It’s funny where thoughts can take me

College college college college college college COLLEGE. Quit reminding me of college. Every time you do, something else gets all jumbled up and rearranged in my life. Just when I think I have it all figured out, I remember something else that may or may not play a role in where I actually want to go with my life. Like today, for example, when my school counselor came to class to help us prep for the ACT. I found myself in deep thought for most of the time, so I got nothing out of it, really. All I could think of was the wonderful relationships I have built and will continue to build here in Columbus, and how painful it will be to walk out of the center of my community, and start a new (ish) life. I mean ya, I can still keep in touch. But it’s not really that way with this community. These friendships are perfect, and I know they all spend countless hours with each other. I am lucky to spend one or two a week with them, and I am more than thankful for those few hours of my life. Those few hours each week are my life. In fact, when I think about it, they are the parts of my life that mean the most to me. So, yes, this plays a HUGE role on where I will be attending college. Because yes, I have every intention of being around these people all the time, for as long as I can. So… that just blew my plans to go off to college away from home…

That’s just the thing. This community is becoming my home. And at this point, I am definitely not ready to leave home.

But then I remember that I won’t be the only one going off to college in a year, all of those friends will too. It’s only hard because most of the friends in this community are already settled, out of college, or in it. They aren’t leaving, but I am. That’s hard. But it won’t be as hard to move away from the friends that are moving away too, because I know we’ll come back together someday.

After all these thoughts and more, I know that in a year I will be in a different place with these friendships. Maybe we’ll be closer. Maybe it will be even harder to move away. Or maybe I’ll be ready to. I probably shouldn’t worry about it. In the end, the most meaningful friendships will stick with me no matter where I go, right?

It’s funny where thoughts can take me.



Each song holds a million songs within

I love music. And I can’t even imagine what life must be like without it.

But the music I listen to sounds a certain way to me.

I realized my way is not the only way. This song could sound so different to you. Maybe you hear something I don’t. Maybe you think a certain part of the song is really cool, and you always look forward to that part when you hear it. Maybe your favorite part is different from my favorite part, and that changes the song completely. So… what do you hear?

Maybe you love the lyrics. Maybe they speak to you. Maybe you hate every line. You’ve experienced something along the way, and these words spark your memory. What do you remember? Maybe this causes you to feel. What do you feel?

So many sounds. So many words. So many interpretations. So many memories. So much emotion.

Each song holds a million songs within.

For you, because I love you

I was in your shoes. Well, maybe not the same pair. But the same brand. I went through this, but not the way you are. I mean, with my situation, I spent a great deal of time trying to put myself in his shoes. What did he feel like? He broke my heart, but didn’t he break his just the same? I have a feeling you’re going through the same things he went through, which were the same things I went through, but essentially thousands of times worse. He had the guilt, the question lingering in his mind for months, “Did I do the right thing? Was this a mistake?” And I wonder sometimes if those same questions still linger. I know these questions will constantly distract your mind from what might be more important in the long run, but it’s important to give yourself a little time to ponder.

I know how you feel. Depressed. Maybe not quite. Sad, at least a little. Sometimes being the one to make the decision can be harder. In fact, its always the harder place to be. I want to let you know that it really does end up okay. In the end, maybe a year, maybe two, maybe three, (yes, it could take that long) from now, you will look back and smile. Right now, that’s where I am. I look back upon the experience, the memories that endlessly appear before my eyes, and I smile. “Don’t cry because its over, Smile because it happened.” This cliche is something worth living by. I mean that. It may take a while to get there, but you will. I will be there for you the whole time. I mean that.

Maybe I’ll write you letters. Maybe I’ll send you smiles. Maybe I’ll draw you pictures. Maybe I’ll hold you in my arms. Maybe you can cry in my arms. Maybe not. But I’ll be there. I’ll do that. I’ll do anything. I’ll do everything.

You need me, whether you think you do or not

what it takes to feel beautiful…

This poem is written in the point of view of a young teenage girl, searching for her beauty, because she doesn’t feel beautiful inside. She doesn’t eat very much or very often, and when she lets her face fall into the palms of her hand, she can’t help but to feel each bone of her face and trace the lines. In these lines, she finds beauty. In the structure of her face, a painting. Making her who she is, and making her feel beautiful.


I like to rest my cheeks in my hands.

Soft and warm.

A contrast to the cold, brittle skin of my hands.

Trace the bones under my eyes,

Uplifted and strong.

I hear this is a quality that beautiful people have.

I like to rest my forehead in my hands.

Trace the bones of my brow,

Lifted from the deep valley of my eyelids.

Slightly curved,

Casting fragile shadows upon my eyes.

A contrast to the pale of my skin.

Beautiful, really.

I like to rest my chin in my hands.

Trace the bones of my jaw,

Defined, jagged.


A contrast to the others.

No one I know has this jaw.

Beautiful, really.

I like to rest my face in my hands.

As I trace my bones

I imagine the beauty that someone might see-

The beautiful person I picture myself to be.

The funny thing about fear

Have you ever had an irrational fear? A sort of phobia that you just don’t understand, and neither does anyone else. To you and others, it seems like it would be so easily overcome, by just stepping out of your comfort zone, and trying. But you never do.

Why? Did something happen to you as a child, or a toddler? Something that was only so long ago that it is stored somewhere in your memory, but not quite recent enough for you to access. This something creates a fear, because this something went wrong. Seriously wrong.

I’ve had a couple fearful experiences growing up, that have affected me to this day, as follows:

I have a fear of roller coasters. Not the friendly, Disney world type. In fact, Mount Everest is my all time favorite ride. And that one is pretty scary, lesbi honest. But I am terrified of the big, Cedar Point monsters that fling your limbs all over the place and defy gravity. I could never do those, I have convinced myself, unless maybe its with my boyfriend (which I don’t currently have anyway). But why have I convinced myself of this? What even happened to me? The first memory I have of riding any rollercoaster whatsoever was at King’s Island, and it was so much fun! There is no psychological way that this happy experience could have caused a fear. But then I think a bit harder, and I remember my friends and even the media telling me that roller coasters can break down, and you can get stuck on them, maybe even at the top of a hill, and never come down. The cart could fly off the tracks and you could go explode! From a childhood standpoint, these visions were real. And they have remained real to me. Maybe one of my old favorite computer games is responsible for this fear. I used to love playing roller-coaster tycoon with my brother, and we definitely used to create malfunctioning roller-coasters just to kill the little animated people. It was so sick, and so wrong, I know. But we did, and I blame that pastime for my fear of these harmless thrillers. (I use the word harmless lightly, all of the things I mentioned, like death and malfunctioning, could very seriously happen, but only by a slim chance, and because I know very well that these occurrences are rare, I wonder why it is so hard for me to overcome)

I developed a hypo-thyroid problem somewhere along the road a few years ago, and I started going to Children’s hospital to get lab tests just to check the thyroid levels in my blood stream. Now, the very first time I went, they definitely missed my vein. They had it, and then they lost it, and it hurt like HELL. I cried a ton, and I’m about to cry just thinking about it. I still have to get blood tests, and I am not afraid of them. I still go to Children’s hospital, and I’m not afraid of it. But I AM afraid to give blood. Why am I okay with the thing that caused the fear? Why am I comfortable with the place the original fear occurred in, but I’m afraid to do something I haven’t even experienced? I wonder these things, because I have forced myself to be comfortable with lab tests, but I have convinced myself that I will never try giving blood, at least any time soon. I have no interest in prolonging a minute and a half of discomfort and pain into ten minutes of it. I go dizzy thinking about it.

Similarly, my sister refuses to wear anything with buttons attached. She has only forced herself to be comfortable with our school uniforms, because she has to wear them, just like I HAVE to get blood tests. But she WILL NOT wear anything with buttons by choice. She says this is because she choked on something when she was really little, with a shape and feeling similar to a button. I remember this day, when she choked. She was just young enough as to where she could never remember the exact event, but she knows it happened. And I was just old enough so that I could picture the event in my mind to this day. We were with our family friends, in a car, on the way to some event, and I was sitting on the floor of the van, because there were not enough seats. My sister was safely strapped in, thank goodness. The mother of my friends thought it would be a great idea to give all of us (around 5-7 years old or younger, some even 2 or 3) a mint to suck on! In a moving car. What strikes me as extremely odd is that she even gave one to my sister, not even 3 or 4 years old, and my sister choked. She choked badly. I remember us pulling over and my friend’s mom grabbing my sister and dramatically slapping her back (I laugh, because I thought she was just beating the crap out of my sister, and from my point of view, this experience was so odd). My sister was perfectly okay in the end, physically.  But this kind of early childhood experience can psychological scar you, whether you can access the memory or not. I somewhat feel bad for her, because there are a lot of cute shirts and blouses that I want to pass down to her, but she just can’t do it. Sometimes I wish I was old enough to have known what was going on, so I could prevent this traumatic experience from happening altogether. But it is what it is, and if she ever chooses to try, I know she could overcome it. Because I know I could overcome my fear of giving blood, or riding coasters. I just don’t.

I like to carry a book

I like to carry a book.

Sometimes I read it.

Sometimes I don’t,

I just carry it



It reassures me,

makes me feel like there’s something there.

There is somebody else beside me.

Their thoughts

screaming out at me

from inside of

those pages,

Waiting to be opened up.

So why don’t I open them?





lack on interest.

But I think,

I think that this book,

the book  I carry right now,

I think I will open this one.

Maybe even read it.

Who knows?

And if I do,

when I do,

I’ll tell you.

I’ll tell you all about it.

Hypocrisy at its finest

I apologize for blogging so much, so suddenly (in advance… there’s a lot coming for you guys). Sometimes my inspiration runs dry, and when I get huge inspirational explosions as I did today, I can’t hardly wait to write and write and write! I hope that instead of clogging up your feed, I provide you with entertainment and inspiration 😀

But I have a story, worthy of the story basket. That being, that I am a hypocrite and quite ironically at that. (I just used the word “that” three times in the same sentence… awkward.) So the other day, one of my good friends told me he drinks a thermos full of coffee before school everyday, Starbucks on the way home, and a red bull when he gets home. I was shocked at how much caffeine he drinks each day, and I told him to cut down, narrow it to one of those things a day, rather than all three. He said he was dependent on it now, and I said, “I have been abstaining from caffeine because I refuse to let my body rely on it to function properly.”

Well, half of that was the truth. I had been abstaining from it, for at least the short time of a week.  I guess I never really took into account that I had been pessimistic, emotional (which I always am, but recently in a more negative way), fatigued, and overall, sort of depressed lately. Until today. I had a bottle of Pepsi at lunch. After I drank most of it, I was already laughing, bouncing off the walls, motivated to do work! I made my friend’s day when I told her I was so excited she was in my life again! I was like, what is this feeling? I wanna go blog! I wanna participate in English even though I barely read the story! I want to get this Calculus homework done! The motivation and energy and inspiration exploded!

Then another mini-depression hit me, as I realized this burst of life had everything to do with the caffeine I drank at lunch. I remembered what I told my friend, and I knew I was a huge hypocrite. I have indeed let my body become dependent on caffeine, maybe not to wake up in the morning, but definitely to live to my fullest potential. Living on caffeine made me feel good, really good. This scares me. No wonder I’ve been feeling like I can’t be satisfied, that I can’t brighten other people’s days, that I just don’t have the energy to do my work or even smile. I need this drug. But should I settle for that? Or should I keep trying to abstain, if even once a week? Is it worth any risk whatsoever (even all those rumors that may or may not be true about caffeine) to be able to live full of energy, motivation, and happiness? I’m leaning towards… yes. I might have to start drinking coffee.

How disheartening…

So I decided, after reading this awesome new blog I discovered, that I wanted to pick a day of the week where I would find an inspiration from the past week, and write about it. I picked Thursday, because this is the one day of the week on which I am required to do nothing after school except sit in my bed and read, write, chat, surf, and listen to music. (And maybe… study… but not until 11 pm at the earliest)

Anyway, I was in desperate need of inspiration. With a desire so strong to write, and nothing to write about, life was getting pretty painful. So I surfed the news and listened to music and reflected on life… when I came across this.

It’s disheartening, really, to hear about the pattern of violence that has been prolonged for such a time, and only continues. I realize that I especially don’t know much about the incident, considering the media doesn’t even have much to offer. However, the article still struck a thought or two inside of me. When I heard about the tragedy in Newtown, I had a feeling that, considering how much media coverage and conversation there has been of it, something fairly similar was bound to happen again sooner or later. Was I right, or was I right?

Apparently I was, and so when I saw this article, I was taken aback. I thought, “Honestly?? Already? Didn’t this just happen yesterday? Maybe next time I should… uh…be careful to avoid knocking on any wood whatsoever?” I don’t know… I mean, clearly, the effects of this shooting had more to do with the traumatic effects on the students, than any physical injury or death. It is hard, especially for those of us who can’t even fathom something like this happening to us, to think about how much an event like this can affect every single person in the town. I am sure many students feel angry, sad, depressed, worried, anxious, afraid, insecure, and uncomfortable, and now, all of these emotions continue, only a million times worse. I actually have a close friend who went through a traumatizing event like this a few years ago, when her teacher’s estranged husband attempted her murder in front of the class. My friend still cries about it to this day, and it is heartbreaking.

In a world of anger and sorrow, inequality and injustice, pain and heartbreak, suffering and loss, what are people to turn to? Is the answer really going to be violence? Is my generation going to settle for that? Or put an end to it? Are we going to raise our kids with the overused cliche: Violence is not the answer? Or are we going to ignore it in cowardice and pretend it isn’t real? It is real, and if you do look at the news regularly, a shooting story seems to linger on at least one news site every day. It’s awful. So I ask myself the question. Where does the problem begin?

What is most sad for me to face, is that the problem begins with human nature. And in this world, that is something we cannot change.

I remember.

There was a time when I was in love. I knew I was in love.

It was real, in a different kind of way. A way most people don’t understand.

I sometimes try to explain.

It never works.

But it was real.

You talked to me. I remember the first time we talked. I asked you a question, because you looked familiar. You turned red.

You looked at me. I remember the first time you looked at me. You looked at me from across the field. I looked back.

You thought of me. I remember the first time you thought of me. I still remember those words. I wrote them down.

You waited for me. You waited for me to fall in love with you. I remember when you fell in love with me. I fell too.

You walked with me. I lived for those walks. I remember the first time we walked. I told you I would be your walking buddy. You smiled.

You noticed me. And when you did, you made sure I was okay. I would tell you, and you listened.

You listened to me. You not only listened, but you always made it better. I remember the first time that you listened. I listened back. And you told me. You told me everything.

You danced with me. I remember the first time we danced. I had so much fun. We both smiled.

You loved me. Even when I cried. You held me when I cried. And you loved it. I remember the first time I cried. You told me I was beautiful when I cried.

You called me. I waited for those calls. I remember the first time you called me. I asked you why you called. You said you just wanted to talk. I smiled.

You wrote me. I looked forward to those notes. I remember the first note you gave me. It was small. I wrote back. I wrote a whole page.

You prayed with me. I remember the first time we prayed. It was amazing. We grew closer.

You laughed with me. I remember the first time we laughed. It was frolicsome.

You fought with me. I remember the last time we fought. It was scary. I cried.

But that time, I wasn’t beautiful when I cried. And you didn’t love me when I cried.

No longer did you fight with me. Laugh with me. Write me. Call me. Look at me. Dance with me. Walk with me. Talk to me.

But I still pray with you. I notice you. I think of you. I laugh with you, even if you don’t notice.

I sometimes dream of one day laughing with you, listening to you, talking to you again.

I still love you.

But I wonder. Do you still love me?