i just had to tell someone, even if it doesnt matter.

my dress has pockets.....

As the school year begins to end again, I can't help but reflect on my choices and experiences.
I lost quite a bit of friend's this year, my mentality on the subject is that we are in high school now and we shouldn't have to deal with these childish things.
That earned me the satisfaction of strengthening the relationships that I currently have.
I have as grown as a person, whether that is good or bad is still yet to be seen.
The experiences I've had, from a past boyfriend I still can't forget, to the lingering presence of old friends.
I wear the same jacket every day.
Some will find it weird, but if I wash it with the same fabric softener, I can see my grandmother and feel her again.
I'm quite upset still, even though it's been almost 4 years now. And 3 since the other.
It makes me upset knowing they'll never ask about school again, and I won't have the lazy Sunday's watching ****** Toons and eating Cheerio's.
Which leads to something else.
I have become more girly and I do care about my looks now.
The eyeliner and mascara and concealer and eyeshadow and foundation and blush and highlighter and eyebrow pencil.
I feel like I can't get away with how I really look even though I wear the makeup.
I dress more feminine and I try to be kind, but I just really want my oversized t-shirts, knee-high sock, tiny shorts, and messy bun back.
God, if only I could wear pajamas.
I make myself seem like I don't care so I can have a bit of freedom at school.
I don't care for school, but I have to do good.
As I near the end, I reflect on music.
In the beginning, I listened to heavy metal all the way up, the emo quartet a favorite.
Now, I serenade my ears in the wonderful vocals of Freddy Mercury.
Among these include the following: The Beetles, Elton John, The Police, And The Romantics.
This calmer version helps me feel true serenity.
I love it.
I write poetry now,
at first I hated the whole genre, not giving it a chance.
Until I had to write a poetry anthology of my experiences.
Giving way to a whole new style.
Poetry doesn't have to be strict and make complete sense, it can be free-flowing and mad.
As I near the end, I think of the past beginnings and the new ones.
I am nearing the end of my yearly narrative.

Little doodles on the sides of essays.
Tiny drawings on the cufflinks of jeans.
Light sketches on the soles of shoes.
Limited drafts on the insides of wrists and the ankles of many.

Flowers, crosses, words, names, dates, so many pretty designs.
All unique to its canvas of an owner.
Perfect ways to pass time in this boredom.
My favorite ways to express myself, with things drawn in my own style.

I love little doodles.
Aesthetic, harsh, bold, offensive, all of them.
Just doodles.

As the stars get closer, I realize something.
They are not stars, but little memories of the times of childhood.
They glow like that due to the innocence surrounding them.
When they hit the rough earth,
they are torn apart by the expectations of our teenage years.
The blissful, sweet moments shared in close quarters are lost to the harmful hallways of high school.
Tears cascade across my cheeks as if running from the unknown.
Or worse, the ignored.
I want to reach out and touch them,
to hold the blinding beauty and never let it slip from my fingertips.
But I can't.
And it hurts, so bad that I can't breathe.
However, I don't fight the dark this time,
I let it take me slowly,
staring up at the memories,
and I float.