i don’t know why i’m still here, honestly.
i mean, my rooms not clean,
there’s a stain on my jeans
and i barely know how to work the washing machine.
i’m fifteen. i’m a teenager.
in a few years, i’ll be choosing a major
at a college i’m not completely sure i want to attend,
like upenn, columbia, yale, or brown…?
thinking about it makes me want to drown.

but only figuratively, not actually.
because nobody really means what they say anymore,
like “of course i got your text,”
or “yes! i definitely remembered your birthday was tomorrow”
or “yeah, i’m only five minutes away,”
or “i love you.”

i don’t know why i’m still here, honestly.
i mean, i’m an academic burnout.
in ballet, i didn’t have the best turnout.
i was never even a girl scout.
my mom said when in doubt, always tell the truth.
okay. sure.
i can do that, at least i thought i could.
i did, up until the point where i couldn’t tell where the truth ended and the lies began.
i said the tears in my eyes were just allergies.
i began to realize i was running out of energy.
everything i did, i did haphazardly.
looking back, i wonder if it was even reality.

low battery, my phone continues to tell me.
and honestly, i don’t know why i’m still here
because i lose everything.
i still can’t find my charger.
my classes are getting harder,
and at this point, i’m highly considering just becoming a farmer.
but i already know that’s out.
i mean, lets be honest
no amount of plants can get me the money that scholarship grants can.
maybe...maybe i should just become a doctor.
you know, perform transplants, give implants.
with all that money,
i could take a trip to france!
sometimes, i’d rather be there than here.
other times, i feel like i should just...disappear.

but it’s not even that serious,
i mean for the most part,
me being quiet is just me being mysterious.
other people might even call me delirious
due to my lack of experience in this
brand new job that
goes by the name of ‘life’.
i said it already. i’m a teenager.
i don’t even know why i’m still here.
and if i’m being honest,
i don’t think any of us do.

Solemn promises.
Stern new year resolutions.
Lies sold to myself.

A year ago, I resolved to write,
Everyday, no matter what.
Noble in my intention, to let
These words Blossom
But impractical in my imprisonment

Papers and parchment became walls
Which grew hungry and full off anxiety
True to the nature of my failure
I felt every bit of imagination die
The magic engine chocked out, rusted
With failed expectations.

However, this creative vigor, this
Impossibly strong passion, sparked
Life once again, as it tends to do.

So I resolve once again, to write
But only as the wind blows

As the extraordinary rushes,
So will I, to the pages.

A new year's resolution
Is usually made to better myself.
A new year, a new me!
A new way to set myself free!

Free of responsibilities, that is.
Because with new ways to better oneself,
breeds new excuses, new "oh, I don't have time for that"s.

Let's stop this.
How, you ask?
Instead of a new year, new me,
How about a new year, new you?

Instead of this resolution to better myself
I'll make this a resolution to better yourself.
Wipe away the tears of a stranger,
Wipe clean the slate of old grudges that cause danger.
The danger being, falling friendships
Because those are so rare nowadays.

And with every life I save,
With every smile I make,
I'll say, "Hey, I did that!"
"I made a person have another reason to live,"
"and in turn that gives me another reason to live,"
"just for them."

So, a new year, a new you,
A new way to laugh, a new way to choose
how to better oneself, how to better yourself,
And a friendself, and even a strangerself,
Because this kindness eventually...
Betters myself.
And, this time, it doesn't take much effort, either!

Emptying old boxes
Packing well wishes
Tying new shoelaces
Charging drained devices
Keeping dozen promises
Settling past businesses
Equipping couple punches
Looking more fearless
Winning upcoming matches.

Do you hear me today, how do I sound.
Is there softness in my voice,
A calmness to be found.
Did last night's snowfall drown my psalm,
In the chilling winds.
Should I feel wronged.
After all, I prayed so hard,
For some peace, and a little goodwill to men;
For our indulgences to come to an end.
Do I sound hoarse from being up all night?
I knelt humbly, I plead somberly,
Praised the Lord and all his sundry,
That in my lifetime or near future someday,
Peace would reign before Easter Sunday.
That's a story preached to the elders,
Unraveling back through five millennia;
Past the Cross, across Jordan,
Much deeper than the burning bush,
Back to the foot that was to crush
The head of evil.

A crack appeared in my resolve,
A fissure to release my god;
Rise from obsequiousness,
Dust off the knees and do my best
To do my part, to stop my prayer,
For I can start with peace from here.

Read more.
Words are the map fragments of wisdom you need to navigate your way in a world constantly sending you searching for that which you don’t yet have a name.

Write more.
And don’t keep it to yourself.  Your voice deserves to be heard too so scream in cursive and whisper in all CAPS, bleed through paper and heal through the spines of notebooks
you’re spiraling onto something, breathe in commas and step over periods because you’re not over
you’re the most beautiful run-on sentence

paint more.
You’re an artist whose perspective warrants an audience,
so leave cerulean fingerprint traces in your titanium touches,
mix gesso with mars and be alizarin against charcoal

stand out. And stand up.

Find adventure in the every day.  Skydive through small talk, zip line through steps up stairs without an end,
life is the ellipses in silences your eyes seek to make stories,

explore.
This world. People. This city you’ve landed yourself and take calculated risks.

Tiptoe through moshpits and stomp through meadows.
Cartwheel into concrete conversations headfirst eyes wide open,

be vulnerable, to those who deserve to see the rawest parts of you.
And leave the ones who’d rather exploit them behind

leave others’ opinions behind.  Let them be the ones collecting dust.
You are stronger than you’ll ever know and ten-fold what they’d ever expect.

So let them guess.
Be the question mark in the corner they can’t place.

Your story is complicated.  But that makes you interesting.
What doesn’t challenge you doesn’t change you and you’ve been challenged each and every day

you get out of bed and speak when so easily you could’ve lost your voice the night you lost your body.
It took you some time and a few nameless faces to claim it again and you’re still working out what that means,
you’ve always had your own way
but all the ****** assault pamphlets name this normal.

[For once it’s a label you don’t detest.]

So this year be normal if you so choose, but also be weird.
Be loud, not small, be confident, and not sorry.
Take up space.
You deserve to.

You are Woman and you are Strong.

Push, but don’t ever shove.
Love unapologetically and fiercely.
But don’t force what a boy is not willing to give.

Find someone who will pay your heart the same attention he does your body.
Scratch that,
find yourself.

Read your body’s brail, your chapters of goosebumps, and play chess with checkers across your skin.
Unlearn and relearn and unlearn and learn to remember you are enough and it is your turn.

Look in the mirror and accept the pieces looking back are in progress.

Keep writing.

Watch the moon make way for the sun. Be brighter than both.
Let your irises draw constellations across galaxies unwritten.
Move so far forward, you stop having a reason to look back.

Forgive that which you cannot change.
You’ll make more mistakes, scrape more knees and trip on chainlink chokers, your jewelry limbs you haven’t yet untangled.
But forgive yourself.

Kiss the boy. Kiss the girl. Kiss no one.
Live in the present tense and with future declaratives.
Appreciate the thousands of little moments still looking to be made yours. Make them yours.

You are worth all the struggle.  Don’t forget.

Be kind but don’t rewind.  
Stay authentic even when you don’t make sense and your words aren’t oil enough to separate

paddle through the waves eyes closed if you have to,
the salt may burn your scars and you may lose your bearings, but keep going.
Maybe this is the year you’re going to learn to swim.

There's something about the first of January
That makes us all say
Here we go! A fresh start!
Time to make some big changes!
But I don't know
Why is that so?
When you find something good
Something motivational
No matter how small
Some way every day
You don't need excuses
To make a certain day count
Any more than all the others
And you realize
Every day
Every month
Every year
Has the potential to be
As important, beautiful, and meaningful
As you make it