Sunday, October 25, 2015

The Drowning Fish

The fish that never swam was always afraid he would drown - little did he know he was born to swim. And not only that, he failed to recognize his full potential because he never challenged what he knew.

The fish that never saw what he could become never became anything more than just a fish out of water. 

And a fish out of water is a fish out of place. 

And so I live. Going day to day, stuck in the same routine, trapped breathing the same air that causes me to drown. My mother used to say that I could never sleep during the night time because in my mind it was daytime. But I think it's because I was meant to live on the other side of the world; experiencing life in a way that I cannot fathom. This bubble within a bubble that I live in is slowly suffocating me. My brain losing oxygen causing me not to think straight. Every Sunday at 8:50 a.m. I wake up, find the nearest dress, and walk across the street only to sit inside another bubble of suffocation. Three hours is enough to die from suffocation. 

My mother and I had a stern talk this week. About how my new piercing must come out. I told her I did not want to attend BYU like she had planned for me. 
"You're going to apply whether you want to or not."
"okay, mother."
Probing questions is what they're called, I think. To get somebody to talk more deeply about things without them realizing it. My therapist used that a lot...
And so the hour went. We talked, I confessed, she questioned, I left. There was no oxygen left in my brain. Telling your mother that you do not believe in the church that she does is terrifying. I was paralyzed. 
"You used to have such a bright testimony, what happened?" 
I wish I could explain it. It would clear up a lot of things in my head too, mother. But I cannot explain my beliefs in a way that is expressible through speech. Sure, I was baptized at age 8. But what does that prove? 

I'm sorry that I am a disappointment. The bad egg of the family. I was supposed to be the perfect girl. That's what daddy always called me anyways: his perfect little girl. 

I ran out of the house at 8:25 with no shoes on, pajama pants, and a tank top. I hate when people see me cry. It was freezing outside, but I walked and cried and pleaded to whatever god there is to listen to my cries just one last time. 

Let me leave this place, where I need to lie about what I believe just so I will not be chastised.
Where I am taught that because I lean liberal I cannot be a good person. 
Where it is indoctrinated in me that gays should not be able to be legally wed.
Where I suffer from suffocation in a space far too small for stretching my education. 

god, hear my cries, just one last time. Give me air to breathe or something to speed up the process of death. Because apparently three hours is not long enough to suffocate. Just long enough to feel like a pariah. 

I studied the stars as I sauntered on home. Maybe one day I'll be as bright as you, I said. Maybe one day I'll test the waters and see what I can really become.
 Maybe one day I'll become more than just a drowning fish.


Friday, October 16, 2015

Hold me

I swear I'll let you drag me to Hell as long as you hold my hand.

Sunday, October 11, 2015

All That Matters is the Body Count

They don't care how many high school graduates feel prepared for adult life.
They only care if you graduate.
Strike that. They don't give a shit about you: they care about their own reputation.
It's not about the lessons learned, or the memories you made. It's about the body count.
Graduation rates in the United states were at 79% as of 2011. Last year it was at 81.4% .
You really think they're trying to prepare you for life?
You really think they care if you're mentally stable?
You really think they care how successful you are in 20 years?
They don't care.
Because public education is a mold that we as children are forced into at age four. The water isn't hot right away, but by age twelve some have started to realize that school is not about becoming smarter, it's about fitting in. Learning how to write for a grade. Standardized tests that don't quite make sense to those of us that haven't figured all it out quite yet.

So kids start to check out, abusing the check out slips that cause us to slip, walking not down hallways but down alleyways. Looking for something to numb the pain. Ironically we learn that gravity pushes us down, but I feel higher than ever Mr. Bell! Can't you see that my grades are not a reflection of my brain, but a representation of what my hands can remember.

Don't you realize that numbers don't make sense in my head, and that's why I'm always reading Ms. Lyons. Do you realize I'm not stupid, I just don't excel in your class. And because I do not excel in your class I do not meet the classifications that are set. And because I do not meet the expectations put in front of me, they blind me. The brick wall of students that have learned to fit in are blocking my view of the architecture I could be.

So

Listen up. Class of 2016. 

Standardized tests and maths and multiple choices and free response questions do not define our ability to stand out. They do not predict our happiness in ten years.

So if you're not one of the High Honor Role students who has learned to fit into the mold - make your own wall. Be your own piece of art.

And if you are the straight A student - You're doing an excellent job. But don't forget to realize that you are much more than a brick in a wall.

And for those of you who fall anywhere in between - best of luck to you.



Sunday, October 4, 2015

more please


There's something inside all of us trying to break free - but society keeps it at bay.

The light of a child wanting to explore

But the metal frame of an adult, always asking for more.

more time
more money
more love
more sleep
more friends
more roses
more inspiration
more drinks
more clothes
more cars
more parties
more new stuff

more more more more more.

It's easy to ask for more.

You Do Not Complete Me - A Love Poem

Though our hands fit together like puzzle pieces
and my head rests perfectly in the crook of your neck.
Even if we are #relationshipgoals
You do not complete me.

We may be responsible kids
who have a little too much fun when we can afford it
but you do not complete me.

Do not get me wrong - I love you.
You just don't complete me.

Because implying that you complete me
implies that I am not complete.
And when you first told me you liked me

I told you

Wait.

I am not alright.

So you were a friend when I needed you to be,
Because you knew a piece of me had been so badly broken-
like a wine glass shattered on my bedroom floor
because I had tried to drink myself numb.

And anyone would tell you that shattered glass can never be what it was before.

But I don't want to be that glass-
filled with poison made to make me numb.

I went through fire and
I went through hell-
And I refuse to be what I was before.

"You need to learn to love yourself before anyone will ever love you" I was told.

You showed me that love is unconditional - having no rules - infinite.

you helped me to pick up the scattered pieces of me without trying to force them back in place.

And now understanding that
 I am not who I was before.
I took that shattered glass -
     
       broken
                     sharp
                                  unforgiving
                                                      bitter.

And turned it into a stained glass window.

                                                 Beautiful.
                                       Bold.
                        Loving.
        Merciful.

I could not have done it without you by my side.

You do not complete me solely because I have chosen to complete myself.
But you are the sun shining thru the window
bringing light to my life and helping me know my true beauty.

Sunday, September 27, 2015

No Comments

Ok, no. Scratch that last post.

I know I'm human because I get terrible headaches.
And I get frustrated because the internet doesn't reach all the way to my bedroom as well as it should.
I love the feeling of taking a shower and just sitting down and letting the water wash over me.
I hate when people make jokes about people/groups of people.
But I make those jokes myself..
I freaking know that I'm a human because I'm sitting here looking at a computer screen absolutely hating what I see. I'm writing to hopefully be a part of the 'top 5' list. But that's not going to happen when I'm writing to get praise;not explore me.

So dear me,
Stop thinking. You know you think too much about every little thing there is to think about. Turn off the depressing music and go listen to some Disney songs to make you happy again. Wear your favorite shirt even though nobody else likes it. Take a nap for crying out loud! Say no. You're not everyone elses' slave. Just keep trying, alright?

dear mom,
I lied to you. I have stepped on the scale to see how much I weighed. No. I haven't gained any weight back. Yes. That terrifies me. But I am so much more than that. And I know you see so many good things about me, and I'm sorry that I can't just accept those compliments. But please do not stop giving them...

dear Nelson,
I didn't know that you knew my name. You rarely acknowledge me during class... I think you've said my name twice besides roll-call. You've never commented on any of my posts. Not saying that you have to! There's not much quality stuff. I just wish that I could be like those bloggers you always praise, that everyone always praises! I want to inspire people. Make them think. I want to steal in such a way that it seems original. I'm just not creative in a way in which I can express. Sorry.

dear Paris,
You try to seem so inviting, and yet from the outside looking in you are quite cruel.

dear robots,
I envy you because you feel no sadness. I am sorry for you because you feel no sadness.

dear comments section,
I give you far much more attention than I probably should. I try to come up with clever titles and inspiring lines, but nothing seems to grab your attention. My blog is not defined by you and your number.




Starting today. I write for me. Not for you.

It's the Little Things


  • the feeling of a warm day and the sun on your face
  • when you find a dress for homecoming that you love
  • comfy t-shirts
  • sunday naps that last a little bit longer than they probably should
  • not having any homework
  • getting the last piece of birthday cake
  • a realllly good burger
  • music that moves you
  • finally having your mom say that she's proud of you
  • learning new words
  • perfect eyeliner

It's just the little things that help me remember why I'm alive. What are your little things?

Monday, September 21, 2015

A Midnight Epiphany // Hotel Books



Listen.  --   Lyrics.


It’s funny how artistic we become when our hearts are broken.
—  Hotel Books, I Always Thought I Would Be Okay

I think I’m losing you, but I will never regret choosing you.
—  Hotel Books // Nicole

every night I lie awake, 
and I know my heart will break, 
but what hurts the most is knowing it’s happening to you.
—  hotel books, constant conclusions 

It’s not about being there for me, it’s about respecting me enough to tell me why you’re not
—  Hotel Books, Losing a Friend

The large amount of coffee stains in my journal is a reminder of when I pushed myself into depression.
-- Hotel Books, I Always Thought I'd Be Okay

And I said I would die for you.
But that was before I knew
That it’s all you wanted me to do.
—  Hotel Books “Constant Collapse”

Covered in the charcoal remains of ashes from the last time someone burned me.
—  Run Wild, Young Beauty by Hotel Books
my lungs hurt from inhaling the past
—  Beliefs [Upon Contact] // Hotel Books

it takes two to make a relationship survive, 
but it only takes one to make it die.
—  Two Steps Back // Hotel Books
I tried to capture my emotions on paper and was told I was misdirected, but maybe my mindset has just been infected by this pain-infested re-appropriation of my familiarity with negligence.
—  I Always Thought I Would Be Okay // Hotel Books 



Sunday, September 20, 2015

It's only art if...


it's only art if it makes you feel something.

it's only good if it makes you ponder.

it's only controversial if you make it so.

It's still art if it's not well liked.

It's still art even when nobody appreciates it.

It has value even if it's not monetarily.




Monday, September 14, 2015

The First 'I Love You'






                         I love you.


What did you say? 

                                I... I love you.

Babe you're speaking too quiet I can't hear you.

             Nothing, I didn't say anything.

I love you too


And I hope you know that I love you more than anything. More than I love the stars. I love you more than I love my pudding cups or payday. I love you more than I love all my candles that smell good.
I love you because you've treated me better than anyone in my past. I can't deny that.
Because you're the first boy to hold my hand in public like you're proud of me.
Because when I show you the darkest parts of my soul, you show me yours
and I am left not feeling vulnerable, no, but more loved than before. 
I love you because you can cry in front of me and know it's ok.
And when you tickle me I get butterflies and laugh so hard
My cheeks have begun to hurt because I smile so often,
but I wouldn't have it any other way, I love you.
It sounds so cliche, but I wouldn't want it
absolutely any other way, I love you.
Because you're my best friend.
And life is an adventure.
Let's explore some.
I love you.
Every single groove.
Every scar you've obtained.
Because I can see yours all over;
and you explore the ones that I've earned.
And we can share the stories about how we got them.
I will never get tired of the way you speak. It's so soothing.
And the way we fit together like puzzle pieces only made for eachother
And your heart beat when we cuddle. The rhythm goes in perfect time with mine
And I think that is what love is. When two people are so perfectly in sync with one another
Where they don't even have to talk but they know exactly what the other is thinking at that moment.
I don't know entirely what love is, but I want to explore the possibilities with you by my side, always
Time is on our side now. We are still so young. Let's explore this foreign feeling. Lets have some fun
Let's make some memories that might last forever and kiss a little too much and get drunk on the idea  of love.






Sunday, September 13, 2015

My Self Portrait



YOU ARE WHAT YOU LOVE NOT WHAT LOVES YOU

our creativity was what was running us

and as time goes on we learn from society we can't do stuff
we've been conditioned to move to a place of what loves us
every decision we make is based off of what other people think of us
So you're saying this person completes me, which in reality what you're saying is you are incomplete without this person.

If you're under the illusion that these things outside of you are what complete you, you will always be a victim.

when you were a kid you were working on you.

and that same mentality exists within the people who are great at what they do.


So dear me,
     No matter how old you are. Start working on you. Start deciding for yourself what you love. And even though 8 year old me is not who I am today, and I may not enjoy crayons as much as I did, I realize more about myself now. I realize now that in order to draw myself I need pencils and pens and crayons and markers. I need my wants and desires and the people I love and my pet peeves. I cannot draw a complete self-portrait with just crayons. That is because I am not just one thing.
 I am not just made up of my exes. So don't you dare refer to me as "so and so's ex." 
I am not just my scars.
I am not just the digits on my social security card.
I am not just an american.
or a girl.
or short.
or a student.

I am not these individual characteristics of me, I am rather the accumulation of all of these things that makes up who I am. 

My self portrait is still being drawn, and it is ever changing, because who I am is what I love, and what I love is changing constantly. 

So dear me...

keep drawing even though you know you're terrible. 
Kiss your teddy bear goodnight.
Do your homework, someday it'll matter. (I think.)
But most importantly keep running, no matter how slow you go. As long as you can take another step towards who you truly are, take it.

Sincerely,

me.




Thursday, September 10, 2015

Call me crazy,

call me dumb.

But recently life's been hazy,

And  I can feel my soul going numb.

You left me paralyzed

my heart on the floor.

The scars left from your surgeries

have me feeling unwhole.

You call me saying you need me

and when I say I'm here...

you call me a lying bastard

and that's my biggest fear.



That someone I care for [or did]

won't know that i'm here.

Won't know that I was in their position, once, too.

Because when the walls come closing in

and the air becomes paper thin

I'm there to bring some oxygen,

not to take my hit.

Because I've been in that room.

I know every groove.

I was alone when all I wanted was a home.

Sorry I care too much, I guess that's my fatal flaw.

Because I remember every detail that I had ever saw.



Man needs more mercy,
 
man needs more love,

man needs to realize...

That Darwin wasn't right.

Life ain't  about survival of the fittest,

it's about survival of us all.

And sometimes being left alone can cause more harm than good. 

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Vehicular Manslaughter

I am writing this post for me. This week I write because I have a heavy heart. 

At age 18 someone still has their entire life before them, don't they? 

They've only been living for 
986 weeks
6,905 days
165,720 hours
9,943,200 minutes
596,592,000 seconds

They still have a chance... Don't they?
A chance to become someone, have a career, meet the love of their life, change the world. But for some, 986 weeks is all the freedom they get. 
Because at week 987 they're sentenced to prison. Because they used their freedom to have a little too much fun, got behind the wheel, and killed a man. And now, for the next 15-20 years, this young little 18 year old will be haunted by their choices, and it hurts me to know that someone apart of my family could have gone so astray. Someone who I looked up to when I was young now is locked away.

I haven't seen her in 10 years though. Why should I care? I see her facebook posts, I see her snapchat stories. She does stupid things. I should've seen this coming. Her mother has been to jail. But that was on possession of paraphernalia and theft of cosmetics and having a gun in a state that she shouldn't. Not killing a man and fleeing the scene. 

I stand in awe that someone I love is going to spend her prime years behind bars rotting away, because she made a stupid decision. I'm not saying she should be exempt from the consequences of her decisions, I am just stating the feelings I have right now. Someone who is just a year older than me messed up so badly. It scares me to think about how much our lives change after one simple act... For good or for bad.


Hat Trick

3
Three
T H R E E.

Three years of high school under my belt.
A hat trick of schooling. In the event of life I have survived three years of high school, and so have you.

That is something to be proud of. When the drop out rate in Utah has gone from 83 to 80 to 76 in the course of three years. 
 
Be proud of yourself, that no matter where you feel you are, you're still in school. I tip my hat to you, students. 

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Metaphysics of The Universe

IF you knew me at all, you'd know that more than anything else: I love the stars.
When I was 6 my mom told me about a meteor shower that was happening that night. I tried my hardest to stay up as late as I could to see past all of the city lights. I didn't last long.

 At age ten I went to a space center with my school. They had a room with little LED lights that recreated the constellations. I was mesmerized that these seemingly insignificant specks of light could form such beautiful shapes.

 Fourteen was when I learned how beautiful the darkness was. Life was bleak, and the future seemed dark and barren. I had no friends, was not confident, and harmful behaviors were the way I coped. 

The day I turned 16 I went on my first official date with my boyfriend. It was an outdoor movie, and the stars shone so bright. I couldn't tell you what movie was playing, or the conversation I had with him, but I could sketch out exactly how the stars were shaped that night.

 The summer after sophomore year I met a boy who lived in Texas. Both him and I were insomniacs, so we'd spend our nights talking on the phone until the sun rose. Laying outside in the middle of the street just staring at the stars and listening to all of the things the love of my life had to tell me was... therapeutic.

 Junior year was rough. But every night I knew I could look up and see something beautiful. Something that reminded me what living was like. And even on the nights that clouds engulfed the sky, or it was far too cold to stay out admiring them, I knew that out there was something more.

The stars to me are far much more than just globs of hydrogen and helium on fire.

Stars represent things.

Ask yourself this: When you look at the stars, what does it make you think about?

Do you think about the time you went camping and you and your family finally bonded for the first time? 
Or that the pure vastness of the universe makes you feel so small and insignificant. 
Maybe, when you see the stars, you see opportunities. You see that for so long those stars have worked constantly to become bigger and brighter, and you look up to them. Hoping for the same determination that they have to become something. 

We are more than just highschoolers trying to graduate. 

We are so much more than the scores on skyward. 
OR the trophies and medals, or the lack thereof, that splatter our bedrooms.
We have potential. 
We are stars waiting to be born.
 Realize that whoever looks at the stars will see something different, not everybody is focused on your acne as much as you are, They don't notice that. They notice your drive, your smile, the remember that one time you made a joke in class that made their day go from bad to better. You are not defined by the things society says you are. 



You are what you make yourself.