I can't tell you how much you're in my thoughts
Because the words get tangled in my throat
And my cheeks go red at the sound of your name.
I'm too shy to tell you how I feel,
How much I ache for you to notice me,
How I remember our small conversations.
Sometimes I catch you glancing my way,
And sometimes I let myself think you were looking at me.
So I guess I'll settle for the quiet hellos
And the constant dreaming of your hand in mine.

In the mornings, I love myself
From the flecks of blue surrounding my pupils, to the fragile bones in my hands.
In the afternoons, I'm not sure.
I grow indifferent to this in-between body, not ugly but not pretty.
During the nights, I hate myself
From my disproportioned legs to my artificial smile.

I can't help but take offense
when someone calls me weird.
The word is not what I mind.
But the way the person says it,
Like an insult.
Weird.
Weird means I'm not the same
I'm not like the others, that I'm unique.
Weird means I don't wear the same mask everyone else does to fit in.
Weird means I'm unlike anyone you've ever met.
How can an attribute this remarkable
Sound so different when you use it in a sentence?

So you say you want your life to be beautiful, filled with adventure and exciting events at every corner.
So you say you want your life to be teeming with love, friends welcoming you at the door, family laughing with you, and your lover close by.
So you say you want your life to be happier, because it isn't looking too pretty now, your hopes dripping from the faucet into the drain.
So you say you want your life to be better, so
Make it.

I've never been in love, but it must be like waking up from a lovely dream.
It's probably something like a road trip without a destination.
I hope it's that feeling in your stomach as the roller coaster is dropping, electricity coursing through your veins.
Maybe it's like a camera, freezing moments that feel like forever.
I bet its something like the glittering embers in the sky, just after a firework burst into a dozen lights.
I'm sure love is like a constellation, where you can connect the dots to create a story.
Love must be like rain drops on a window, accumulating slowly, then racing to the brim of the frame.
I think love is like an eclipse. The sun and the moon circling the globe, in search of each other. And when they finally meet, the world stops to watch.
For me, I know love is a dusty typewriter, waiting for its story to be written.

She's the white sheets, unkept but alive with warmth.
She's the overlooked blank page before the book begins.
She's a silver cloud at night, giving the moon time to rest.
She is the smallest Russian doll, the one very few have the patience to find.
She is the tip of a tower, her mind so above and beyond the clouds, only some venture to look up.
She is the flicker of a candle, unsteady but radiant.
She appears to be simple and quiet.
But after she finds the right person to read her story, she is very complex and large.
And once she is found, you can never forget her.

Please don’t be sad.
There’s an infinite number of better things to be.                                                              ­                                        
Don’t listen when they tell you,
Or you tell yourself,
Anything other than this:                                                            ­                                                                 ­                 

You are not a failure.
You are not a size
Or a number on a scale
Or a letter on a test.
You are nothing short of amazing.
You are your uncontrollable laugh, 
and your large, genuine smile.  
You are your lively eyes when you've been told good news.
You are the pile of books at your bedside, 
and your favorite stories inside them.
You are the words you write without thinking,  
and the tunes you hum absentmindedly.
You are the beauty you see in the world, 
and the beauty the world sees in you.
You are your mind, your endless ideas and thoughts at night.
You are your moments of pure happiness.
You are what you aspire to be.

You are unlike anyone who has ever existed.
You are not what has happened,
you are what’s yet to come.

So please don't be sad,                                                             ­                                                                 ­           There's an infinite number of better things to be. 
Be inspired, or adventurous, or happy, or observant, 
anything but sad.