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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.

As I near the inevitable end of summer break, I am filled with excitement at a new school year..... but I also feel dread at the reminders of student life.
Although I love the poetic justices of 80's movies occupants and their school life, I cannot help but feel cheated.
Watching Molly Ringwald have rad adventures with Anthony Michael Hall, I couldn't help but think that I, too, would get to experience a magical birthday or fall in love or have a wacky adventure.

  I wished to be Andie in Pretty in Pink, or Claire in The Breakfast Club, or Sam in Sixteen Candles.
I longed for the friends who were as weird, or even more so than me.
To have the beautiful boy fall for me in that cliche way we all love.
To be a different kind of unusual beauty in a plastic world.

   I would still love all of these things, HOWEVER, I love my life.
I would not trade my current comrades for Duckie, or ******, or even Sara Baker.
I wish not to change the circumstances or a crush or a mutual liking that may never happen.
I can't, unfortunately, say that I love my natural beauty.

   Even as I long to live like Molly, I long to live like me.

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.

My poem's are greatly inspired by my experiences with family and friends. My intended effect of the poem's is to show people that the ones who smile the brightest, cry the hardest. I like to show the true nature of humanity in its raw forms. How I design my poem's is complicated, as is the process. First, I pick a topic that has impacted me in a substantial way. Next, I write a paragraph from raw emotions I experience. After that, I put it into a poetic structure and add pretty words and metaphors, similes, and other figurative language and devices. My process of writing doesn't take long at all. When I write, thoughts come fast and hit hard. I like writing, I especially love poetry, the genre allows you to be outlandish and mysterious. Another reason I love poems is the emotions that are evoked within each piece. They are expressions of beliefs and feelings, ones that we don't allow others to see. It is hard to imagine the people who are popular and "happy", often are depressed so they try to make others happier than they are themselves. My favorite pieces included "I Hate the Vanity", "Auditory Communication" and "My Incomparable Comrades". These pieces show the things that make me who I am in the biggest of ways. In "Auditory Communication", I spoke about music and it's beautiful aspects. In "I Hate the Vanity", I wrote about how I felt when my grandmother, the only person I truly opened up to, passed away. Also, in "My Incomparable Comrades", I showed the way my friends and I are connected. My style is dark and chock full of emotion. It is different because I am not afraid to open up to people, because I know everyone is struggling and hurting inside. I love poetry, and I want others to love its simplicity and its alluring qualities like I do.

I write about feeling empty a lot.
                  But I never write about happy days.

Days of depth-defying conversations trailing on the edges of unknown.
                  Days of wanderlust and the need to explore.
Days of beauty and grace and everything right with this industrialized world.
                  Days of all of these horrendous emotions cascaded into an oblivion so deep in my soul that I can no longer see nor feel it.
Days of happy tears and sad laughter.
                   The best days full of painting in the breeze with music floating endlessly above and around me.
My favorite lazy days bursting at the seams with ****** Toons re-runs, hot chocolate, comfy pants and soft light seeping through windows.
                    Those were the days.

Beyond the veil is a place to marvel,
where a dream can find a place.
With columns made from marble,
it´s like a slap to the face.

With pleasure as far as the eye can see,
and little nooks to behold.
A wonderous land of make-believe,
And where our minds and hearts never grow old.

For the sake of summer, I choose not to worry.
I choose not to have my mind obstructed by the obscenities of high school drama and/or its many stresses.
I write to those who listen now to show them that feeling this way is not, in fact, avoiding your problems like so many say.
This emotion, one in which evokes a certain sense of peace only found in little moments of solitary silence, is just us finding a true bliss and living just to live and not just survive, like we often do.
It is okay to take a moment to breathe, but when we take longer, society tells us it is procrastination and laziness.
Please, for the sake of summer, take your moment and do not let them tell you it is wrong.

One single act has changed my whole viewpoint.
As I wished for you for so long, I lost a little piece of myself.
All it took to reemerge to my former glory was one person noticing.
As we talked, he noticed m crying and asked what I felt to be true.
He knows of my wishes for you and I told him of the hurting you had brought.
He whisked away my tears to show me how I was special.
While he doesn't know this, as I sit writing next to him, he helps me see the beauty in the world.
He is truly special and all it took was just one single act to see it.

1
    2
         I always knew
3
    4
         But I still wanted more
5
    6
         And yet, you stick
7
    8
         But it was fake
9
    10
          Now, I'm ok again

I don't need to be saved.
From myself,
my perils,
or, you.

I don't need to be told I'm broken,
for I know that better than most.
I am aware I am hurting,
and that there are fake smiles that never reach my eyes.

However, I don't need a great love to be better.
Not romantically anyway.
Though it would be nice,
I value self-love above lust.

I am getting better, day by day.
By myself, for myself.
Though I still hurt and let tears run rampant,
I am me, and I believe that to be poetic of sorts.

I feel pretty with my makeup,
mysterious with my clothes,
experienced with my heartache,
and alluring with my inner demons.

I don't need to be saved, I need to do the saving.

Though I never really knew you before, I knew of you.
The boy that was forbidden to me by a girl I no longer see.
You added me on a social media that I had no idea you had.
You called me cute and we started to talk more and more.
It made me quite curious, and you the same.
You asked me how my day was instead of for pictures.
You told me I was classically beautiful instead of just a normal pretty.
I didn´t know boys like you still existed.
And while you may never see this, I sit here and write to you as if you will.
I´m talking to you right now and you wonder what I´m doing.
I tell you nothing much, but this, this is everything to me right here, at this moment.
You make me feel infamous and I am quite enjoying this new person to talk to.
I thank you Thomas, you´ll never know it, but for the past few days,
I haven´t gone to sleep crying.
It was smiling.
You tell me you hope to see me as soon as this mess is over and I am so excited,    
I´m looking forward to something for the first time in a while.
You inspire me anew and make me feel that the person I use to be doesn´t matter.
I love that more than you´ll ever know.
Oh, look at that!
Another text, and one of you being ever so cute!
You feel the same way, and that is everything.
I am quite taken with you, my new person to talk to.

How lovely the world can be.
It is full of surprises.
Tiny little wonderful moments oh happy.

Only we don't see what's underneath.
Real people don't hide behind fake smiles.

Malicious words bite hard and fast.
Interesting choices make our worlds clash together chaotically.
Stupid little mistakes add up to make heart-wrenching catastrophes.
Somebody should really expose all of this hate for what it is.









what am I doing?!?!?!?!

I don't know what this will be about.


I don't know specifically why I'm mad at you.
I think it may be a combination of a tiny thousand needless prickling me right where they know it hurts.
I have no clue what I am to do about this emptiness I feel now that you're gone.
I know now that there is truth in old lovers words.
That when they say they can still hear them
When they say they still remember things at the most random of times.
God, why can't I just be so mad at you that I don't care anymore!
I hate feeling this way.
Why do I have to be the one you left and have her be the one you chose?
Why do I have to see you everyday smiling and laughing and not being upset like I am?
WHY?
Why?
why?


w
h
y
?

Here you are again, after leaving
you come back and expect to pick up where we left off.
I don't know if we should, I loved dating you,
but it was hard to let you go
and be friends 2 1/2 hours away.
Just friends because it was too hard to be with you.
But here you are again,
popping up in my life with the promise of forever.
Just like before,
and I let you.
The problem is not that you're here,
but that I let you be.
I want you to hold me and call me beautiful again.
But why?
I hate and love you.
Is it the first?
Or the latter?
And why do I think it's the second?

music is part of the vitality
to which we stand
on hollow ground.

it's a sweet serenity
so let's listen and
get lost in the sound.

this sense of unity
is a vast land
to which we're found.

As the new year comes around, I look on the dreadful past and the hopeful future.
I look into the forest that houses these creatures, venturing in further.
Armed with my shield and my ever-full heart.
I slice through each one, daring to face my monsters head-on.
After the battle is won, I stand victorious, yet tired.
My brain and heart weigh heavily with my experiences re-experienced.
I bury them, my demons.
They deserve to be out to rest.
Then I venture home, to my bed,
to sleep away and reflect on my self-help.