9

1. People will promise to never leave you. They will. It’s okay to be sad when they do.
 
2. It is always okay to cry. Always. Find a bathroom, bury your face in your pillow, and let it out. Cry in the shower. Cry in the car. Cry when you need to.
 
3. Boys will flirt with you for a while and then ignore you. Then, they will flirt with you some more. It will be confusing. You have every right to stop putting up with it.
 
4. Pay attention to what people say when they’re angry. When you make up and they tell you they didn’t mean any of it, know that they did. Also know that they wish they didn’t. Forgive them.
 
5. Never pretend to be someone you’re not. If you don’t like tea and classic novels, don’t act like you do to impress people. If you don’t want to wear leather jackets and combat boots, don’t wear them to please someone else.  

6.Your friends will not always be there for you. When you really need to talk, they will sometimes not want to hear it. That’s okay. Take a deep breath and remember all the times you felt the same way. Exhale.  

7. Tell people how you feel. It will be terrifying in some cases and gratifying in others. It will create relationships and ruin them. But speak your mind, even if your voice shakes, because your thoughts may never otherwise be heard. 

8. Sleep. If you go to bed late, sleep in. If you’re still tired when you wake up, go back to bed. If you can’t stay awake during the day, take a nap. Sleeping is a foolproof way of getting rid of your problems for a little while. Utilize it. 

9. Talk

Meh.

I’ve been thinking about something lately.
Imagine this:
You’re on an airplane, sleeping with your head against the window, your heart set on being home this time three hours from now. All of a sudden, something goes very wrong. The plane stops moving across the air and instead starts falling through it. The lights are flickering and the movie is skipping. The plane dips hundreds of feet in seconds, and the yellow cups fall from the ceiling. They’re a brighter shade of yellow than you remember, because unlike the demonstration, these cups have never been handled before. “Flight attendants take your seats now”, you hear, the pilot’s voice trembling over a cacophony of alert tones. You get that smell in the bridge of your nose like you’ve just been hit with a football. That’s what the fear smells like. The plane is going down.
 
Four more drastic drops in under a minute. People are crying. For all the folklore about how your life flashes before your eyes, you’re remarkably fixed on one vision – the vision of that one person you love the most. He is sleeping at this very moment, in a bedroom so quiet that he can hear the clock in his room ticking with every passing second. And you can see them, clear as can be. You wish you could see a playground or a first kiss, but all you can see is him sleeping.
 
Several long minutes go by. Then, all at once, the lights come back on and the plane somehow rights itself. Some people cheer, but most people cry harder. The plane lands about an hour later, and as soon as you feel that touch down – hell, even when you were within 50 feet of the ground and could still technically survive a fall – you realize that however you brokered the deal between you and God worked; you’ve just been granted life in overtime.
 
Here’s the question: what do you change? Whom do you call that you haven’t spoken to in years?  What trips do you cancel, and what trips would you book?  What’s the new you like?
Think about that, and then ask one more question. Why not just change it all right now?”                                                                   

Moon

you’re probably going to dance with another girl who will taste like fresh picked strawberries and smell like flowers blossom in her hair

and you’re probably going to choke down 5 jugs of beers and get the thought of me out of your head and focus on the girl dancing with you who wants to be your apple pie but you can’t see the diamonds in her eyes because you’re staring at the ones hanging around her neck and you can’t feel her pull you in closer because she’s reaching farther behind your head of dark hair and tapping shoulders of random guys she’s never even met

and when this happens I hope you run to the bathroom and splash your face with dirty water and vomit up the words you never said because while you’re out drowning your heart in things I shouldn’t care about I’m here looking at the moon whispering how much I fucking love you

and if you take her home I swear to God the moonlight will keep you awake no matter what time it is and you’ll watch it shine across your bedroom floor

and I hope the light catches your attention more than the sight of her would and I hope when you wake up all your remember is that daisies are my favourite flowers and you can’t escape the light of the moon

//Heart//

I
   thought
                My
                       Sensible
                                     Heart
                                               would
                                                          Hold
                                                                   me
                                                                          As
                                                                                 I
                                                                                    Fell
                                                                                           And
                                                                                                   all
                                                                                                        It
                                                                                                           did
                                                                                                                  Was
                                                                                                                         Dive
                                                                                                                                 Before
                                                                                                                                             I
                                                                                                                                               did.

//Empathy//

It stings
Like a little
Wasp
Under your
Skin
Right inside
Your
Ribcage
When you
Breathe
And sadly
You know
Just
What
I'm
Talking
About.

I thought.

I thought
I'd write
My way
Out
Of my
Mind
But all
I did
Was
Entangle
Myself
In words
And shapes
Of my
Own design.

//Inspiration//

She threw
Herself
At walls
Of memories
And whispers
To reopen
Wounds
And see
Hidden
Heartbreak
Just so
She could
Remember
Why
She wrote.

And if your daughter came to you, crying, what would you tell her? 
Would you tell her she is too fat?
That she eats too much?
Or she is too skinny? 
Or she doesn't fit society's definition of beautiful? 
That she should change herself to fit into society?
No?
Then why would you tell yourself the exact same thing?
You are somebody’s daughter.

Smile

Smile

like you have no

secrets

like you’ve

never been
left
never been
hurt
like the world
doesn't owe you a
single
wretched
thing.

 

 Photo Credit: Seanen Middleton Photography 

There is one simple thing wrong with you – you think you have plenty of time … If you don’t think your life is going to last forever, what are you waiting for ? Why the hesitation to change? You don’t have time for this display, you fool. This, whatever you’re doing now, may be your last act on earth. It may very well be your last battle. There is no power which could guarantee that you are going to live one more minute."

 — //Carlos Castañeda//

  Photo Credit: Bhumika.B Photography

There are some poems inside of me that paper can't handle.

 Photo Credit: Bhumika.B Photography

There are flowers 

in this world

that only grow

after the ground

above them burns.

Scientists say

that the fire sets

the earth aflame

with the birth of these

special flowers which

wouldn’t grow otherwise,

that even though the fire

seems to destroy

everything it touches,

it can also bring

new colors into this world.

What I am trying to say

is that healing hurts,

but so does forgiveness,

and sometimes it is worth it

to see yourself bloom.

Even from far away

you could see it

they were drunk

but not from any type of beverage.

they were drunk off each other

the way they laughed

the way they kept sneaking glances

they way they curled into each other

with a nervousness behind

subtle excitement

even from far away

you could see it

they found each other

utterly intoxicating

6 Word Stories.

1. Do I even have a chance?
2. Will I ever be good enough?
3. I would change myself for you.
4. In the end, even saints die.
5. All she could do was cry.
6. Hold my hand; Never let go.
7. She painted stars on  her fingertips.
8. Now she lives six feet under.
9. I cried, but you didn't care.
10. She slowly forgot how to breathe.
11. Honestly, your whole body thrilled me.
12. His icy heart killed her slowly.
13. Moon, stars, attended the sun's funereal.
14. Quietness does not always imply sadness.
15. "I do", they said at last.
16. Poems can open up old wounds.
17. He ate his sadness for breakfast.
18. All her scars turned into poems.
19. He felt her spine like braille.
20. All she said was, 'Please Stay.'
21. He left, never to return again.
22. She was broken, he fixed her.
23. You can stay, if you tried.
24. He never needed reasons to stay.
25. She wrote novels on her wrists.
26. He killed her, she didn't mind.
27. A candle: a flame of hope.
28. Sometimes, you need to save yourself.
29. The scars on her wrists, eventually faded.
30. He touched her, and she melted.
31. He drowned his sorrows in beer.
32. No one heard his heart break.
33. An angel's cry, is called rain.
34. The sky's blue, just like you.
35. The coldness in his heart, hurts.
36. The dinner table had collected dust.
37. The gifts were for someone else.
38. Society always made her feel imperfect.
39. Cupid was finally happy, arrows flew.
40. Earth was sad, the sky cried.
41. Her ghost began to visit again.
42. The silver razor felt like home.
43. And then he bid her farewell.
44. These are all six word stories.
45. He was fine, so was she.
46. The bathtub water turned crimson red.
47. Loving you always felt like home.
48. A poem's sadness equals the poet's.
49. He sewed glass into her heart.
50. He always drank more than her.
51. I love you, but you don't.
52. They bid goodbye, one last time.
53. She pleaded, "Please don't leave me."
54.  Do you think that angels die?
55. This is not the end dear.
56. Those three words, they never returned.
57. She wrote love letters in blood.
58. Her lips always tasted of strawberries.
59. They met in some parallel universe.
60. Those songs always tore her apart.
61. Pills failed to make her happy.
62.  Mother's death: a child's worst nightmare.
63. God, she was just so beautiful.
64. Regret never managed to change things.
65. Eyes linger where hands can't reach.
66. He tasted of a very strong coffee.
67. She pretended his lips, were yours.
68. No one touched him, like her.
69. But, I don't want to sleep.
70.  He always made her feel alive.
71. They drowned in each others sadness.
72. She loved him, more than caffeine.
73. She stopped cutting because of him.
74. Rubbish! 20 pills never killed anyone.
75. I can only write about sadness.
76. I waited... but you never called.
77. "I'm sorry... We couldnt save her"
78. "Help me, I can't fall asleep"
79. OCD kissed him 72 times always.
80. She has a heart of steel.
81. She smiled, his whole world froze.
82. Even Superman could not save her.
83. He fell in love, she didnt.
84. Her last words, "Hold me tight."
85. 3rd divorce, love failed him again
86. Luis Lane can't live without Superman
87. "I can see my dead husband"
88. When he died. The world cried.
89. "This doesn't rhyme", said the poet.
90. What? We can't have a baby?!
91. Wisdom teeth don't make you smarter.
92. I can only write sad poetry.
93. No one can autocorrect unsaid words.
94. "You think too much", he said.
95. At last she found her peace.
96. Chocolates are always the answer, always
97. "Can you please be my forever?"
98. Peter Pan didn't wanna grow up.
99. Chocolates never ask questions, chocolates understand.
100. She changed, but he didn't notice.
101. In search of a good person.
102. Oh God, this is so addicting!
103. Those three words are never enough.
104. You can't hurt a dead person.
105. She felt cold on the inside.
106. Poets never lie, poets never die.
107. She's a poignant piece of poetry.
108. He tastes like blood and cigarettes.
109. Alone in room full of voices.
110. She was addicted to her suffering.
111. Sealed the envelope. Never posted it.
112.  Slits wrists. You look so crimson.
113. Beauty. Just a six letter word.
114. You almost convinced me I mattered.

I have so much to say; I just don’t know how to say it.

People tell me that I’m shy. And I immediately want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them hard, say No I’m not shy, I’m just so full of everything and all these feelings are threatening to spill over and out between my ribs. I want to tell them, I’m quiet even though I have so much to say; I just don’t know how to say it.

Some days I feel as if the moon lives inside my skin. There’s all this luminescence, this brilliance inside of me struggling to get out. And my skin is just splitting at the seams all the time, stretching and tearing and breaking, but the moon can never get out. My heart is just a satellite traveling on a constant orbit around and around the cage of my bones and every night all I want is for it to run out of gas and crash so that all the feelings will spill out like fuel. The moon is there and it’s burning white-hot like a cigarette, it’s made of molecules and blood and it’s consuming me like a fire. I want to grab a complete stranger’s body in my hands and hug them till we both turn numb, look into their eyes and see their soul.

I’m not shy; I just sit down at the dinner table and forget what to say. I can pass the mashed potatoes or the butter but I can’t put my feelings on a platter and pass them to my father, and I can’t ask for my mother’s in return. I can ride a bike and take a photograph and write a poem, but I can’t just look someone in the face and say, I love you. I always have and always will, and I am so in love with you I can barely speak. And I can play the piano and run through the streets at midnight without caring who sees me, but I can’t tear apart my soul like an orange and rip all the layers off or expose all the tendons and muscles beneath the skin.

My teachers told my parents I could benefit from raising my hand more in class. I wanted to tell my teachers they could benefit more from trying to get to know me. Ask me who I am and I’ll be yours forever. Hook your arm around my neck and put your arms around me and if you hug me a paragraph I’ll reply with a novel. I speak in touches and quick glances and smiles, not words. And yet, Im a writer. (Or at least I think I'm one.) Oh the irony!

My heart’s on an elevator and it doesn’t know what floor to get off on. My heart’s locked up in a cage and someone’s thrown away the key. My heart’s a willow tree that sobs gently in the rain until the birds move amongst its branches.

Sometimes I want to get drunk and there’s vodka in the cupboard and whiskey too, and I want a gin without ice and a scotch on the rocks but there are plates in the cupboard too and I want to smash them, I want to throw every single one against the wall until they shatter. I want to shatter too. I want to disappear.

I catch raindrops in my mouth and try to braid my hair with just one hand. I want to run until I’m out of breath. All these things I can do, but I can’t speak to you.

I’m not shy; I just don’t know how to tell you that I am so full I might burst. And I am not shy; I just have more feelings than there are languages in the world.

All of me

Acne
Scars
Bruises
Stretch marks
Mistakes
Imperfections
I dont want you to look pas them
And pretend they dont exist
I want you to love and accept them
As a part of me
Because if you want me
Your going to have to want
All of me

Don’t tell me I’m beautiful.

 
Don’t tell me I’m beautiful.
I have already heard the word rubbed raw across the flesh of so many girls before me.
Thrown at them like rocks that beat the skin of those we do not understand.
“You are beautiful,” we yell with such contempt.
“God dammit, why won’t you just believe me, you’re beautiful!”
It is not a compliment. It is a victory march of your own self sacrifice.
“You’re beautiful,” we say through gritted teeth.
“You’re beautiful,” we spit out through tears, looking at a reflection we hate.
“You’re beautiful,” we say, holding a body that has never felt the arms of another.
“You’re beautiful.” Don’t tell me I’m beautiful.
A word like that floats on the surface, give me something with depth.
Tell me I’m intelligent.
Tell me I’m courageous.
Tell me that when I laugh the whole world smiles.
Tell me that my voice is sweeter than strawberries.
Remind me that my hands have helped flowers grow, painted the ocean, and captured the sky in my phone.
Assure me that with a mind like mine, I can change the world.
Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I don’t really care if it’s true.
I’ve felt the word splatter against me enough for a lifetime.
I’ve spent years trying to convince myself that beauty goes through and through.
Don’t tell me I’m beautiful.

~ I do not own this. This is no written by me. But i wish i had! ~

“But I guess ultimately what scares me about marriage is where do you find this person? You know a lot of times, most successful relationships, people meet through work, school, mutual friends.
But what’s most interesting to me is when people just meet in life, just randomly. 
 
You know, I have a friend, he got married, I asked him like “Hey, uh, where’d you meet your wife?” He was like “I was leaving Bed, Bath & Beyond. I was looking for my car - I drive a gray Prius. I saw a different gray Prius, I thought it was mine, I walked up to it, I realized I had the wrong car, but I bumped into Carol, we started talking, that was that”. That’s unbelievable. 
 
Think about all the random factors that had to come together to make this one moment possible - this one moment that changed these two people’s entire lives: 
 
First off, this guy has to live in this particular town. Then he has to get a gray Prius. Then he has to need to go to Bed, Bath & Beyond. Then he has to go to that particular Bed, Bath & Beyond. Then there has to be another person who also lives in town, also drives a gray Prius, also needs to go to Bed, Bath & Beyond, also goes to that particular Bed, Bath & Beyond at around the same time. Then they have to both park somewhat near each other, my friend has to leave before the other person leaves, see the wrong Prius, think it’s his, walk up to it. Then the woman, Carol, needs to be near the wrong gray Prius for a million other random reasons. They bump into each other, they start talking, their entire lives are changed.
 
That’s the most amazing and terrifying thing about life.
 
It is, cause the amazing thing is that at any moment, any one of us can have that moment that totally changes our lives. You could be leaving the show tonight, bump into someone… it could change your life. You don’t know, that could happen.
 
The terrifying thing is… what if we’re all supposed to be at Bed Bath & Beyond right now?”

~ And I swear, I just happened to bump into this oh-so-awesome-post ~

~ Source: The Internet ~

Dear Society: Dont blame me, blame the generation you raised.

You see, my daddy raised me to be a fighter. He taught me that sometimes to get through this world you have to raise your fists to get what you want. He told me it was a man’s world, and he didn’t want his little girl to get pushed down, and kicked on. He told me to always fight for what I thought was right.
 
I never thought much of it until I was older, until I opened my eyes. It wasn’t until I realized we were in a man’s world, a world where men had the upper hand. 
 
A world where I couldn’t wear tank tops on a hot day to college, because it was deemed “too inappropriate for male students and teachers.” Instead of teaching men to not see sexualized images in young girls.
 
A world where when I took cooking class, all the girls were expected to be better than the boys. Because it was where we belonged, where we would spend most our time, in the kitchen. When I burned the cake I was looked down upon, but when a guy did it, it was a joke, a funny accident. 
 
A world where if you say no to the wrong boy, the next day the whole world will either look at you as a slut, even if you haven’t been touched before. Or they will look at you as a jerk, a cold hearted one, just because you weren’t interested in him. Yet it’s totally okay when a guy says no to you.
 
A world where when a women takes charge in an office, company, she is now considered “head bitch.” Yet when a man takes charge, he is a boss, someone to respect. 
 
A world where little girls are taught at an early age to never walk alone on the streets, always have someone with you. Instead of teaching little boys to never harm a soul. That when a girl is walking alone it doesn’t mean she’s vulnerable, or is asking for it, she is just going home.
We live in a world where women are expected to be submissive to men, because if we aren’t we are taking away “a part of their manhood.

So dear Society: Dont blame me, blame the generation you raised.

Goldfish.

"I know I have so much potential.

 I know that I'm made of stars and I'm a creation boundless, infinite in possibilities and flowing with privileges far above any other creature.

 But when I think about it all, I'm afraid.

I'm afraid that I'm gifted with so much and yet I cannot be everything in this this lifetime.

I'm afraid that with so much possibility I'd drown in the sea of expectations the world filled up for me to swim freely.

That I'd be this gold fish, suffocating underwater because the aquarium is much too large; that as I reach the other end, I have also reached my end.

I'm afraid that once my coffin is covered in dirt, someone in the crowd would whisper: "Who is she?"

But then, like a gold fish, I swim.

Fruitlessly, endlessly, irrationally.

Because that is the only thing I know now.

Blindly do I go on, thinking all the while: Will the goldfish ever do justice the constellations of stars she's made of?"