Dear Best friend,

You know who you are. You are the beautiful girl in the back of the class, who keeps to herself, but is still strangely likable. You are the girl with the piercing blue eyes and dark, dark sense of humor.

Dear Best Friend,

I know you literally are always willing to listen, whether it is talking about our mutual crush on that guy in our favourite class, or complaining about society, or my parents, or when I just need to talk about the weather to distract myself from the looming fear of everything going wrong.


Dear Best Friend,

I still remember when you first told me about your depression. I had always sort of known, but hearing you say it out loud, I honestly didn’t know what to do, because I don’t want you to end up like me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to turn to sharp inanimate objects, I don’t want your world to be dark, hopeless, I don’t want you to fall because depression is a slippery *****, trust me. I don’t want you to forever be broken. I don’t want you to be scared.

I just don’t want you to end up as ****** up as me.

Dear Best Friend,

I know I’m not perfect, I’m not even close, and I ***** up... A lot. But I will do what ever I can to ALWAYS be there for you. I will always be the dorky, idiotic, annoying sidekick.

Dear Best Friend,

You are beautiful, don’t let anyone, ever tell you otherwise. Especially not some 12 year old boy with a stupid haircut.

You are short, there is no denying that, but so is Billie Joe Armstrong and we still think he is the hottest thing since wood stoves.

You have blue eyes, that I know you think are weird, but they are like oceans only not as dark.

Your hair is almost as straight as the members in half the bands we listen to, but each curl falls in it’s own special place

You are beautiful, stunning, breath-taking, and every other synonym for that word.

Dear Best Friend,

I’m sorry you have to put up with me when I am like this. I know I should just bottle it up, but for whatever reason it always seems like I can’t stop the words from escaping. I’m sorry, I am so so sorry that you have to deal with me.

Dear Best Friend,

I really want to smack you upside the face with a brick sometimes. But I won’t, because I am more scared of you hitting back than I am of doctors (and that’s saying something)

Dear Best Friend,

I promise that I will always be there as long as you need me, whether it’s in the middle of the night or when I am thousands of miles away with timezone barriers between us, just call me. When you are scared, call me. When what you are scared of is yourself, call me. When you need a friend, call me. When you want to gush about your new boyfriend, call me. When you want to just chat, call me.

Dear Best Friend,

At this point I think of you more like a sister that a friend.

So, Dear Sister, I love you so much. Thank you for showing me that even the darkest nights have a sunrise, and that those sunrises are always the most spectacular.

It is days like this that I wish for a thunder storm, because maybe the crashing thunder and blinding lightning will drown out the storm brewing in my head.

I have been having trouble trying to sleep lately and I wonder if it's because I'm scared for tomorrow, or if I just don't want to let go of today.

To the boy I fell in love with,

When I came up with the idea to write you this I didn't realize how hard it could be to begin, as I have so many thoughts and as we both know I'm not very organized in my thinking.

I guess I should probably start with the obvious, I miss you. If I didn't I wouldn't keep writing about you like this. I miss stupid little things, like goofy overtired conversations and the way sitting too close made my arms itch if I was wearing short sleeves. I even miss the things I often hated like League of Legends, and you screaming at your friend when I was trying to sleep, and the way your room was always too warm to actually be comfortable.

I guess the second thing would probably be that I'm sorry... For everything. I'm sorry I hurt you and that I never realized how hard it was on you to constantly have to worry about me. I'm sorry I never left my comfort zone enough to keep you interested, and most importantly I'm sorry I was never able to find a way to convince you not to go.

And the third would be thank you. You showed me what it is like to feel love and loss and everything in between. You made me finally feel happy enough to want to live my life to the fullest. You showed me parts of myself I didn't even know existed. You changed my life for the better and even though you are gone and moving on from me, I will always be grateful that we crossed paths.

To my first love,

I hope that you are doing okay. I know you've had some ups and downs in the past few months, and please remember that I am just a phone call away and always will be. I know its really hard for you to ask for help, but if you ever just want someone to sit with you in silence, or take out as a distraction or anything else please don't hesitate to call on me because I won't hesitate to come.  

I also hope you are eating, watching you shrink before my eyes kind of says otherwise, but still I hope you are staying healthy(ish).

Equally importantly, I hope you are happy, and I mean truly happy in your life. I hope you fall in love with someone who deserves the love you are capable of giving, love that not even I was worthy of receiving.

To the boy my family also ended up falling in love with,

My mom still asks about you. She still tells me "I always liked that boy, and I know you don't go backwards but he may be worthy of an exception to the rule." That is pretty much her way of telling me she misses you.

To the boy I thought I could replace,

I couldn't.

To the boy I wish I could move past,

I can't.

To the boy who has moved past me,

I'm happy for you, I wish you the best, and I'm glad we are at the very least friends still.

So, to the boy I fell in love with,

Know that despite my best efforts I never fell back out of love with you, and am starting to doubt that I ever truly will.

Lately I have been thinking about reasons to live, not because I am suicidal or I am ready to die, at least not now. I have been thinking about reasons to live because I have started to take the path of least resistance. I am no longer living I am merely alive, I wake up, survive, wake up, survive, wake up, survive. I wake up and I survive, and that’s it. So I made a list, of reason to stay alive.


1. Laying in the grass in the middle of summer

2. Dancing in the rain

3. Learning stupid, pointless skills

4. You never know, My Chemical Romance could come back

5. Going for long walks alone

6. Concerts

7. Mosh pits

8. Pulling all nighters that you regret the next day

9. Laying in the grass watching the clouds

10. Driving aimlessly in the country

11. Road trips

12. Spending time with your best friend

13.Sleeping until noon

14. There is someone, even if it is one person, who cares

13, wait 14, no 15, that’s right

15, you are probably better at counting than I am...

Finally, you should stay alive just for the reason of living life to the fullest. Stay living to prove those who said you can’t wrong, stay alive to see every state every country, stay alive to prove to yourself that you are stronger than the **** that is happening around you, stay alive if not for your self stay alive for you family your friends, hell, stay alive for your dog because life is meant for living...

Dear Me a Year Ago, 
If I did my math correctly you just started high school, and I'm going to tell you right up front it's going to be hell. But you are going to meet some of your closest friends this year, you are going to learn a lot, and you are going to change. You are going to have some of the best and worst moments of your life this year. But if I had to give you some advice, it would be this---

Laugh. Smile. Cry. Make mistakes. Then make more. But never make the same mistake twice. Step out of your comfort zone. If someone compliments you just say thank you. If someone waves to you wave back, this person may end up as your friend. Don't bottle things up. If you are scaring yourself go stay with a friend, don't be alone. Light **** on fire, trust me, it helps. When you find out your aunt has cancer don’t fear the worst. Don't take yourself, or others too seriously. Beware of *******. Don't live in the past, but don't live in the future either. If someone invites to do something, go. Don't hold on to those who've hurt you. Don't let anxiety rule your life. Know that there is still hope. If you need someone to talk to, message them, call them, anything, they will listen and it will help. Have emotional breakdowns. Then have more. Be yourself. Wear band shirts everyday if that makes you happy. Know that it's okay to be weak, and it's okay to be strong too. Know that there are people who care. Breathe. Remember the way it feels to be happy, because that will pull you through the worst days of your life. Keep playing guitar, you will start to **** less eventually. Listen you your music too loud. Remember relapse happens, and that's okay. Write ****** poetry, because that seems to help too. Break into abandoned places, just to see what’s inside.  Drink copious amounts of coffee. Make stupid decisions.

But most importantly stay alive. I know this sounds cliche, butI promise things can get better, and I am still trying to get heal, and it's hard, and there are still days when I don't want to do this any longer, but it's getting easier to get out of bed in the morning. So keep fighting  this, and never give in.  

Sincerely, 
A better you

You are the worst thing that has ever happened… to my poetry

You see I used to write poems that make people want to set fire to the world, and cry an ocean. I used to write about death, and depression, and hope, and how I am finally okay with who I am. I use to write to inspire, I used to write about the demons under my bed and the ones in my head. I could write poems about my fears and my dreams and how messed up this world is. But lately, all I have been about to write about is you.

Roses are red, violets are blue, my poetry has gone to **** and its all thanks to you

My poetry has gone from a ***** the world mentality to what ever this sappy stuff I have been writing lately is called.

My poems are about your smile and how it can light up a room better than 1,000 suns

They are about how I get butterflies every time I see you and how there are fireworks when we kiss

They are full of overused analogies, like fireworks and butterflies

They have gone from being about how sometimes I get so scared of everything my heart beats out of my chest to being about how my heart skips a beat when you say my name

They have gone from how music is my catharsis to how when you play music I think I lose the ability to breathe correctly.  

They are about how it takes you 20 minutes to get ready because you have to re-lace your shoes every time.

They use to be about how I am scared. I am scared of failure, I am scared not doing anything with my life, I am scared of spiders, I am scared of things changing. But all I can write about is how I am terrified of losing you.

My poetry is about our stupid jokes

They are about how terrified I am that you are going to see me differently when you find out that I am more messed up than I may seem.

They are about how cute you are when you are sleepy and how you are like a modern day, male, Cinderella except instead of losing your shoe at midnight you kinda lose your mind.  

You see, I have a reputation to uphold. I am the depressing and angry poetry girl, but I can’t be that when you make me so **** happy.

My poems are about all night video calls and awkward first kisses

They are about how no amount of time is nearly enough when I'm with you

They are about how we are pretty much the same person but with different faces

My poems are about your hair and how much I like it even though its always getting in my way

My poetry is about how you are the only person that manages to give me **** while simultaneously telling me I am cute

My poems are about how your eyes are like coffee, and how I love coffee, and how I love you.

Don’t you see what I mean? You are the worst thing to ever happen to my poetry, but the best things to ever happen to me.

It’s not pre-show jitters or first day butterflies, it’s a different kind of fear.

I close my eyes, I am 11 years old again, my mother yells that we have to leave in 10 minutes. And so it begins. I start shaking, I run to the bathroom with a stomach ache that was nonexistent less than a minute ago. I walk into the living room, sit on the couch and let the flood gates open, screaming, crying anything to try to excorsize the demon taking over my body, tearing me open from the inside out.

They say everyone has their demons, mine, an anxiety disorder.

I am twelve and the panic attacks don’t let up. My anxiety like torrential rain, threatening to flood the city. I have stopped seeing my friends, and leaving my house unless forced. I contemplated suicide often, seeing it as my only escape. My mother brings me to the doctor and I am put on medication and sent to a therapist.

To the outside world I am getting better, Maybe this was just a phase.

I am 13, and off the medication. I had survived my first year of school and even started hanging out with a few people who are now my closest friends. Life was looking up, I could see the light, but that didn’t mean I was out of the tunnel.

But I’m not better. My eyes are dull and my smile is faker than barbie.

I am 14, school is harder, and so is spending time with my “friends.” One girl,  I thought we were equals. It started with a joke, harmless. She would poke me in the back, joking that I would get kidney failure. Then she hit harder, still “joking”. That is when the  rumors started. All because I wore a guy’s shirt and a rainbow bracelet one day. I started to get nervous to go to school, scared that I would have to face her again.

Have you ever tried screaming underwater? And no one can hear you and those who can pretend they don’t? That’s what it’s like, screaming and nobody can hear me.

I am fifteen, sitting on the bus, an already stressful situation. A girl sits with me, as people do. She forces me to either move in or be crushed. I slide against the cold metal of the bus, creating the most amount of space between me and her. But it’s not enough, I start getting a feeling that I knew all too well. I was having a panic attack. My sympathetic nervous system triggers my fight or flight response, my adrenaline levels raise, my body preparing for a war, a battle that will never come, at least not physically. I can’t breath, I can’t speak, I can’t even think. The voices of the people around me blur into indistinguishable mumbles, every light is too bright, every noise too loud.  

All I want to do I go home and drown in a sea of loud music and blankets, warm and safe in my own space. But I have to do what I do every day, and push through the next seven hours pretending to be okay.

And now my mind is not my own. My thoughts fall in to this never ending void of what ifs and could this-es. Spiraling out of control, my own personal self destruct button. I claw at the edges, desperately trying to escape. But how can you escape your own mind? Your own thoughts?

If I have the freedom of speech, why do I feel imprisoned by my words?

This is my life now, I live in constant fear that someday my anxiety will take over my life and never relinquish control. I am scared to look towards the future, because the guess and check method doesn’t work for life.

I have lived my whole life with irrational fear, but now I am truly afraid.

This one’s for the smart kids.

This one is for the honor students, and the straight A students

This is for the kids who stay up half the night studying, and the kids who work their ***** off for their grades

This is for the kids who can define and spell Antidisestablishmentarianism or tell you what DNA stands for (it’s deoxyribonucleic acid by the way)

This is  for the teachers pets, the geeks, and the nerds. And the student who skips parties so she can study for her test.

This is for the kids who can solve complex mathematic equations in their head

This is for the kids who know that you don’t use “I” in a formal essay, and that okay is spelled O-K-A-Y, not O-K.

This is for the kids who can recite pi up to 200 hundred places, and the ones who can solve a rubix cube in 2 minutes flat.

The ones who take two language classes, and the ones who have been saving for college since they were born.

Geniuses of the 21st century, this is for you.

I would give you a gold star and a check plus for what you’ve done, but I’m sure you have gotten plenty of those. So I think I will just tell you something that only we could understand; Superb job at pursuing your academic careers with such ambitious outlooks on the world, and for having such admirable self-motivation.

I know that sometimes it ***** to be academically inclined, but in 5, 10, 20 years you will be working in some law firm or doing something you love and making multiple figures while the kids who blow off their school life will be stuck working for minimum wage at McDonalds or as a waitress for the rest of their lives.

So keep writing essays and doing extra credit because it’s not enough to survive high school, you have to thrive, and reach for the metaphorical stars.

When I say to my family, I don't mean the ones that raised me, I mean the ones that saved me.

When I say this is for my family I mean the one that raised me from the ashes of my past, the one that took the broken pieces of a girl and made her a mosaic, and showed her that even though her pieces don't fit she can still be beautiful.

When I say family I don't mean flesh and blood I mean heart and soul.

So, to my family, Thank You.

You have shown me what it's like to be loved, what it feels like to have someone there when you need them the most.

Thank you to the friend who stayed up messaging with me one Facebook, the one that reminded me that progress is progress and relapse happens  and that messing up is okay.

I now know how it feels to know that someone will be there when I fall

Thank you to the friends who were there for me and ***** you to the ones who weren't

Thank you to the abusive friend who hates how much I dye my hair, for making me strong.

There aren't enough words in the english language to express how much I love you all, and even if there are enough words I can't seem to find them. So I will just say I love you, thank you for inspiring me and making me strong.

Ohana means family, but Hoaloha means friends and to me those are the same thing because the both mean no one gets left behind, even the awkward girl who makes bad puns.

I hate to break it to you but heroes like Superman, and Batman, and Spiderman don’t actually exist.

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t heroes in this world, they just aren’t in capes and spandex. They can’t fly or shoot lasers from their eyes. They can’t lift a car with one finger and they aren’t affected by kyptonite. These heroes are people you pass every day, you may speak to them, and you may not. But they are there.

The 18 year old kid who takes care of his brother when his parents leave and decide not to come back he is a hero.

The 9 year old boy who saved his friend by pulling him out of an icy lake, is a hero

The mother that decides to leave her husband and take her kid with her when he starts hitting them, she is a hero.

Those who stand up for what they believe in, are heroes

The little girl who used the Heimlich maneuver (which she saw on a disney channel show by the way, see disney can teach us useful skills) to save the life of her 1st grade classmate who was choking on an apple, is a hero

Every friend that will drive to your house at 3 am because  you are home alone and you are scared of what you might do if you are alone much longer. Every friend that tells you that everything will be alright, and that you may be ******* up, but that doesn’t mean that you will always be that way, friends that remind you things can and will get better. Are all heroes.

The woman who caught a baby that fell out a window is a hero.

The firefighter who risked everything to save a little girl or little boy is a hero.

The men and women in blue are heroes... Or they are when they aren’t shooting innocent people...

Or the man who broke his neck and had to give up the career he had done his whole life, but then turned what could have been a devastating change into an opportunity to follow his dream and is now happier than ever because he realizes that life is too short and can end too quickly to be unhappy, and now he is one of the strongest, funniest, most joyful person I’ve ever met. He is a hero.

Or the woman who went back to school after her divorce and now is happy and able to not only support her self but also her family.

These people are real life true heroes, not some made up ******* with super powers. Because you don’t need to be able to fly or see through walls to be a hero.

Dear You,

It was March 22, 2013. It was a cold, wet day and I decided that rather that risk frostbite I would go online, maybe go on twitter, check some stuff, little did I know this was the day you would tell me it was all over, that after 12 years. 12 YEARS. That is 144 months, 4383 days, and a **** ton of hours and minutes. That there would be 1 paragraph, 6 ******* sentences telling me it was all over, you were leaving me to fend for my self in this dark cruel world.

You said that you were just a concept, an idea, I was strong enough to carry on without you,... Well I call *******!

Cause you were there for me when no one else was, you got me, you understood how much society freaking ***** and you kept me strong.

Maybe I do scare the living **** out of you, maybe you just stopped caring...

You tell me to “look alive, sunshine” But how can I look alive when you leaving left me so dead inside?

Yet, I still hold on to the hope that some day you will come back to join us in the black parade, and lead this army of killjoys.

Until then, however, I am not okay (I promise)

I believe that thoughts at 3 am are the most pure of thoughts. What may run through one’s mind at that point is what they truly care about, their deepest fears, their most secret desires. The things that define them as a person.

When It is either late at night or early in the morning, and I can’t tell which one anymore, I think about life. What is the reason I am alive? Why was I put on this earth? Why am I not some kick *** alien from a faraway planet?

I think about every mistake I have made, the stupid things I have done and said.

I think about what I will do when I inevitably have to remove my bracelets and the long sleeve shirts. Or what will happen if my family finds out that I am getting bad again. What might happen when they notice that most of my meals are replaced by water, and how I spend more time alone than before.

I think about how I wish I was different, how much I wish I was free from my own mind.

I think about how much I miss my friends, both new and old.

I think about my sister, and how she is beautiful, and how she is so much like me, but there is more hope for her.

I think about how much I want to tell you that I care about you. How much I wish I could save you, how much I want to tell you that it will be okay, but I can’t because I’m not even sure about that myself.

I remember what it is like to be a child. So innocent, undamaged, unaware that the nervous feeling that was always lurking inside me would never leave, in fact it would only get worse.  

I think about how much I overthink, which is kind of counter intuitive...

I think about how I want to be like my friends, who can live so normally. While I can’t make phone calls, or talk to people without having a panic attack.

I think about how much I want to tell my family I love them, that I need them, but I can’t because caring is weakness. Because I don’t want to accept the fact that without them I am nothing but bad jokes and endless issues.

I think about what would happen if the ceiling were to collapse, killing me instantly and I wonder if anyone would care, or even remember me once I am gone.

I think about how long it has been since I have had more than a few hours of sleep.

It is either late at night or early in the morning, and I am thinking again. Which is decidedly one of the most dangerous things I can do.

Language is powerful, it evokes emotion in just a few sentences, words, letters, and I've decided the most heart breaking five words are "I'm scared to be alone"

You didn't  have to say anything more, I knew that those five words meant you needed me to make sure you didn't  take ten or twenty or thirty more anti depressants than prescribed, make sure the knives, blades, pencil sharpeners, and anything else you could hurt your self with were hidden, I knew you needed someone  there to talk to, who could point out the speck of light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how small it may have been.



Language is powerful, it evokes emotion in just a few sentences, words, letters, and I've decided the most heartbreaking four words are "I'm used to it."

When you have been in so much pain for so long that you have stopped noticing how much it hurts to breathe,  you forgot what good days feel like, you can't tell where pain ends and human begins, that is when you are most likely to give up trying to win the battle.

One of my closest friends told me how much they wanted to die,  how ****** life had become and how much they are now used to feeling this way, and it felt the way it sounds when glass breaks to hear them say that.

Language is powerful, it evokes emotion in just a few sentences, words, letters, and I've decide the most heart breaking three words are
"I’m already broken."

I believe that no matter how messed up you may be you are never broken, just sprained, just twisted, that the pain of breaking a bone and the pain of a broken mind are different but the same because both can get better. But when someone is in so much pain they are convinced they finally broke, finally shattered, when they think there are too many piece to  ever be whole again, you know they are in deep. And you know that this could be the day they stop trying to piece themselves back together.


Language is powerful, it evokes emotion in just a few sentences, words, letters, and I've decided the most heartbreaking 2 words are "the end"

I've never been very good at ending things.

I have a notebook full of unfinished poems, just a beginning, middle, and no end.

So when someone reaches the end of their story, or when they decide to close the book, when someone decides their story isn't worth seeing it through to the real end, that is when the heart stops pumping life and starts pumping poison through their veins. When the lungs lose the ability to inhale anything but seconds hand smoke. When the mind stops thing of life and starts thinking only of death.

Language is powerful, it evokes emotion in just a few sentences, words, letters, and I've decided the most devastating  word is goodbye.

Artists are not people who draw, or write, or make music.

Poets are not just people who write, poets are observers, poets see the beauty and tragedy of life and put it into words.

Those who draw are not people with pencils and paper, people who draw have figured out how they see the world, and how to recreate their views on paper.

Dancers are not just people who can move to music, dancers are people who spell out stories with their being.

Painters are not people with paint and a canvas, painters are the people singlehandedly making the world brighter.

Artists are people with leaky faucets.

On average, 1 person commits suicide every 16.2 minutes.

How many more people have to **** them selves before society realizes some thing is wrong?

How many more kids, trapped between highschool walls, decide the only way out is to go up?

How many more news stories?

How much death does it take to prove a point?

How many more people need to see their own blood spill, watching their own life force deplete as they bleed themselves dry?

How many more Amanda Todds and Kurt Combains will it take?

How many pills must poison blood streams, slowly killing it’s victims from the inside out?

How many ropes must hang from ceiling fans?

How many more people need to lose their best friend?

How many more mothers lose their son?

How many fathers must lose their little girl?

How Many, how many does it take for society to realize there is something not right here?

You are the worst thing that has ever happened… to my poetry

You see I used to write poems that make people want to set fire to the world, and cry an ocean. I used to write about death, and depression, and hope, and how I am finally okay with who I am. I use to write to inspire, I used to write about the demons under my bed and the ones in my head. I could write poems about my fears and my dreams and how ****** up this world is. But lately, all I have been about to write about is you.

My poetry has gone from a **** the world mentality to what ever this sappy stuff I have been writing lately is called.

Roses are red, violets are blue, my poetry has gone to **** and its all thanks to you

My poems are about your smile and how it can light up a room better than 1,000 suns

They are about how I get butterflies every time I see you and how there are fireworks when we kiss

They are full of overused analogies, like fireworks and butterflies

My poems are about how your eyes are like coffee, and how I love coffee, and how I love you.

They have gone from being about how sometimes I get so scared of everything my heart beats out of my chest being are about how my heart skips a beat when you say my name

They have gone from being about the problems with our society to being about how my problems tend to disappear when I am with you

They have gone from how music is my catharsis to how you are, and how when you play music I lose the ability to breathe correctly.  

They use to be about how I am afraid. How I am afraid of being afraid, I am scared of failure, I am scared not doing anything with my life, I am scared of spiders, I am scared of things changing. But all I can write about is how I am scared of losing you and scared of driving you away.

My poetry is about our stupid jokes

They are about how terrified I am that you are going to see me differently when you find out how ****** up I am

They are about how cute you are when you are sleepy and also how weird you are after the clock strikes 12

You see, I have a reputation to uphold. I am the depressing and angry poetry girl, but I can’t be that when you make me so ******* happy.

My poems are about all night video calls and awkward first kisses

They are about how no amount of time is nearly enough

They are about how we are pretty much the same person but with different faces

My poems are about your hair and how much I love it even though its always getting in the way

My poetry is about how you are the only person that manages to give me **** while simultaneously telling me I am cute

Don’t you see what I mean? You are the worst thing to happen to my poetry, but one of the best things to ever happen to me.

Starlight star bright, first star I see tonight. I wish I may I wish I might have this wish I wish tonight.

I wish for world peace

I wish dreams were reality and reality was like a dream

I wish for a world where the underdogs can thrive and the top dogs still survive

I wish that there would be no more fighting, no war.

I wish to live in a world where there is a cure for every disease, where no one ever cries.

I want to live in a world without anxiety, without lies.

I wish for a world where everyone smiles because they can, not because they have to.

I wish to live in a world where I’m fine isn’t a lie, and the word poor wasn’t in our vocabularies.

I want a world with only love, not hate.

But with out pain there would be no comfort,

without lies there would be no truth,

with out frowns there would be no smiles, no laughs.

Without death we couldn’t fully appreciate life, without illness there could be no health.

Without fear and anxiety there would be no relaxation

Without sadness no one could be happy.

Without lies how could there be truth
Yes, I wish that this world was more accepting of everyone, despite their differences, but where’s the fun in that?

because If we couldn’t cry, we also wouldn’t be able to smile.

Because if we didn’t have our battle wounds how would we show we are winning the war?

Because as my grandmother used to say to my mother as she wound her hair into tight painful braids, beauty hurts.

because you can’t give up the negatives in this world without sacrificing the positives too.

So after the sun has set, and when the world has gone quiet,I  wish on that one little star, but I wish no longer wish for happiness, I just wish for balance.

When I was young, no older than 8 I had tea parties with my grandfather. He the host, my grandmothers porcelain dolls the guests. It was my favorite thing about visiting him, because tea parties were what grown ups do.

But that little girl with the small hands and big heart is gone now, or at the very least she’s pretty **** good at hide and seek.

That little girl has now realized that life fights *****, kicking you in the stomach and waiting for you to get back up, just so it can hit you in the face.

she has learned that flying and falling are the same thing except the latter has a more permanent destination.

She now isn’t learning how to read books, but the emotion in people’s eyes, the fakeness of their smiles, the hollowness in their voice.

Now she knows that if you bite off more then you can chew there is a good chance you’ll choke.

She can now see that life truly is beautiful, a beautiful disaster, stuffed with heartbreak and pain, smiles and laughs, family and friends, highs, lows, and change, constant change, because if you aren’t moving foreword, where are you going?

She now realizes that life is to short to care, but too important to not care. In other words, life contradicts its self over and over and over and over again
That little girl had inhibitions, she wanted to be a doctor or a fashion designer, or an actress.  This “young adult” still has those dreams, but she knows that that’s all they are.... Dreams. And soon she will be on her own and have to wake up and do something more realistic.

So now I have tea parties on my own, the tea is replaced by coffee, that keeps me alert enough to get through the day, the dolls are replaced by the quiet whisper of the voices in my head.

Imagine living in a world where you can’t leave your house without your life being in danger, where you couldn’t go to school, work, or even to the grocery store to pick up some friggin’ milk!

A world where you aren’t just judged for what makes you different, but killed for it.

This is the world some people live in, A world of hate, fear, and death.

A world where they can’t walk down the street holding their loved one’s hand, they can’t go to school, they can’t even leave their house without fearing for their lives.

We look back at history and think, “****, look how far we have come.” But have we really progressed that far? Are we really making the progress we so desperately need? Where is today’s Harvey Milks and Martin Luther Kings when we need them most?

What about Matthew Shepard, Lawrence King, Trayvon Martin, Sakia Gunn, James Byrd, and those are just the one’s who made the news. What about the thousands of people who are injured and killed for who they love, the pigment of their skin and where they are from?

It is 2 thousand 14, not 1920, so grow up people, and realize that what make us different shouldn’t be the reason we fear for our lives. Human shouldn’t be a death sentence. Because we are all pink on the inside, or at least that’s what I’ve heard, and we all bleed red or at least that’s what I have seen...

I'm glad I am still alive to love you

Losing you was like losing a part of me I will never get back.

It felt like someone had died and taken me with them, but instead of eternal sleep I was constantly awake. After I lost you I went days with out sleeping, I lost count after a while of how many hours I spent wishing you would come back to me.

Seeing you in the hallway, in class, in my dreams was like seeing a ghost haunting me day and night.

Watching as you slowly drifted further and further out to sea made me feel like I was the one drowning.

Hearing your name made my heart pound, no longer with excitement, but with longing. My heartstrings no longer played a peaceful melody but a poor arrangement of dissonant notes played on a broken harp.

Telling myself I didn't love you anymore burned like the cheap ***** I tried to erase you with.

I tried so hard to forget or replace you. I found someone who told me all the things you used to say, but it wasn't the same.

I still think I see your ghost sometimes, laughing with our friends or playing your guitar, and each time my heart skips a beat thinking maybe you've come back but I know that isn't how this works, and I know your ghost is really just the smoke of a bridge I never meant to burn.

It's hard to say goodbye, when you have barely said hello.

If the highs have me soaring, but the lows feel like a nose dive into rock, is it even worth it?

To the girl who can't let it go,

I'm sorry. No, not for lying, or deceiving you, because I never did. But I'm sorry that you can't let go. Let go of your anger, your hate, your resentment. I'm sorry that seeing me happy makes you so **** mad.  I'm sorry that you aren't willing to listen to my side of the story before judging my actions. I'm sorry that I feel like I have to be writing this poem just to try to reach you. I'm sorry you can't find forgiveness in your heart, because honestly, I have been like you, I have been filled with hatred, and resentment for another person. I know how to feels to not be able to let go of those emotions. And I can tell you that it is a ****** way to live your life. But I understand it is not easy to overcome those feelings, and I know it takes time. So until then, be mad at me, hate me, tell everyone about how I stole him away from you, and how I lied.  Call me a liar, call me a *****. Make me your (metaphorical) punching bag. I will understand. But know this, I will still be here when you find the strength to admit you have held on to your ill-will towards me for too long. I will be here willing to make peace.  I will be here when the smoke clears. Until then, however, I will be here in the distance, waiting for the day to come when you finally decide to let go of your negativity.

Sincerely,
The one who is waving a white flag

To anyone who ends falling in love with me:

If I could have a sign in front me at all times it would read “warning now entering dangerous territory. Turn back now” in bright red lettering. It may even have a ****** hand print just for added dramatics. You should not ignore this sign. However if you are interested in me you probably are going to elect to disregard this very obvious warning so these are some things you may want to know going in to this;

If you have ever come across a road block you may understand what it is like to fall in love with me already. It is frustrating, and will ruin your day, and you will most likely end up having to take alternate routes and a little extra time just to get to know me past a surface level.

I will never apologize for who I am as I am aware of it already, I know my faults as well as my strengths and I embrace them whole heartedly.

I am like brick wall behind another brick wall behind a titanium door. Which roughly translates to I am stubborn as hell and don’t plan to change that.

My tongue is smooth and sweet like honey, I can sway you, change you, make you, or mold you with just a few words that will taste like a spoon full of sugar but burn like cheap ***** and regret.

My family will always come first, end of story.

You will find yourself asking questions constantly, you will wonder what I’m thinking and you may find the courage to ask but know that you will find that you leave with more question than you started with and no real answers.

Know that my tongue may be sweet and soft but it is also sharp and can hurt you, it can leave you tattered pieces of a man before you even know it.

I don’t open up easily, I am a safe with a lost combination. I am like that book from Harry Potter that attacks him when he tries to open it. It will take blood sweat and tears to make me tell you anything about who I really am.

You will wonder why I love sunlight so much and you should know that it is because I am cold, skin like ice and the heart to match. But if I am the arctic, you must be global warming. However in our case I’d like to think that global warming is less about killing innocent animals and more about melting the ice to find something new, undiscovered, something from before your time.

And I’m sorry that falling for me isn’t easy, in fact its next to impossible, but I will be even more sorry to see you give up. Because you will never find another girl like me, you won’t find anyone as exasperating as me, or as ridiculous as me, but you also won’t find anyone who will make you feel the way I do, you won’t find someone who will love you like I will.

And if you STILL aren’t listening to the **** sign tear it down, make a new one, write your name in bold and underline it, trespass and find out that you life is about it change.

It's amazing how one moment of weakness can change everything.

I am constantly haunted by the mistakes of my past...

I am constantly plagued by the what if in my present...

I live in fear of the choices in my future...

I am terrified of the unknown, of the maybes, of the decisions I will never make or never made.

Of the last 24 months I've known you these past 9 have been the longest and hardest of them all