It has taken me nearly 19 years to accept the fact that I am stuck in this body,
a body that I have loved,
and hated.
Although,
more of the latter occurred than I would care to admit.
I'm stuck in this life,
as this person,
and I have to be okay with that.
Because not being okay with that,
doesn't leave me very many options.

We live.
We hope to love.
We die.
When we die,
will this world end up being what we had hoped it would be?
I want to live.
But I need to figure out what that means first.
I've been taught to believe in God.
I think I do.
I haven't really figured out what God means though.
When I think about it now I suppose I might not.
I don't want to understand everything.
I try not to ask for much.
But there are some things I suppose I would like to understand.
Do I really need to spend my life trying,
so hard to please this unseen entity,
just to get to "eternal happiness"?
I'm tired of hearing the excuse,
"God would be angry with you"
just to get our children to treat each other with care and kindness.
I believe in faith,
I don't believe what it's turning into though.
I don't want to just have to believe in God.
I want to believe in this life.
I want to believe in the earth,
the sun,
the stars,
one another.
And when my time comes,
whenever that may be.
whether he is there or not,
I hope that I was the best person that I could be.
Because in the end,
we only have ourselves,
and I don't want to end up with a "me" that I can't live with,
because if eternal life does come after this.
I don't think I could survive.

I like to paint.
I like to paint stars.
I like to paint cats.
I like to paint words.
I like to paint life.
I suppose,
that's what it all is.
Everything I paint is life.
I'm not good at it.
It just helps me release.
Giving color to the sad,
blank,
lonely sheet of paper.
Painting everything I ever wanted to be.
When I was little,
I wanted to be a dinosaur.
Probably not the dinosaur you're thinking of.
I should be more specific.
I wanted to be Barney's wife.
Then one day I was told it would never happen.
I think that was the day I lost my color.
That was also the year I had heard,
for the first time,
Santa didn't exist.
I was 6.
Not even a decade old,
and here I am starting to learn the ugly truths of life.
I brushed it off,
and convinced myself they were lying.
He had to exist.
I needed him to exist.
To be honest though,
I remember that day.
Very vividly.
I went home and crawled into my bed and cried,
a lot.
I think that was the day I stopped believing in magic.
Then I grew up.
And realized a lot about this life.
If Santa didn't exist,
then how could God?
Was I being fed the same ******* about him,
as I was about the Tooth Fairy,
and Santa Claus,
and the Easter Bunny?
I mean *******,
we tell our kids not to lie,
yet we instill this false hope of magic in their heads.
Hoping one day they find out for themselves,
so we don't have to break it to them.
I wish I had just kept my mouth shut,
I wish I had never told anyone about my dreams
of being a big purple dinosaur.
Maybe then I wouldn't have to paint so much.
Because as much as I don't want to admit it,
the day we learn the truth about life,
is the day we are drained of our color,
and we turn into those,
blank,
lonely,
sad,
pieces of paper.
And there we will remain,
patiently waiting for some good news,
some color,
to fill our plain pages,
knowing deep down,
that happening,
is as likely as me growing up and marrying a big purple dinosaur.

Where do the dreams that aren't remembered go?
You know those dreams,
the ones that you wake up having a vague idea about,
yet you can't seem to remember it in its entirety.
Where do they go?
Do they go to dream purgatory,
because they weren't good enough to be remembered?
I guess the same goes for people.
All of those lost souls,
who never had anyone.
No one to care for them,
and no one to remember them.
It's my biggest fear.
Being forgettable.
The idea of living my entire life,
just to be forgotten when I die,
it terrifies me.
That isn't my only fear though,
I'm afraid of other things too,
like:
rejection,

                   society,

                                 my own reflection.
However,
next time I lay down to sleep,
I will try my hardest to remember those dreams,
because I know someday,
I will be one of them.
Sitting with the worry of
Being forgotten,
lonely,
orphaned.
Waiting patiently for the night to pass
and another opportunity to rise,
so that maybe this time,
I'll be good enough.
Memorable enough.

I like to dream.
Everyone does though I suppose.
I don't dream in the sense that you'd probably think.
Not when I sleep.
Lord knows I do enough of that,
but I'm incapable of dreaming at night,
I think that's why I sleep so much.
Each time I lay down I pray that,
Just one single,
lonely dream will come.
It doesn't though.
I keep trying though,
day after day,
and I promise I'm not just giving an excuse for me taking so many naps.
Although I do,
I'll admit that.
But since I don't dream when sleep,
I settle for dreaming when I'm awake,
some call it daydreaming.
I make up these situations in my mind,
where I'm happy beyond belief.
I imagine that I'm in an empty field,
running free.
I imagine I'm up in space,
with the stars.
A place that I've admired for so long,
I imagine I'm there.
Far away from this place,
and the hurt that exists here.
I'm not going to say I hate my life,
because that would be a lie.
I'm simply going to say that I'm not satisfied with my life.
There are so many places I'd rather be than down here,
with gravity pinning me to this
seemingly two dimensional place.
I imagine sitting and conversing,
with all of my idols.
Smoking a joint with Janis Joplin and Jimi Hendrix,
sitting down to tea with Cass Elliot and John Lennon.
Imagining what it would be like,
to be extraordinary like them.
Then I come back to the present,
as my teacher wraps up his lecture,
and remember where I am.
Then,
I once again accept that fact that I'll have to keep leading this ordinary life,
hoping for the chance one day to escape,
to the stars,
or maybe the moon,
the place that doesn't
hold me down,
and make me keep my feet on the ground.
The place where I can fly,
and dance,
and love,
and sing,
and dream.
Endlessly.

I've always loved Alice in Wonderland
Ever since I was little.
I was never quite sure why,
but then I realized,
I was jealous.
Jealous of Alice.
I wanted a Wonderland of my own.
I wanted to have tea with the Madhatter
and my very own Un-birthday party.
I wanted to hold hand with Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum,
and walk through that beautiful place,
While they showed me around.
Now that I've grown up I have different desires.
I want to smoke hookah with the Caterpillar,
and talk about life with the Cheshire Cat.
I want to dethrone the Red Queen
and free all her guards.
I want to escape my world
and go there.
I like this life, at times.
But it's just not for me.
I want to be free.
I want to follow the White Rabbit around,
to see what he does all day.
I want to paint all the red roses my very own blue, and purple.
I want to go to a place where it's always tea time.
I want to explore.
Just like Alice,
I'm a different person today,
than I was yesterday.
And the day before that,
and the day before that.
I want to go mad,
and not receive society's judgments for it.
I want to go to a place,
where I'll be accepted as I am.
Where all it takes to get there is
just a simple seemingly long fall down a rabbit hole.
Where the plants sing,
and the animals talk.
I want to go to that place,
I get scared sometimes
that I'm losing my muchness.
I get scared that my thoughts are making sense,
I don't want them to make sense.
I want to be at that place
where non-sense is accepted.
And they'll all love me for who I am.
I've come to realize what I really want is a Wonderland,
not a reality.

Some one sent me a message
It contained a beautifully written poem
About a blue bird.
A bird who lost his home.
While the people on the ground
gaze up at it
envious of it's freedom.
While he gazes down still looking for his place
I feel for this poor bird,
I thought I knew who I was
What I wanted
Who I wanted
Where I wanted to be
Lately I'm not sure anymore.
I feel the earth caving in.
I'm trying to accept who I am
and what I am becoming.
I try to hold the hands of others
through their storms,
but when it's my turn
and the clouds are surrounding me
I look up
and no one's there.
I feel alone in this storm.
The rain starts to pour
I'm drenched,
with more than water,
I'm soaked with frustration
with fear
with loneliness.
I will be there for you
forever
I was secretly hoping for the same in return
I know I won't get it.
I never will.
I stare at the ground as the rain falls
Alone,
that's what I am,
I'm alone.
Alone with my thoughts
with this prison I've trapped myself in.
Afraid of the judgement of others,
It's like a freezing rain drop
stabbing my skin.
I try to avoid it.
The judgement.
I put up this facade like the blue bird
of happiness
and freedom.
When all I'm trying to do
is free myself from the chains
I've put myself in.
It's no one's fault but my own
I chose my actions
I chose to be everything that I'm not.
Now that I'm trying to free myself of it
I'm get the backhand of judgement thrown my direction.
I don't do it to look cool,
I do it because I like it.
Because I always have.
I try not to let it get to me.
I try to be strong.
I tell myself I'm worth more
I tell myself I deserve to be who I want to be.
Maybe I'm just that blue bird looking for a home
Someplace that will accept me
I hope that I am that home for others.
I'll take you as you are.
Give you the love you deserve,
So I'll be there for you,
but I'll continue to fly
just like that lost bird
looking for my home,
looking for love,
looking for acceptance.