fo sho

how does anyone know anything for sure?
everyday I change my posture and every day it is wrong.
I'm not thinking about you and be grateful. I'm the critic. But you aren't allowed to hate anything. NO DON'T TELL ME. I have to hate it myself. But first I need a blank slate. Will you hand me that blank slate over there? The one next to the box wrench? NO the other box wrench. What's a person gotta do to get a blank slate around here??
A boy sitting across from me in the library brushed his foot against mine on accident and I didn't think about marriage once.
I am supposed to be doing homework right now and I am supposed to be majoring in interior design but I'm not doing either of those things.
How does anyone know anything for sure?
I keep getting 100% on my English homework but I keep missing class so my grade is still awful. Why is it so hard to do good things for ourselves?
Who would win in a fight? A Daughter or her Father?
Sometimes/all the time I read through the comments on my blog just to remind myself that I used to be good at something. I never read the actual posts because I'm the critic.
Now I just look at pictures to use for blog posts and wait around for something to come to me.
WHO CARES ABOUT VSCO
I have over 200 pictures on my computer in my "bloggin" file
when I was little my mom couldn't take me shopping because when she would ask if I wanted the purple or the blue coat I'd cry for 20 minutes because they were both great and puffy and had a lot of pockets and how was anyone expected to choose between two such fantastic coats? Even when I thought out the pros and cons of each coat they were both equally suitable coats and it sent me into hysterics. Then my mother would remind me that some people can't afford coats and that I was lucky and then we would leave the department store without a coat and I'd slowly stop crying because #1 it was embarrassing for everyone and #2 my cold shoulders were my own fault.
College is the same thing.
How can anyone know anything for sure.

living is poetic

I allowed myself an audible burp one time a couple months ago and ever since then I haven't been able to control them.
rather than doing my laundry I just keep buying more underwear.
I'm learning that some things are probably best to keep to yourself.
While leaving the bathroom of the doctors office holding a cup of my own urine I passed by a boy who can only really be described as a Greek god in sweatpants. I was mortified when he looked at me until he raised his own cup up to mine, as if he had just finished giving a toast at his sister's wedding, and said "cheers".
the only real poetic thing about love is that it is that anyone can do it.
I have ripped approximately 12 pairs of pants in my life
Typically I can't stay awake for more than four hours at a time, but no one seems to be too concerned about it.
I wear my shirt inside out so often that you would think I am trying to start a new trend
I have come to the realization that my daily life could be called a number of things. Poetic is not one of them.
But the fact that I am here, the fact that literally billions of things had to have happened in order for me to happen, the fact that when I was born I became improbable and unpredictable. The fact that I am here.
That is something.

In the grand scheme of things,
we’re all dust.
People like to use this
to make a point–
nihilistic nay-saying
about how
“nothing matters”
and
everything dies.
But if we’re nothing,
we’re a whole lot of it.
So that’s something,
right?

— Ashe Vernon

ouch

I've got Achilles heel's all over my body. One is for the kids with cancer
another is for anything homeless.
My wrists? My neighbor's
How can you teach your mother to love herself?
The elderly. Unlikely friends. People.
Why do so many people have terrible parents?
I'm always giving pieces of myself to people, I can't help it but
I always feel empty afterwards.
and I've got one for you too. It's in my throat.
It's on my finger tips
Behind mt ears, my toes, inside my stomach. my knees, my elbows. my skin.
forget it.
I'm Achilles. You're the river.
I'm dipped in you and you get all of it. Everyone else can have my heel.
I've never felt like this before, what is it?
Maybe this is why my mother was always asking if I had found somebody yet.

She just wants me to stop aching all over.

She thinks a boy can solve that.

She thinks a boy can solve everything.

How do you teach your mother to love herself? 

Maybe this is it.

You may not have the answers, but when I'm with you I don't worry about the questions.

if my heart were a house

Inspired by this poem.

If my heart were a house

There aren't any birds to wake you up in the morning but the sunrise and sound of dogs running across the hardwood floor seem to do the trick. It smells like that apple pie I got from the farmers market and a bath with candles is always ready. It has a Cheaper By the Dozen chaos to it and enough people to match. There is always company. The yard has a giant willow tree in the front, with all my pictures and passed notes and movie tickets hanging from its branches. And the lawn is be covered in bike crashes and and memories and bad dance moves because I can't keep it all inside. There is a room in the basement filled with pillows for the hard times and a room stacked with books for when you're ready to get back up and learn from it all. The bedrooms are always messy. Fresh flowers on all the tables and fresh fruit stockpiled in the fridge. A front porch swings all the way around the house and it has creaky rocking chairs that you made for me and ice lemonade that I made for you. a room with all the scraped knees and broken china and mud tracks, and room where He's fixing it all. The dog is buried in the back. And so is the other one, and the fish, and the sister, and the friend, and everyone else. Instead of headstones we planted yellow roses. In one corner is my grandparent's orchard and in the other is my mother's tomato plants and a pond with a rope swing somewhere in the middle. We never mow the lawn but somehow we never need to. The fireplace cracks a smile and at night there are always fire flies. No fence. It's hard to leave the house, it's harder to leave the yard. But I always bring someone new with me whenever I come back.
In the front there is a door mat saying Finally

is every blog post about starting over?

A lot has been going on. But I am happy to say I am fine. And you are too. Even if you don't feel it. We used to talk about art school and business school and how business school was the easy way and art school was the hard one. Which is ironic because I am majoring in Interior Design because I thought it would be easier than marketing or journalism. But once again I am not sure. This single phrase must be the mantra for every post high school but pre college graduate. And I blame you people. You writers and story tellers and world creators. Addie Lamb has a secret blog and I found it (I'm so sorry for telling you like this) and it reminded me of why I wanted to write in the first place, and it was just like, THIS IS IT. THIS IS THE STUFF I AM TALKING ABOUT THIS IS WHAT I WANT TO DO FOR FOREVER. RIGHT HERE. The same way I felt after reading Mindy Kaling's book and Ellen's and Tina's. What can I say, funny ladies writing memoirs is my weakness. Enough of all this serious mumbo jumbo that I've been trying to do but I keep finding that everyone does it so much better than me. It's fun to read in a weird "omg my heart is breaking and I'm crying but it sounds so beautiful I have to keep reading" sort of way. But it's horribly depressing and agonizing and frustrating to write. I feel like I always had to be brooding and cynical about something. So I am giving up. I'll leave that to the real poets and romantics that I long tried to transform myself into.
I'm not sure what way to end this post, other than to let you know its going to start getting a lot brighter around here.

the biggest UGH I have ever said.

Everything seems to be terrible as of late. Not in my personal life really, the whole world just seems a little bit extra sucky. Everyone is dying and being rude and Where is the Love by the Black Eyed Peas can't even cheer me up anymore because it's all TOO REAL. I hug my knees while I watch the news now and my dad still doesn't understand anything. Global Warming is real and so is racism in America. And people won't let Caitlyn do her thing. People still kill dogs and people for no reason just because of things they have heard about them. It seems like there are too many issues to keep updated on and have an opinion of and there is just too much going on. And I guess if you aren't aware of the issues you're ignorant. But being in the know is exhausting. I'm constantly worried about everything and how dumb and unfair everything is for everyone. Frankly I'm just pissed off most of the time. Because everyone goes about their day not pissed off about anything but themselves. As terrible as it sounds being ignorant would be so much easier. But what can you do. Write a blog post about it and hope Taylor Swift or someone high up in the government who cares enough will see it? Even then....I'm literally writing a blog post complaining about hugging my knees while watching the news. While there are people who knew people who went to church and now they've got nothing and no one to hug to anymore and they can't get off their knees since they heard the news. So what's the point. To remain silent is to provide no opposition for the issues going on and therefore to allowing them to continue. So here we are. I don't know what this is supposed to be about. I'm just tired. of everything
#blacklivesmatter

alphabet soup vomit

sometimes I read my old writing and wonder what happened to me. Where did all those words inside of me go? How do I get them back?

enough about me,

me
me
me
are you tired of reading about me yet?
I think the most confusing part about life right now is that I don't know what I'm confused about. I just know there is something fuzzy going on in my brain and I constantly feel frazzled.
I write about me so much because I can't seem to find myself in other people's words anymore.
nothing clicks or pangs or makes me go cold in the good way.
I haven't cried while watching a movie in a long time.
I don't finish the books I start.
I no longer settle
They say, you have to love yourself before you can love someone else.
and maybe they are right.
But what if you love yourself too much to let anyone else.
because no one knows you better than yourself
so really can anyone love you better than you can love yourself
probably not.
so what's the point

find your people, people

It isn't hard for me to get along with people. College has shown me that I can tolerate pretty much anything from anyone. Midnight showers, clanky spoons, people reorganizing the fridge, people talking about people organizing the fridge behind their back, people who google all the Tv spoilers for pretty little liars and gossip girl and the bachelor, and people who don't do dishes. I believe that everyone has something that I can find to like about them. Most people are decent. And its fine and it's bearable and you can deal with it. But the real treat is finding people that you don't have to force yourself to like. People you just vibe with and could go on crazy adventures or just sit around with for hours and it would always be the time of your life.

people who agree with you on tattoos and life pursuits and Tibetan food. The small things. if there is one thing I know its that the small stuff ends up being the important stuff. because it adds up into be big stuff. I've never really been attached to much and I blame that on how much I moved in my childhood. Loyalty has never been a trait that I thought about or considered important. But it's nice to be around people who constantly want to be hugging you

slanted face emoji

I'm trying to remember when things got so complicated. Or even why. The prompt this week in high school creative writing is "I remember" and I feel like everything was simpler back then. I know that's not the case, and when you look back you don't really remember everything that was going on. Just the big stuff. I just don't know how everything got so complicated and cloudy in my head. And I don't even know why it feels that way otherwise I'd get rid of it. I just feel like every thing is meh and bleh and I haven't cried about anything in a while so I know something must be wrong. I just can't figure out how to figure it out. How do you make things simple again

metaphorical alarm clock

my mother used to wake me up for school everyday
now its either the sun or my roommate
and on occasion my phone
I'm sick of relying on other people to wake me out of my funk.
I want to be strong and dependable and I want to wake myself up
I want to be the one to pick myself back up and I want to be able to pat my own back
I'm sick of setting four alarms five minutes apart
I'm sick of hitting snooze
and I'm sick of sleeping through life
I'm ready to wake up




the question is how

cosmic love

you want the moon? Just say the word and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey, that's a pretty good idea. I'll give you the moon

I am the moon
if there is one thing I've learned it's that no one completes you
you don't spend your whole life a half and then become a whole
you're you the whole time.
and maybe you're the sun
and maybe I love you
but how do you do it??
always showing up,
always full
sometimes I'm full..
sometimes you can only see a sliver of me in the dark
sometimes you can see me when the sun is out
those are my favorite days

blank space // best of both worlds // I'm going to double major probably

It's hard when no one plays you back on rapchat.
It's hard when people ask you what you do all day
and you don't even know.
time is slipping into everyone's broken AC vents
I sit here and watch TV and waste away everyday because it's to cold to do anything else.
I mostly do what everyone else is doing
I'm a sheep.
So?
All I ever do anymore is take those personality buzz feed quizzes that tell you nothing/everything about yourself.
Were all just trying to figure ourselves out.
My professor said something the other day in my Humanities class,
to define yourself is to limit yourself.
So I'm not a sheep.
But I am sometimes, most times, a lot of times.
But I am other stuff too.
I'm a soccer player and a sister and a virgo.
I'm a writer (?) and a rapper and a big cry baby,
I am strong even if I don't feel it and I am weak whenever I start to think I'm not.
I can't believe I'm talking about myself in another blog post
But its so important.
Your young adult life is when you are supposed to figure yourself out and choose your major and choose your life
But if you choose the you can't choose something else.
To define yourself is to limit yourself
You identify as an introvert so now you feel like you can't go up and talk to that cool person you want to be friends with because you are shy and awkward and that's not what introverts do.
CAN'T
CAN'T
CAN'T.
My question is who's making these rules?
Who's stopping you?
You aren't unable
You don't have to wait until someone comes up to you first,
nothing is physically stopping you.
You can do anything you want to do and not do anything you don't want to do. So don't make excuses. Don't say you are unable. It all just depends on how much you want something.
Do you want to make friends or do you want to be comfortable?
You don't realize it but you are putting restrictions on your actions.
One second you are everything and anything and this vast person but once you start putting those labels on name tag you start chipping off other parts of yourself.
You're funny so you can't be serious, you're optimistic so you can't be sad
you're going to business school so you can't like art.
you aren't two dimensional.
you're a person with layers and depth and complexities and you can be both sides of everything. You don't know why you do the things you do half the time you just do them. You don't need to explain yourself to anyone, even yourself.

A letter to my 56 drafts:

They tell you its the sad stuff that everyone wants to pay attention to.
The brooding and the aching and the tears, that's the stuff that makes peoples hearts stop.
makes them feel their pulse in their ears and their fingertips. you remember the sad poems because they break your heart every time you read them.
But no one ever goes to a sad poem when they're looking for hope.
Everyone wants to read something that will make their heart cold.
well whats colder than a cold shoulder (whats cooler than being cool?)
They tell you its the sad stuff that everyone wants to pay attention to.
Because it's easier to write.
You can smack your cheating boyfriend in the face with your words
and everyone will snap at you
you can talk about how much you hate your dad hundreds of times
and everyone will get angry with you
you can talk about the ache in your chest every time you see him, with her.
but you can also high five and thumbs up and fall in love and with your words
if you play it right.
and everyone will laugh with you cry with you and feel real with you.
words can blow someones mind without blowing their heart out of their chest
write something you'd want one of your crying siblings to read.
and delete the rest.

why I failed anatomy - a self portrait

Every time I swallow I can feel Etta James in my throat.
In anatomy they tell you everything you ever need to know about yourself.
Like how we sneeze at 100 mph and how it's possible for your bones to self destruct at any minute
but they never tell you where it all came from.
Sure biology or history can tell you that too if you really want
But its too general. Too impersonal
They'll tell you that my smile and the smile of the boy who sits next to me came from the same place
and they'll be wrong/right
His smile comes from some place open and beautiful and cold but like, light jacket cold. Somewhere in the mountains maybe. I'm there too
My smile comes from some place warm and familiar and there is a good couch to take a nap on. Maybe in a cabin somewhere in the mountains. He'll  be there too
My smile came from him, my ears from Aaron Carter
and my guts came from a movie I saw in high school.
I've got the knees of bees'
and the eyes of artists' because I can see the bigger picture
My cheekbones came from all the knock knock jokes
and my heart came from God.
I've got the feet of a 100 meter sprinter just before the gunshots
and the hands of someone who spent too much time on the monkey bars
My elbows and and my brain are actually made from the same tissue because they both can't stop thinking about how funny everything is.
I got my eyebrows off the internet
but my tears are from you.
I've got my fathers phalanges and my mothers jawline
my wrinkly eyes belong to my grandpa
and my back belongs to my grandmother
and my bones belong to me.

I'll ask the questions around here

I've been looking under rocks and behind bleachers and in between pastry shops but I can't seem to find anything beautiful anywhere.
Where did all those metaphors go?
How did I find so many at the beginning and
What do I have to dig up to find more?
what happened to all the clues?
What happened to the tour guide?
I think I need him. sometimes I feel like a detective but most of the time I feel like a tourist.
That was a bad thing right? I can't remember anymore.
I can't remember how to do anything. I need someone to show me everything
I need prompts and video clips and comments and music.
 what happened to the music? and the rain and all the scenery and the other tourists and all the residents.
What happened to Paris?
I tried it. I thought I was tough enough
I thought I had enough of the right stuff
whatever it is.
But like everyone else it seems like this city has chewed me up.
The question is will it spit me out or swallow me whole?
Which would be worse?
Going back after everything you know. After seeing everything you could become.
Trying to make yourself forget. Become numb again.
Or staying. And knowing you might never become what you want to,
But that maybe you could.
Hope.
It's all anyone seems to need these days
and it can give you life and purpose
But boy can it kill you.
It really can.

other wordly

Sometimes I watch the news and I feel ashamed.
There are people who say the natural man is an evil
and there are people who say love yourself flaws and all.
so which is it?
There are people talking about "how the war on terror could
impact your vacation"
There are people talking about missing planes and missing sons
There are people talking about who deserves what and how the boy didn't derserve
to die but the man who killed him doesn't deserve to go on trial.
There are people talking about celebrities who went outside without make up on
There are people talking about children dying for education
There are children dying.
Sometimes I think that the world has made us hard.
But was it not Cain who slayed Abel?
We have been like this since the beginning
There has always been fire inside of all of us
and the earth grieves because of it.
it avalanches and howls and trembles.
It quakes with sorrow.
But I know the world is not always this way.
For it was Cain who slayed Abel
and not two brother who slayed each other.
and where there is terrible and awful
there is also good.
I call my apartment in Logan home and my bedroom in Highland home.
and isn't it comforting?
to know its possible the same person in more than one place?
isn't comforting?
to know that we can become good again?
That we can become who we once were