of dark brown hair, high cheekbones, pale white skin and light blue eyes.
He is a good friend of mine.
I don't mind that he is loud when talking to me because he accepts me for being an openly bisexual woman.

You never realize you miss someone until you lose them.
I always feel like I am forgetting something or someone.
My heart starts aching as if a part of me is missing from me.
It's like I want to go through my good memories but it's the what if I end up breaching to the bad memories and mentally meltdown that gets me. Staring into space and daydreaming isn't praised by society.
I want to mentally reflect without psychologically relapsing. But my meds regulate my mood swings and depression. So naturally I can't be sad or depressed without feeling sick to my stomach and feeling like I can't breathe because my meds wouldn't allow me to feel that.
Sometimes I want to cry and scream in grief but I physically can't.
It's as though I can't be fully human. So naturally I get furious for not being able to be sad and depressed. It is the worst feeling hopelessly distant.

5 years ago. She loved me speechless.
Her lips upon mine.
Clothes off. Passion to Passion.
Warmth to warmth.
Every smile and caress, genuine.
She whispered in my ear," You look better shirtless."
By dawn of morning I rested against her bare chest listening to her wild heartbeats.
As we got our clothes back on a couldn't help but stare at her. Then I went to back to bed. She kissed my forehead goodbye.
As I woke up in the morning overwhelmed by new strength and emotions.
I knew I would see her at college. My ears were ringing of her heartbeat on repeat. So I drank coffee and listened to music. The coffee taste better. My music sounded sharper and crisper as if every note had a new meaning.

I accidently got my arm cut by the metal cutter of a saran wrap box when I was putting away dough buckets.
I got five stitches in my arm but I am okay. It hurts a lot since yesterday I couldn't feel my arm at all due to the numbing injection the doctor gave me. Feeling pain is okay it's just today I feel really tired as if all of energy got drained out of me no matter how much coffee I have. I am excited for my future scar but for right now I have to deal with the pain.

The Kind Guy have light blue eyes and a sweet smile.
His voice is deep and growly like a lion's roar.
The Kind Guy is someone I work with.
I have known him since we were kids. He was cute then too.
He still is cute. He have dark tan skin and pink rosy lips.
His hair is light brown.
I don't have a crush on him. He and I are just good friends.

He and I went to a cafe to have breakfast. We caught up on life at the cafe. He and I just good friends.
His eyes were grayish blue today. As we were talking about life, we agreed we both like being single.

He tells me that my *** is too tiny.
He tells me that my ***** are close to nothing.
He tells me that I should gain weight and become fat.
He tells me that I am too thin.
He tells me that he doesn't care about my figure but based on his comments and insults, he lies.

The Life I Built from the Closet is comfortable, I know what people expect from me.
The Life I Built from the Closet is black and white thinking.
The Life I Built from the Closet is pink and blue gendering parties.
The Life I Built from the Closet is church etiquette and weddings.
The Life I Built from the Closet is volunteering and church events.
The Life I Built from the Closet is getting used to the heteronormative narrative of romance.
The Life I Built from the Closet is high stakes walking into church and not actually being who I am. Because as a wise friend once told me you are who you are. I am a bisexual woman through and through.

Many people do know it.
Many people have experience it.
Something that is freeing, unfiltered, light-hearted, smiles and laughter.
Something bubbly, talkative, kind, caring, thoughtful, too smart for their own good and a low-key comedian.
Yes this a part of me. Where there is darkness, there is also light.
I know so I am the who have to manage both sides.

Gandhi once said, "Eye for an eye and the world goes blind." ,and someone once said, "War is what happens when language fails."
There are so many perspectives in the world. So many cultures.
Love is a feeling and an act of selflessness. Then Hatred is a burning rage and an act of one's intention.
The Line Between Love and Hatred is thin and almost invisible.
If "Love is blind" and "Hatred is evil" then whose fault is it?
The thing is no one really knows. Love is an understanding of heart and soul between two people. In break ups between couples, hatred blossoms.
In fall outs between friends, hatred gradually happens. There is a beginning and an end to everything. Marriage vows is for an endless love. Divorce is a dispute of hatred. Ask them both maybe you will get the right story. You can't have a story without two perspectives at least that what I learned from English classes on critical thinking from reading two different articles from two different sources.
I know life is hard, hell I have mental illnesses. My question to you is: Is your hatred worth destroying lives, friendships, relationships and spilling blood?

Your blonde hair dyed brunette with painted black fingernails.
Your lost blue eyes and bad boy reputation.
You built yourself a drinking problem from partying in high school.
You have never a found a lover after a girl broke your heart in high school.
You normal, popular white boy in a religious high class town.
You always seemed lost in the crowds from small town traditions to school dances. You didn't fit in this town either. I know you don't know what you want to do with your life just figure it out so you can escape this town and your lost glory days.
I just feel sorry for you.

I love smell of old books. I like hanging out with old people. Something about old souls just drawn to me. Old things have souls. From an old typewriter to an old library. Art museums to paint galleries have souls. The whole point is to bring life to someone, an inspiration. A flame or an ocean of emotions.