Something in my body stirs
As I toss and turn in my bed.
I dream of a castle with my own quarters
And a fair prince who's stuck in my head.

The castle is high above the clouds
In skies so pleasantly blue.
With no toil or care or angry crowds,
And I dream that you'll be there too.

But the dream is fleeting, it leaves me alone
Until once again in those skies I may roam.

I want to hide away and cry
But it seems my eyes have both run dry

A bright spot in this haze of black
Would give me nothing but a heart attack

A heart attack might wake me up
But I'd just drink from your poisoned cup

Then I could go back to sleep
And be within the angels' keep

"The angels' keep, or the demons'?" you say
It matters not to me either way

As long as I don't have to wake
And I shall be all yours, for the take

Dreams.
Follow your dreams.
Chase your dream to the ends of the earth.
But chase with caution.
Dreams have a knack for getting in the way.
Of real life.
Of the responsibilities that real life holds.
But don't be too cautious.
For dreams chased are the way to happiness.
And without that,
What else do we have to live for?

I love fireworks.
They embody the human spirit.
I love them because everyone finds them beautiful.
They're not looked down upon; they're only looked up to.
And though each and every one of them is different, even in the slightest of ways, it doesn't matter.
Their differences don't make them inferior; the make them stand out.
And my favorite part, is this:

Once a firework shoots into the sky, it can't be stopped.
Nothing
Can
Bring
It
Back
Down.
Even though the color fades eventually, that firework has left its mark in the sky forever.
It's eternal.
It never dies.
And even if  you can't see it, it's still there.

Full of hate
Full of anger
Full of sadness
Full of broken pieces
Of broken parts
Of broken hearts

An ended life
A lifeless body
A bodiless soul

Hanging in the air
Lingering
Hunting
Haunting

Full of blackness
Full of blankness
Full of emptiness

Empty
Yet
Full

Full of confusion
Full of shame
Full of blame
Full of torture
Full of hurt

Full of regret
Full of fallenness
Full of worry
Full of worthlessness
Full of exhaustion

Full in death

inspire
1. to fill with an animating, quickening, or exalting influence
2. to fill or affect with a specified feeling, thought, etc.
3. to influence or impel

inspired
1. aroused, animated, or imbued with the spirit to do something, by or as if by supernatural or divine influence
2. resulting from such inspiration

inspiration
1. an inspiring or animating action or influence
2. something inspired, as an idea
3. a result of inspired activity
4. a thing or person that inspires

Inspiration is not often thought of as something with feet. Something capable of wandering the earth.
But rather, it is thought of as a thing. A thing that occurs. Be it divine or natural, it simply is.

Some people find Inspiration in nature.
In the woods, among weeping willows whose vibrant leaves cascade upon the earth in blissful waves.
Others find it at the edge of the water, as they observe their reflection in the piercingly clear, blue ocean while the tide brings waves rushing endlessly forward into their bare, goosebumpy legs.
Others still find it under the skies, as they stare up into an endless mass of meteors, meteorites, and stars of all colors, burning ever brighter, flying through and twinkling against the night's black.

I fear many people live their lives without meeting even a subtle glimpse of Inspiration.
These creatures are not capable of living; they simply exist.

Inspire is what we are capable of doing.
Inspired is the way we are capable of feeling.
Inspiration is the difference between being alive and living.
People are born and die.
Their lives simply pass.
They exist, they do not live, for they have never caught a glimpse of Inspiration,
even out of the corner of their eye.

I am one of the lucky ones.
I sit, among the harmonic symphony of coffee and cigarettes, across from Inspiration Himself.

We sit.
We sit on a worn, green metal bench that has become familiar and comfortable.
He hugs His legs against His chest with His feet crossed, bobbing up and down as though He feels the ebbs and flows of ocean waves beneath him.
He looks ponderously at the words in front of Him, words so brilliantly crafted,
woven from His life's toils, troubles, and joys.
Words that I hope He sees fit to share with the universe;
Words that are simply beyond me.

We are no more than two young minds,
One, spectacularly brilliant, and the other, exceedingly average,
but whose brainwaves crash into each other as
thunder and lightning join in a perfect storm,
a collision of angst and unhinged emotions and laughter.

There are people in the world who live without Inspiration.
Who never even see it out of the corner of their eye.
But the few lucky ones, like me, will tell you that
you simply have to look in the right place.

You can find it in the trees.
You can find it in the seas.
You can find it in the skies.

But if your mind can't seem to focus on something so vast and universal,
you simply have to look into the eyes of a friend who has never left your side.

I went into NSLC with my mind open to the possibility of my life being changed, because, honestly, I needed it to. But I went in thinking the experience would change my life, because I think I started doubting quite a while ago that people could. I'm sitting on a plane that is taking me farther and farther from New York by the second, and, therefore, farther and farther away from you. From my window, I can see a storm below. From 31,000 feet up in the air, what looks like a small clump of grey clouds is being lit through over and over again by streaks of lightning. While I'm sure it is terrifying to behold from within, being an outsider is like very few things I've ever beheld. And seeing as I've been morphing into you the last ten days, a metaphor comes to mind.

I am that grey cloud, the cloud which before simply existed. A small clump of clouds that, in the grand scheme of things, is inconsequential. But then the lightning came. It came and changed me, from the inside out. It gave an inconsequential, meaningless clump of grey clouds the ability to light up the night sky, even above cities that glow with electric lights. The lightning first electrified my heart, then my soul, then my mind and body. You are that lightning, Liv. And now that I have been changed by that lightning, I cannot go back to the invisible clump of grey clouds that once was.

But unlike the clouds, I will not go away. I will not evaporate. I have been a light in the night sky, and I will continue to glow and to grow. I hope to someday be the lightning in someone else. This letter isn't hand-written or stained with my tears, because I needed you to know this now. But there are many of those to come. Continue to be the lightning in the hearts of humans that were before meaningless, invisible, grey clouds.

Thank you for being my lightning.

What is fear?
Is true love real?
How many times will I let a person hurt me before I give up on them?
Why are you so stupid?!
Why did you love him, he never loved you!
You are a fool.
An
Out-and-out,
Good-for-nothing
Rogue of a fool.
"Take back your life!" says the angel on my right shoulder.
"Face it, you're far too weak," says the devil on the left.
"A fat, ugly, wretched bit of garbage; a heavy burden on the world around you."
"No!" the angel cries. "You are strong! Beautiful, compassionate!"
I wish to listen to the angel.
But the figure on the left
Is
The
One
Who
Always
Wins.

As I sat in my bathroom that evening, bawling my eyes out, I came to a realization; I am a very ugly crier. I think crying being ugly is something that humans just innately have a concept of, but I think it takes a real and true mental breakdown in front of a bathroom mirror for a person to come to terms with how ugly their face can actually be. But I came to another realization, besides just the fact that my face can get really ugly...

You have been there for every ugly face.

For the ones that come along with mental breakdowns, when my eyes are raw and pink and my entire face is red and, when I cry hard enough, that strange, chapped line shows above my upper lip that is slightly reminiscent of a mustache.

For the ones that come along when I'm really really really ******* and my left eyebrow raises and the left side of my mouth curls up into a snarl and I end up looking a helluva lot like my dog did when he was angry.

For the ones that come along when I am so utterly repulsed by the stupidity of humanity that every single one of my ****** features is centralized at the middle of my face and contorted in such a way that can only be an expression of disgust.

But you've been there for the other faces too...

Like the one that I make when I tell you stories about people at school not knowing what "****" means.

Or the one I make when I'm laughing so hard I look like I'm dying.

Or the one I make when I'm smiling so idiotically about a boy that my canine teeth protrude abnormally from the sides of my mouth.

You've been there for every face.

The ones that you deal with looking at when I'm sobbing because you know I need you to.

Or the one's you say are "pretty" with an expression of disgust and hilarity after you've seen one of the selfies I send my friends on snapchat.

Or the ones you say are pretty, even when I don't see it myself...
You've been there for every face.


You've loved me


at my best,



at my worst,



and at my ugliest.



And for that, I can


never



ever



ever



thank you enough.

She walks to the green room door.
She turns to make sure no one is looking.
She turns the **** slowly, and enters.
She climbs the few stairs that lead to the back of the stage.
She walks behind the curtain in the dark, dim light.
She looks up to the catwalk that used to seem so fearsome, but now seems like a part of home.
She walks on stage, though there is no audience in sight.
She begins to speak words she'd spoken a thousand times.
She begins to sing notes that are so familiar, they fill her with joy.
She walks the length of the stage several times.
She stands at the center, looks up, and smiles.

She is free.

You say you don't want to be called beautiful,
But look at you.
You are.

Maybe not in a conventional way.
You're not a twig.
Your face is full.
Your cheeks are rosy.
Your hair is like platinum.
Your grey eyes twinkle even in the darkness.

Really,
There's nothing ordinary about you.
But ordinary isn't, and never has been beautiful.
And it never will be.

But there is no denying that you are beautiful.
The glow of your smile.
The power of your words.
Your presence on stage.
Your feet as they glide across the floor, even when you're not dancing.

So I will dare to call you beautiful.
Because if you of all people are not beautiful,
Then I will never truly know what beauty is.

Walking into a train station
is like walking through a wrinkle in time.

Somehow the gravity and the energy of the hustle and bustle of the metropolis around you
finds its center. Not so slowly,
it begins to stir.

People are going places, moving too quickly onward to whatever bigger and better place it is they're getting to, to appreciate the world in which they already exist.
They walk at two paces: 1) too slowly for anyone else to follow behind, or 2) too fast to keep up with in the unnatural ebb and flow of humanity.
The former remain oblivious.
The latter brush by, passing into you the rushing that has set into their souls.

You don't know much about a traveling life when you're not boarding a train.
All you know is the information of places and arrival times provided to you in neon lights,
and whatever it is that overcomes your body and being as you see people rush through the gate to their designated platforms.
Some feel an unceasing anxiety.
Others feel an ineffable and unquenchable longing to be transported into the World Across the Gates.

For the first time in your life,
you realize how truly insignificant you are. For the first time in your life,
you define translucence. For the first time in your life,
you are in a place full of people who do not know you, would not miss you, and, if you made a split-second decision to buy a ticket to the place farthest from home, would not question you if they even noticed in the first place. For the first time in your life,
you are really and truly free;
freer than you've ever been before.

here are a few things you should know about me...

i'm insane. i'm 17 and insane. and while i cannot take credit for these words, i thank ray bradbury for putting my life in such simple terms.

i like to think of myself as an actress, a singer, a poet, and a dreamer. while the first three may not be true, i have no doubt that the last is all too accurate.

much of humanity disgusts me. i hate school, because people my age are so incredibly immature and, frankly, stupid. given that these are the people i usually come in contact with, i often avoid said contact at all costs. that's why i love acting class; age is irrelevant.
acting is all about defying limits.

i'm really not an awkward person,
which you probably have a difficult time believing, because literally everything i've done when i've been around you has been not only awkward, but incredibly idiotic. i ruined my own joke when i told you i didn't want you to have my number. i could have been really cool and let you kiss my cheek and just walked away, but no. i had to make it stupid and awkward and make an absolute, utter fool of myself. and then stand at your car laughing at myself, and prolonging the idiocy. i don't know what it is about you that makes me act so
stupid and clumsy, but i hope it made you laugh,
because we all need some comic relief in our lives.

i'm kind of a guarded person. correction - i'm a very guarded person. while other people have "walls," i have a security system from the year 3001 built up around my soul, which itself is like a medieval castle. i'm technically an extrovert, but it's not like my "recharging" is going out and partying with friends; my "recharging" is going out and dancing with complete strangers.
i don't drink, but i sure as hell do dance.

that's where you come in...
i'm great at hiding my feelings. i always have been. life has forced me to be great at hiding my feelings. but when i am around you, every mask i've ever created is ripped from my face, along with the layer of skin that has been permanently warped by the heat of those masks and the faces i really make and the makeup that the world and
society has forced me to paint myself with.
the masks disappear.

i have met very few people in my life that have had that capability, and while it terrifies me,
i like it.

i can't remember the last time my true skin met the cool breeze of the world around me, so i have to thank you;
you have removed the masks.
you have let my skin breathe again.

As I browsed the section of Valentine's Day cards on display at target, I came to a realization; no store-bought greeting card -  regardless of how romantic or humorous or sentimental it is, or how beautifully it is crafted - could possibly do my feelings for you any justice. So, as I've done often in the past, I decided to create a letter of my own.

At other times, when I have felt my own words insufficient, I have enlisted the help of words of other wiser beings. But this time, for the first time in my life, I am at a true and utter, honest loss for words.

This brought me to another realization; there simply are no words in the English language to express the feelings I have for you, nor, I doubt, in any language on earth,  or any anywhere else in this vast universe, for that matter. It cannot be said, but rather it must be felt. And do not doubt its ability to fill to the brim and completely consume the senses, for it can.

It can be seen...
by a girl who walks towards a clock tower and turns around at the sound of her name being called by a perfect stranger, whose piercingly electric blue eyes sink deeply into her soul.

It can be felt...
first, at the touch of a hand, then at the warmth of a figure laying next to and wrapping itself around and into another.

It can be heard...
in joyous laughter and music on a long car ride and birds chirping outside your window to greet you good morning, creating a melody of their own.

It can be smelled...
in perfume and chlorine and sage and sweat.

It can be tasted...
when lips meet and tongues tie and perfectly fit together like pieces of a puzzle which was before thought to be unsolvable.

And I've come to another realization still ~ the fact that I can't say how I feel doesn't really matter. Words, as much as they mean and as beautiful as they can be, when it comes to feelings like those I have for you, are the most inconsequential thing in the world.

Words don't matter when it comes to this. But if I have to use them, I'll choose the three that have the most value in my heart at this moment...

I
and
Love
and
You

what if I'm lost?
what if I never want to be found?
what if the world turns me away
and never turns me around?

what if I cry like a child
who by the world is denied?
what if I'm too tired to fend for myself
so I always just step aside?

what if the pages of my heart are blank
like a book that's never been read?
what if I sliced and stabbed and cut
until to my death I bled?

what if I stare into my future
and realize I haven't got much?
and what if I'm taken away by a man
who wants me because I'm soft to the touch?

what if I just want to die?
into the depths be thrown?
what if I want to be in the dark,
venture through the black on my own?

there are many what-ifs that one could ask
as the stars draw their fates in the sky.
and there's many a girl who's been out on her own
who
decided
to
end
things
and
die.

I know not my purpose
I know not why my existence continues
Nor why it ever came to be
Nor why the sun rises in the east
They were wrong-
Dreams
Don't
Come
True.
Not if you're me.
Dreams merely taunt an already troubled mind
Make one think they are worth something
When in all reality,
They could not be worth less.
Rosy cheeks
Broad smile
Chin up
Shoulders thrown back-
All the signs of a girl with it all.
When in all reality,
She is merely a girl with a soul of black
A soul on fire
A soul burning to ash
Black, black ash.
She smiles
She laughs
She puts on an act
She hides her pain
She pretends her mind is sound
That she is only tired
That her emotions aren't eating her alive
That her boldness is real
When in all reality,
She's
Being
Torn
Apart.

another day of exhaustion
after another sleepless night
not knowing where to run
and too mightless to fight.

the world around me seems blacker
than it did yesterday
but with these storms in my mind, thunder, lightning,
the dark is here to stay.

no more reason to live,
no reason to go on
I sit here all alone
waiting for the dawn

when the sun rises,
and when the moon fades
I'll still be here alone
being stabbed with thorns and blades.

once upon a time, life was hopeful,
and I had reason to push through
but now I'm here, all alone,
and all I have is you.

but will you ever realize?
will you ever even care?
will you ever admit it's love?
would you even dare?

it's true, my answer would be no,
for I am slight and weak.
I would merely zip my mouth
like a bird who'd lost its beak.

but you are strong, you are wise,
you are brilliant and bold.
you - you are my one true love;
my dearest treasured gold

it's true - I love you, I will not lie,
please believe and know.
and if, by chance, you feel the same,
please just tell me so...