She was oil and vinegar.
She had spice up her veins. And the whole world stared as if they knew her.
"I will forever miss you"
her tattoo on her neck said, right next to the stain of lipstick that ran down her cheek.
And she didn't know love,
For girls like her are wild tigers, untamed and marvelous,
She flowed through my world,
and If only I could but touch a sent of her would I be full of magic,
For I don't know how the world turns, but I believe it flys through the sky at the bat of her eye.
And she can make all the grey go away with but a flick of a finger,
Though she's cold, like ice, I hope to one day melt her.

I am a bird without wings,
Let me fly.
And I'm struggling to find my own song,
Trying to figure it out with you,
Oh you,
You who I thought I could pour myself into like water into glass,
actually exposing who I am,
For I'm a locked box, unable to break out of my own cage,
I was within and without,
Looking inside hoping I would make up my own answers.
or continue on some rhythm that would work.
and I constantly pick and pull at the dry skin off my fingers,
feeling the blood pour out, my nervousness exposed.
Am I my nervousness, or is my nervousness just me,
cause I'm fluttering around with broken pieces,
barely sticking together so clean.
And the people I thought I connected with leave, just go,
and I'm left with my rips and tears,
dealing with the agony of their disappearance.
And I want it all to make sense but it doesn't

My computer is as messy as my mind, and is scattered with pretty pictures and blurbs of my brain I was not able to keep in.
I am wired, I am worried, I am always anxious.
And maybe cause I'm scared and worst off I'm puzzled at what's really going on inside.
I lost a friend. A good one, not to a permanent lost, but very much likely will not ever see her again.
And that hurts, like an unacknowledged bruise taking place with me completely unaware, hurting only when poking at the location of bright purple and murky blue.
I hurt for you and my sensitives nerves are all bursting and boiling and bubbled over with swollenness of being overused.
I wish I could put my heart away. I wish I could pretend I had no heart and that people would not sink there teeth into me so easily.

I wish there words wouldn't hurt and spoil me. You think by being old enough the wounds of second grade don't come back to haunt you.
For me, at least they are shadows of my past warning me every day.
It's hard to say words that don't mean anything, worst off it's harder to say words that mean everything.
I don't let others in, no I shrink from that violent force of overcoming with love, for what would I do with it.

Love only makes one lazy and fat with self content. An artist can never be happy with their rate of talent. They search and lurk for more, hoping to be better then they were the day before. That is how we right brained people think. We hurt cause we always have this little voice in our head saying we will and are never going to be good enough. That our talents are empty shots heading toward the sky, as we fall back to earth realizing we are mere mortals who cannot break the atmosphere.
And everything has changed, and nothing at all cannot stay the same. For I've seen seasons break and burst, and I tumble through them on vapid lisps of sleep that do not keep my body operating very effectively. As if hurting myself is really going to stop the change around me, that my resistance to the new will actually make it less apparent that it's all turning into something I now do not recognize. And it's hard when the change begins to become hard. I can accept change that makes me feel bubbles of happiness, but change that makes me feel lonely or sad or empty I cannot feel. Overall this summer has been the adventure that I never anticipated.
It's nice to be free. Not having to worry really about anyone else except yourself. That is being young, and my brother and sister are doing it all wrong. I cannot help but wish I could turn back their clocks and make it so they cannot grow up at all.

The definitions of girl is not ponies, not princesses, not damsel in distress. We are not dainty, dismal, damaged, needed to be saved porcelain dolls. We are not made of china. We are made as the same material as you. As you who were breathed from earth so are we. We have bone, we have skin. We have eyes and noses and ears. We just have the same materials, but our insides are warped, mystic oceans full of unwanted emotions, tidal waves of thoughts, insecurities, we are potions of explosions, bottles just about to break, yet we keep going.
Girls are not petty, not just there to be pretty. Girls are human just as you. We aren't sculptures or paintings or portraits but girls are made to bring out the beauty of this world.Beauty that is skin deep. From with in the soul and just within the realms of our hearts. We breath But first girls must love themselves or they will fall for any type of love they get. Girls are soldiers fighting a war with themselves, everyday doubting whether they are good enough, some are better at it then others, but even that is just plain vanity. Girls are sad creatures, lost unicorns, because men will not understand the horrors of being female. Yes males have it bad, but girls have it worse. Girls are seen as followers and are  not given lee way to make decisions on their own. They are considered simple and frail because men don't understand the storms that brew incessantly within our souls. Girls are not possessions that are here to make men happy. Girls want to be loved, more then anything else in the world. They don't need to be successful, some have the desire to be. But all internally struggling with the idea of if any of us are any good enough to be loved. So don't ever tell me my diet coke should not be a diet. Don't tell me I need to never wear makeup. Don't try to compliment me by telling me what to do. Don't think because you are a boy that you are able to tell me what I can and cannot do. Cause I'm as human as you and my opinions have the same amount of weight no matter how many hormones I have within my soul raging.Being hit on is just embarrassing. I'm not your toy, I'm not your treasure. I'm a person. Respect is all I ask, as the thought of how unequally I am considered to be according to your  breed. Luckily my dad never said to me you can't do that cause you are a girl. Luckily my dad loved me and showed me how to be treated. I was taught females are gonna get as much respect as they show themselves. But how bout guys you step off and let us be. I get you wanna talk to us, so talk, don't make dumb comments, don't try to flatter us in front of our bosses, don't make us feel like we are feeble and silly.  Don't tell me what I know cause you haven't taken one step in my shoes. You have never worn my skin. You don't have *****, and you cannot dare tell me how to drink, how to dress, whether I'm fat or skinny, or just the right size you have no say in how I treat my body.

I am a girl,
And I hate details.
I hate the little things in life that seem to cause so much trouble, I hate decorative pillows, accented candles, and making sure I eat some pinterest recipe meal my friend sent to me on thursday.
I don't like the minor things in life, such as cleaning, or cooking, and making sure I get to bed on time, or if my hair ever looks right.
I walk around with no makeup usually, sometimes wear the same shirt twice in a row, if my hair is semi greasy, then let it be under a hat,
I'm a girl, I won't wear the right clothes when it's 50 degrees, or I forget to take my medication so I wake up all clogged up from my allergies. I don't always eat right, and drink coffee way too much, and I don't dream of my dream wedding dress I like to think of other things that make sense to me.
I don't get upset with C's. If I passed at least I passed. I don't always make it to class, and though I wish I could be a neat freak, I can't, cause that's not me.
I am a girl who can't stand the little things in life, like perfect date nights, or pleasantly planned events, or fretting over if my earrings go with my outfit.
I like the messiness of life, unexpected relationships, random calls, winging assignments, and trying not to make everything make so much sense, It doesn't matter, not a hundred years from now, I live through the rhythms of my own heartbeat. Yes it's troublesome, and I am always late, and I quit jobs, and make irrational decisions, cause I don't like the details, I like to flow with destiny and fate and see what happens nonetheless
and I really don't like rules...

I would like to go back a thousand years ago,
just to sleep.
For I'm drenched in thoughtlessness.
I ache for some relieve.
And I'm trying, solely not to burn up.
and I do not mean to over dramatize, but I'm lost.
Which I guess is usual for being 20.
Only 20, as I eat myself up in tv shows and confusion.
And I watch the world get married and have babies, but I don't want that,
No I don't need that.
Nor do I really want that.
As profs talk as if I care, about their useless pieces of info they throw at me, except the one about dinos. I like that.
But anyways I sit and here they look at me as if I really give a ****.
I want a job. Don't they understand.
And I parked in the wrong spot today,
and the critique went bad and I overpaid on an earl grey latte and wasted my day watching friends all day.
But we all have those bad days.
And I'm trying trying trying so hard not to think bad thoughts.
But the weather is rainy, and I'm still tired. This ever longing tiredness. But I drew today. I drew my sorrows away, and no matter what those stingy profs say, I can draw. I draw to keep myself together.
I draw so I don't think the bad thoughts, to keep my jealous thoughts back at bay. So I quit making a fool of myself, the only think I know how to do is draw.
And I have a wide open summer, of no plans, or prospering, or any real progress.
Isn't that sad?
To dread your own summer.
Maybe after having summer so many times, it loses it's freedom quality. It becomes just another season to endure.
And that's sad. It's sad when you can't look forward to summer.
Cause summer was once a fantasy.
A sense of adventure accompanied summer.
And I look at summer now with a dread and inability to really be ready or excited for it.
That's really sad.
And I'm not writing to make you sad, but I'm writing out of my inability to understand this sadness.
I'm trying to hold on to something...
Maybe this sadness will pass into something I can hold onto.
And coincidently were talking about the blues...in class.
Not really helping my melancholy frankly.
I think teachers are so wrapped up in their own cynical life they like to spread it onto others.

I wanna move out to La. Not just to be a celebrity, or superstar. I wanna move out to LA cause that's where dreams come true. Right? Ohio is all dull and grey. And during the summer's it's just less grey. You see the flatlands of Ohio, and they don't inspire you. They make you feel even flatter on the inside. Less motivated. Our winter's are hard, are weather is weird, and all our brains are full of bacon and corn.
We worship football, and don't get me started about those buckeyes. That's all our states about…
But california has palm trees and stars and movies. They have my love.
For in California I felt it all, the world in my little hand. The world in my hand, I was an oyster, and california was my pearl. I was loved, and felt loved, and felt as if the world was mine. But Ohio is damp, and dark, and *****. After spring it's just less snowy. It's icky and spiritless. I'm broken and sad easily split open by the weather.

But I was touched by gold. I was given a chance to see mountains. And I wanted mountains, and that California state breeze. That breeze of a millions others who dream… and I am no different.