another christmas passes by, and i am left befuddled by my curious family once again.
top (both good and bad, and in no particular order) memories:
1. beautiful indian boy massaging my hands in a organic beauty store.
2. my sensitive grandmother saying that my nose ring looks like a pig's.
3. realizing that i do actually love some of my extended family.
4. seeing how lucky i am with my immediate family.
5. buying a bump-it (FINALLY!!) at the dollarama.
6. a. being canadian.
b. partaking in family "christmas shots."
7. crying with my grandmother at the tragedy of alzheimer's.
8. meeting one of my cousins who i have not seen in a decade.
9. wearing this fantastic hoodie that i purchased thanks to boxing day... slash going shopping and actually bonding with my cousins.
10. reading heinous lyrics to my 55-year-old uncle's ridiculous songs for his mandolin (we don't play a flat tricks / we stick with a major and get the chicks).
oh canada. i don't know for how much longer we will be going to canada for christmas. soon my siblings and I will be rooted in jobs and spread all over, and these forced ties between certain family members will be lost. family is a strange, strange thing when you think about it.
while the sun boosts your self esteem, i will tear into muscles and nibble on pretzels. my hopes will dash the new year in its tracks, and my future will astound. if only the ones i love the most could point me in the right direction... or else music will carry me far away from anything sensible and i will live this life like it is my first day. stop leaning on walls; they will get you nowhere but the ground. leave your chains behind you, and embrace the future that is you and a Plan--for everyday gets longer from here on out. cordless, i will fly to a telephone pole and i will send messages by yelling on the tops of them as the shouts pierce the wires, so, maybe then, you will be stranded in your disastrous desire. part of me hopes you stay there forever.
remember this, love:
when you only love the things you see, you will find yourself alone in the night.
chilly wind carves out our jawlines and sharpens our cheekbones, as the wind fills in the empty spaces inside our jackets. rushing inside as snowflakes melt off our eyelashes, likes tears. and we cry over the big things to miss the little flakes left on our shoulders, clinging to us for distance.
your oblivious, ignorant attitude while cause your eyes to lose sight, and your hearts to harden. pity for the foolish man. instead, nod your heads to the powerful speaker and laugh. for i will smile and sing when i feel you can see me, pitying the fool while praying for ignorance.
why cant this work? six days from now. six damn days and half an hour earlier. let it go. let it all go because plans never complete and someone has a plan for me that has nothing to do with my expectations. so they will fall. every time. we sure are cute, aren't we? not all of us have that. not all of us have expectations put on us that have something to do with loving what i do and succeeding in it all. some of us dont have one to make us a six. in between a whole lot of no one that has concern for a lot of things. and i would carry you. i would spin the wheels so we could end up on the big screen with our hopeful friends but instead we will fall, waiting for nothing as the world spins madly on, and i am its gerbil running and getting no where. treading water while writing flashcards calls for smeared boy's handwriting caught in the dim light that makes you squint your eyes on this thursday morning that i hate hate hate. it was thesis seeking, and you only saw a "hazy, distant dream." all this work, this planning, for nothing? this time, this voice, for a zero written on my hand. you lose, baby, you lose. i put myself out over the big canyon river only to see it all disappear as my curly hair falls flat to my scalp full of nothing but negativity and words. so i will write forever until i figure out what i'm missing. one day it will come, and i need no ponds. just an end to this goal-less life of expectations, expectations, expectations and squeaky notes above the pissagio as you flip your hair and bear your thick head on top of your ignorant shoulders. give me a stage and i will explain if anyone cares to listen to my empty voice that mutters when i'd rather not speak. its tones are empty and i'd rather not ask you unless if i dont mind the stamp of pity on my forehead. for once again, this futon hurts my ass and my work is not enough. i am partial to nothing but an escape from pressure. dont tell me to stop. for i will keep going until these keys are worn out and my skull is in the dumpster. but i will. because you have places to be and i have excuses to make. until then.
it starts within. a glance in glass reflection causes the corners of your lips to rise, and your smiling teeth reveal a glimmer of hope. the ruffles sit right on your tired ankles, and your voice is ready to stop. don't you know? nothing can happen before the freckles on your face sit well on your eyes, and the curves of your body are only things to fill out your clothes. it starts within, a small flicker of something so contagious, and so ready to come out. don't leave me, my favorite secret... walk with me, guide me along to that place where i know i am fine,
yeeeeeeeeah i can't sleep. i tried. my mind is going crazy reflecting and thinking about my last time for everything before my definition of everything changes. so change already... because i'm sick of waiting.
i went flying when i was least expecting it. pausing for connection, remembering for redemption. singing loud, dancing like a fool. i opened up for the first time in a while. set free by nobody watching, and if they were, it was a joke. who needs you? just because of what you would do. that's not a reason to stay. so i'll laugh loud and forget the things you say.
refusal, finding myself in the midst of everybody's assumptions. self-denial, in order to remind myself of the life ahead. hope, that everything will meet my sky high expectations. realization, that sometimes i'm not okay. curious, because you probably don't miss me.
waves and their power. to make you laugh, to knock you over. to talk to someone about your past... something you should have done long ago.
watching him like a hawk. realizing you too, were watching. but not him--me. "mother hen?"
are we all just birds then?
running to that endless tribute to recycling. the dead sea gull in the water. marble statues... that look like me. missing you; not enough to make me cry. but enough to drive past your house on my way home.
enough to do something a little bit stupid.
but i am young
and mistakes make you grow
for i will not learn
until i know why.
"we never stop mourning. the times in between grow longer, and the times we do grow shorter."
throwing pastel colored booklights to the ceiling of this warehouse, my body reacts with sightless eyes and bloody mirrors. the time i put into your grey floor with the hole where my ankle always catches, and i am left sprawling like the ridiculous 17 year old they see. i am exactly what you see; that is all you care about. my yellow lids and heart twisting worry meant nothing to you on the thursday and friday that i left. if only i could count the times you walked into me, caught by the book in your hands. when really i was alone in the cavern of my overworked mentality, and raging self conscious. what have i learned? how to spell fuchsia. and that in comparison, i am a cut above the rest of a senseless mass of humanity. these words taste bitter and harsh on my mouth... but honesty is a thick vein on my right arm. i wish you luck, to those people who understood my misplacement in their world, how if i had not been raised a certain way, i would certainly be lost in a cardboard box the size of my closet. to those who had more, who knew the world... who to some extent knew me. i do not know your last names, but your work ethic and a fragment of the skeleton of your past. a person on your mind, but never your hands. but thank you. we will not hug, or cry. but i will keep the words of your honest work on my mind, and somewhere in my heart i believe.
when i was younger, it was a place i dreamed of due to it's seclusion, and the intrigue that it triggered in my imaginative mind. enticing me, inviting me.
now, when i think of that lonesome path where the trees hide the ground (so the ground remains moist all day), i only think of being vulnerably alone, middle aged men, and tripping over creeping roots. my knees sinking into muck, no longer wishing to be by myself.
for all we know, we are bad people lost in a sea of good, and everything is backwards, and the whole world might blow up in any second, and all i wanted yesterday was to fly fly fly away or just blink my eyes to reveal a clear new world. to be better. to wish my headache away. to lose myself in him, and not constantly question and wonder what life has in store for me. to let the unpredictable come predictable, and perhaps tell some stories with not funny, but happy endings to my children. if they are out there.
life was a blur, and i sit here, knowing that in a dusty old warehouse they think that i have jumped ship.
why did that make me mad so fast? because i dont want to use that wallet, or maybe because acting pretty isnt priority number one, or that i act ugly when i am out of things to do or say. because i can sense pretty, and it pierces me with ribs sticking out into my personal space bubble and sense of pride in being genuine and believable. experience is valuable, girls. so put down your damn hair straighteners and look at the world. it all came down to what i do is nothing. i never wanted to be friends, but you were too busy looking in a mirror to see me at least trying.
the world is starting, and you havent even begun to grow up or walk around the corner of your street.
so meticulously, they comb every strand, ensuring its fate against their tense shoulders.
since it seems to be the trend, i will write something too.
but before i begin, i would just like to say i threw my hat and it definitely did a dive-bomb and nailed someone in the head. unfortunately, i do not remember who.
i suppose it began when my room felt too small, and my hat looked funny on my head. it was a night with too much closure thrown at me at one time, with too many goodbyes, but not a single tear to "mark" them. the ceremony meant nothing, really... except when i threw my hat and it landed exactly where i expected it to. not in a bitter way, just in a i would not have it any other way... way. i ended up driving that night, no car crash, thank god. too many close calls in my life lately for that kind of curve ball. now that pretty little dress smells like cigars and excitement, but i threw it on the floor.
and i realize that this has become a narrative of some sorts. which means i have no idea what i am talking about.
because beyond the size of this world and the farad, goodbye has been something that i cannot understand.
to be beautiful, to be perfect, to be success and it's outcome. things that every aspiring teenager struggles with, but eventually comes to term with that pretty is enough a few mistakes are okay and success is fairly relative.
because i hold him close and he loves to see me and i make mistakes but i learn my lesson and i am accomplished in my own right.
i don't run the mile, but i finish eventually. plus, if i don't run, i have just enough breath to sing a song that will inevitably come to my mind.
i feel that today will be one of expectations too high and burns too deep to really know what i am underneath. of hopes, and thoughts, when all they really mean is that everything will happen and i will be pushed wherever he wants me. because really, i am just blowing whichever way the wind takes me, as i pretend to walk with purpose and find little things to make an overall effect. i am nothing more than an accent misplaced, with a memory filled already with dust. because i am sick, and hunger for nothing but security in someone or something that i love, when in actuality i am left sitting in a sweaty chair watching my past go by with the newspaper. silent observer? hardly. but i think that i deserve less than that chair sometimes. or maybe that is me comprehending experience. so speak. because deep down i'm scared as hell, and i'm only seventeen.
and so he will judge, and not forget till someone smiles and lets him go i've seen the pictures and self assured smiles until he sees that all the while his head was lost in an ignorant fog of lofty ideas and gilded crowns for i was in another time and now we're crossing maybe for life.
today i got pizza, and became that shy girl who lowers her eyes so her eyelids cover her pupils like blankets when she speaks, and the girl who presses her lips together when she senses potential eye contact.
i felt like a flower, almost as if i blended in with my jacket.
just another flower in a garden full of weeds and berries,
realizing that some people will never want to talk to you there's no such thing as a legacy in some ways, you are stuck with what you were given knowing that not everything is exciting, then trying to find little things to make you see more forgiving and forgetting, no matter what learning not everything will click for you some things are impossible some things are not trusting that someone has a will and a way for your life
and in all, hope for tomorrow because sometimes today isn't what we expect, or what it should be.
typically i wouldn't consider myself that way, but it seems as soon as someone catches on to something more, i can't handle it and i shut down, malfunction. a barrier. i would rather have you think what you do now then ever guess at what is behind a dull looking door.
theme of my days, as of late.
because for so many things, life is a swirl of colors lifted up like dancing napkins.
half and half. how was it all? was it worth it? not for winning, not for acting, not for points. for friends, and singing my heart out until i thought my chest might explode. losing my voice, and lifting those up who didn't have the heart to make a sound. a trifecta? no such thing. but i will carry you on my other shoulder if points don't add up, or love from others just isn't enough.
and until then, i will sing, sing, sing, and lose my voice until my little sounds make a difference.
a kind of unexplicable exhaustion has taken over my mind and drags my eyelids shut like a rusty old anchor. i'm tired of so many things: adults, sex appeal, my future... unconnected musings that all end up in the same place. a thought of a simple necessity like eating, or sleep makes me sigh with yearning, and delight when i can finally reach it. and yes. i complain. because in my heart of hearts, it's the only way i can satisfy the discomfort of my life. there is a tear in my body due to a need for redemption and a fear of finally leaving. stepping into my new surroundings, and leaving old things behind. once work, and now play.
so goodbye, old cubes, ugly shoes, and the same old moves.
my social security number is signed away, and i am only a speck of dust drifting away in the evening wind.
this drought of unshared thoughts and bird's-eye view moments must come to an end. when i read your struggles and thoughts, i can see your room with it's tear-stained carpet, your memory flickering like a candle, your anger burning past your boiling point, and your suffering put into words that don't really fit. why do we wander? why words? for now i suppose, i will assure you with mine, though no one will ask how i wander myself.
we fade with times that no longer fit us, life now is like a favorite old shoe. we've walked in it for miles, sweat in it, breathed in it.
but now, it is too small, my friends. too small to wear. so we'll tie the laces one last time, then put it in a box under our beds.
they will still be there tommorrow, and the next day, and the next. the shapes of our feet still lie in the padding. but there are more miles to walk, now.
leave the shoes. walk barefoot. it's summer, afterall.
-dance like no one is watching -sing as horribly as possible -make that mad ca$h money -tan when i CAN (rhyyymeeeee) -run/walk everyday that i can -learn the single ladies dance -enjoy living life as a kid for as long as i can, and as much as i can
once in a while i feel like i should see him in everything. then i remember that the right side of my brain loves sounds that clash and are so right at the same time, and that silence is the conqueror of all things unholy. for i feel with my ears, and in this way, his soul.
you were in my dream. when all i had was a jacket, and you were across the room. in a way, you chose me. and i reciprocated, because that's what i do. you confuse me. suprise me. and i like it, i guess. what is this? a poem? an unopened letter? an unanswered prayer? whatever it is, it probably is not to who you think it is for so deal with that while i pray for more.
for a moment or two, i wish my life was full of feelings "straight from seventeen magazine" just like just love just hate nothing in between, where they clash forever asking where my heart lies but that would not be my life. in the same way, i ask for no other heart no other mind no other body except on mondays because then i am faced with the real world again or perhaps it is the fake world
you know it's a bad sign if you are social and people think something is wrong with you. you know it's a bad sign if your used-to-be favorite class now makes you moan. you know it's a bad sign that if the only thing you really care about doesn't even make you that excited. you know it's a bad sign when you're too exhausted to be with people that can always make you laugh. you know it's a bad sign if you're trying to think of somewhere to belong and are torn between where you should be, and where you "should be." you know it's a bad sign if songs you used to hate now have a whole new meaning.
that evening was unlike any other in a very long time. pushed to a brink, and willed back to the same edge that we had almost fallen from. my hands touching a mirror, than for the first time in oh so long, hands lifted in swaying, wordless nothing. for i did not know what to do, or what to say. all i knew was i could see my face as if in a movie, and that it was a face of total shock. arms around me, pushing me from side to side, catching me before i fell. like rain on a trampoline, tears on a lonely night, and waves beating me down from my perfect balance. what was left of me? what more could i give? nothing.
So I lay my head back down. And I lift my hands and pray To be only yours, I pray, to be only yours I pray, to be only yours I know now you're my only hope.
i turned and walked out the glass door, through blowing wind and a dusty downtown parking lot, trodded by thousands of poor feet, old feet, and shameful feet walking to the place of redemption. he called my name, i said hello, and we managed to see each other quite a few times. of course. i thought of the people who i put all my trust, and how some had let me down. opening the car door, placing my key in the ignition, happy music came on. and sadly, there is no better word than happy. my quick hands turned the dial, and i was lost in the song. singing with all my heart, eyes closed, but open. because i was driving. my hands gripped the steering wheel, and i was off. changing channels as soon as one song ended, all with different emotions, auras, and words. but i felt them all. i felt them all so much, i did not know what to do with myself. so i took the long way home, saw people running, walking. speeding cars getting pulled over, and robins picking at dead winter turf. eventually, my car found it's way home. dad asked me why i sped into the driveway, but i had no answer.
if life were a circle, i would be in the middle, running around in spirals, breaking often. reflecting. i ripped that paper bracelet off her wrist because i hate so much what has happened. how i cannot deal. the fact that i am lost in my own sadness and fail to see the struggles of others. cause the fact of the matter is that i am not smart enough "hot" enough fun enough. even when my past told me yes to all three. so in this moment, i look back on my stupid, lopsided foot prints that are only me caring about me hiding my draggy toes and unkept soles telling myself lies or being hit with the truth and somehow never being treated like i should both good and bad damn we're messed up.
an unexplainable festering has taken over me the last two weeks. and i laugh. cry. whatever. but it's never really gone. just out of mind... but then something happens and it all comes down, down, down again. and i am lost in my own head of all places, wondering who to talk to, who could possibly understand if not even i can give a word of advice to myself. me. infj. counselor. yeah right. i'm just selfish. and i take it out on people that i trust. i'm so so so sorry but something is wrong and tylenol doesn't help lost lost lost
hearing her voice, like it was in my basement. i missed her. sick of headaches, my first migraine. it can only get better... right? wanting to throw a lasso around the moon for you and me. wishing it was easier. feeling bored. grappling with issues, and then letting them drop. phrases that are unconnected except in my head.
i probably played it over ten times in a row. why? do not ask me. anywho.
lately i am too caught up in my head... leaving me forgetful of others and tired from running in circles getting nowhere. time to move on. from what? again. do not ask me.
anyone remember this?
i just remembered the time when i was in grand haven with a few friends, and these young adultish males came up to us. they go: "oh hey... do you ladies have any sun tan oil?" Me, being such a clever flirt, says: "NO. We don't want skin cancer!" MLIA.
everyone fancies themselves "different." unique. not just your day-to-day angsty teenager. i have reasons, okay? but sometimes i am nothing but an annoying girl who wants to feel sorry for herself because her life isn't perfect. although, if i keep perspective, it's pretty close.
how can i describe what i'm feeling? it's a tension. right in the center of my chest that never seems to go away. as if something isn't right... like a pallete of paints. everything is in order, but someone or something took a paintbrush, or maybe their finger, and just swirled all the colors to create some sort of chaos out of the order that once was.
the best part is we all think that we're fine. there's not a whole lot behind the smiles we see and the jokes that we laugh at, and the things we avoid to protect sore spots. but there is. every single person you meet, brush shoulders with, look at... all of them have stories. and people. and sore spots.
i cannot fathom this.
so what am i going to do?
i'm going to study people, and make up for the others who don't care.
this is a no mixed meaning post. i am just going to tell it like it is.
today during sixth hour, another headache graced my stupid brain. it was on the top of my head. it felt like a pencil. i didn't talk to my ex-boyfriend. not because i don't like him, but because i didn't feel like arguing, and pretending that i could be fun. after class, i bent down to get my boots out of my locker and realized that i don't know the inside of 525 very well. part of me wanted to stay in there. not because of the rusty blue metal... but because no one would look for me there. last night there were all these things i wanted to tell people. like the lights were awesome! or, remember that one time at the dance when everyone was dancing our move? that one's for you kat. but i forgot, because sometimes my mind is like a balloon and it just floats away and i can't get it back. and then i say stuff. and people probably think i'm stupid. and i don't really care what they think... because they probably don't really like me anyways. and that's fine. and i'm done starting my sentences with and. one time i was petting this cat while babysitting, and i kept shocking it accidentally.. something to do with the carpet. but it didn't run away... it stayed, because it's purring made up for the dozens of electric shocks. i think this says something about life. sometimes i do little things that maybe don't mean a lot to someone watching me from far away, but the person that i'm with gets hurt. hey you. the one that i get along with... but something will always be off. sorry i tune out when i talk to you. i want to say it's not personal... but lets not pretend. remember? i'm being honest right now. the title of my blog is sing through silence. 1. because i love singing. duh. 2. i love silence. sometimes, it's my favorite sound. 3. like big spaces and high ceilings, i like to fill silence. often with singing. i like lists mini things perfect curls warm drinks cuddling in bed... by myself. sorry...? ingrid michaelson dang. i would talk about that one thing, except i can't really be honest. never mind. usually when i resort to that i should stop. or keep going. dang it! i'm being elusive. time to stop.
in life, there is not enough love. but sometimes, there is just too damn much.
too little: losing friends hating enemies hopelessness suicide child prostitutes
too much: watching slumdog millionaire those little kids and their mom in tiajuana knowing that god broke his heart seeing my dad flip out voice lessons
life gave me lemons and made me a list and line person. so i'll draw a map and trace a straight line. right now, my pros and cons list is equal. because too little love hurts, and too much hurts. too many things going through my head, so i simplify box regroup and i've come to the same conclusion
like two circles like infinity holding two hands across a canyon knowing very well which side i want to be on realizing what is good realizing what is bad loving it all seeing the faults wanting more but not too much up in the morning down at night and at noon i am just right in the middle just like Moon "a happy balance" yup, me too.
words like this: understand freckles belong curves sleep "cool" actually cool coffee many questions little different love? blanket dreams black skinny
i understand why his freckles lie on the bridge of his strong nose. it's because they belong there. i want someone who loves the way my body curves at inappropriate spots for today's fashion industry. sleep is my companion and my enemy. i fear to be judged by people that are "cool" but really i fear those who are actually cool. coffee is great in the morning, but not when there's too much creamer. or too little for that matter. there are manyquestions that i have. there are little that i actually ask. he's different than the others. can i really love? it felt right with the blanket over my shoulders, to protect my back from the cold. in my dreams, nothing really makes sense except for the emotions that lie under. everything i'm buying is black lately, and i no longer have an intense desire to be skinny. and this is my life.
they don't understand. sometimes i wish i had freckles. they would not belong on my face... but sometimes i feel like a mole out of place. i don't want a straight road life. i would like bumps and curves and a yellow-line passing zone please. sleep comes at the wrong times if you ask me. sometimes i think that i am a "cool" and then see people who are actually cool and i feel really stupid. in the morning, coffee wakes me up and makes my breath smell like a teacher's. how many friends do i truly have? what's the point in asking these questions? little do they know, we are different. you. me. her. him. other him. do we all know each other? is this love? that i let my friends borrow my blankets? he gave me his.i don't have enough dreams... i love the nothing and everything that they are. black is associated with fright, but i like the mystery in it's no-color color.i would be goth. no. i'm not skinny.
plucking on heart strings losing the same things all because you said yes to what a green dress? a lucky guess? don't mind me just remind me that to love we must lose and to gain we must trust because what is pain but a failure again? so we repaint our nails say that we're pretty and come Saturday we'll run this city
deep thoughts? mmmm... no... wrong answer. you are now kicked out of blogland. no thoughts? nothing? angst? joy? song lyrics? no... F = MA WTSINTHETA - f = SOMETHING FRICTION ... failure. haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
"I'm mad at my protectors, I suppose. The ones that never do. Because I can never just fall back and know that they will catch me... I'm always the one apologizing, or messing up. Always the strong one, burying things way deep down and embracing the shallow things, which are so much easier to digest. I always listen, and sometimes I just want to scream the words and 'hate' and 'afraid' right into the midst of my past and see what my fathers will do. Because I don't trust. I can admit that, which makes it seem false.
Today I wondered if human existence was always worth the pain. Good things: shared memories, stomach-straining laughs, passion shared of two that love, and feelings of accomplishment and contentment.
Are these worth the immense pain of unworth? Self doubt? Relational pain?
I want to say yes.
But tonight it almost feels like a no.
Not in a suicidal way.
In a heavy, hopeless, once-again-you-are-not-good-enough way. Yeah. That hurts.
rotation. if i could rotate myself around the sun. if i could ask the world to move a little strangely to where you are. if i could gravitate the stars to make a map to where you are. if we could be two islands in the same sea, i would swim to your shore. we're both under the same sky, why not meet there, way up high? there was hope behind your eyes... and some fear in disguise. if i could rotate myself around the sun.
my catcher. somewhere, lost in your translation, my true meaning transcends. beyond your labels and own insecurities, i fly to a brighter tomorrow, where the sun is my baseball and hope my own bat. sick of boxes, crates, and barrels, i reward myself with true appraisal of the ones who love behind the smile. eyes go small when teeth are too white-- so i squint at the sky, waiting for light.
my catcher . for loving the light, i became sick of it's reflection. part of it, anyway. those who see the dark that colors my eyes and fills in the dots on my skin didn't like it either. so i folded it all and put it in a drawer. i guess i'm saving it for a rainy day.
*i'm not particularly proud of these... but it was interesting how three days in a row, i wrote about light in my journal. hmmm.
i had that anxious feeling again last night. not being able to fall asleep... because my mind was whirring like some mad scientist's machine and I DON'T KNOW WHY. i just wanted to sleep... maybe this is punishment for not trying, or not being smart enough, or available enough, wrong enough. and it was so good for awhile. not that everything is terrible now... but i need to shape up. know what i care about. should i try out for multiple? i don't know. it would hurt so much to be thrown aside again. and one act hurt, but this would be so much worse. i don't know if i'm up for that. but maybe it'll be better. i don't know. i love hiding behind i bright sunny shirt and the word senior. but i care.
hello, new year. i celebrated by sitting in my parents living room falling alseep on my mother's shoulder. ten minutes after midnight, i was in bed. haaaaaa. i had a wonderful time though. belle and i just sat. and we were quiet. if there was anything to be said, we would say it. all the things that we wanted to say, but didn't quite know how. luckily we got each other most of the time. and now i feel ready for 2010, a year of so many new beginnings. which i am PUMPED for by the way. all in all, this is a boring post. i've been inside my head a little to much to write something that you all would understand. but happy new year! you all are dear to me in some way. i love being able to see different sides of you when i read all your posts of angst, confusion, or humor. we've seen some great writing, and we've seen some immaturity. and that's okay. because i am only 17. so i am pretty immature. a little emotionally behind. thanks for bearing with me. aaaaanywho. lets see what the year brings, eh?
I am broken like everyone else on this earth. Understanding is my gift, and I have a passion for singing. Blank scrabble pieces are my worst nightmare, and writing music is my dream. I love to dance, but not synchronized steps. Over thinking things is a skill of mine, and I wish I read more. My head stays firmly planted on my shoulders, and over the years I have come to admire loyalty, faith, and courage. One day I hope to master one of these, or at least attempt to recreate all three.