Left Eye was my musical inspiration. I didn’t try to copy her style, but her tough as nails, “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee” style made me rethink my inspirations for my music, writing, and poetry.
Good girl off.
Ready to shrug off hearts
Hand them to you by a string.
I’m finally growing
A young cub
Now a budding lioness
Ready to hunt.
No love-lorn looks
No more pining
I don’t need your fake love,
Your fleeting affections,
Your pitying gazes.
I’ll go it alone
I don’t need a man
To make me be a woman.
[Song: Chasing the Sun by The Wanted]
They guide my fears
They watch my tear streaks.
For all our problems,
They always want to blame me.
Can’t escape the responsibility.
They never care
As long as they’re not scared, but me.
He doesn’t see others,
He only sees me.
He says that I’m the problem
But never that he hates me.
He claims love,
Yet always discriminates.
The youngest get his love,
The older are too late.
I never wished for much,
But can’t you see me?
Love has always meant so much
I’ll always love you,
As you can see.
But I don’t think you’re good for me.
I love you, Daddy, but I can’t be near you anymore.
I love you family, but I see that I’ll never truly have your support.
I’ll drift along alone, looking for that special one.
And maybe then I will see the real sun.
Ave Atque Vale.
I once thought that I was a nomadic/hermit type person. I don’t particularly enjoy human interaction. I hate being around disrespectful people.
But I’ve realized something.
My dad just told me that I can’t go out and hang with my friends or go to dances. I’ve been to one dance. All of this because I made a mistake with scheduling my pick-up from the movies. My dad wants to make me alone because he thinks that I don’t value God enough. Truth: God is the most important figure in my life. More important than my dad. I don’t know if Dad knows this. I hope he does soon because I’m done. I’m getting through high school and college, and then I’m never coming back to my parents. I love them with my whole heart, but I hate neing alone and neither of my parents understand me at all. My mom is better about it, but my dad is just outright inconsiderate. He acts rashly and doesn’t consider the feelings of the other party when making decisions.
So I’ll stay locked up in my room for two years. I won’t leave it. Because this is basically what my dad wanted. He just didn’t realize that. But I’m not going to be his little puppet after that.
I can’t be alone. So I won’t.
Boredom is a disease.
Zaniness is the cure.
[Song: Because of You by Kelly Clarkson]
When I started trying to write about myself, the song Because of You started playing through my head—loudly. I’ll admit, I’ve seen some things and experienced others that make me hesitant to give myself away—heart, thoughts, or feelings. So I decided to use the song for my next “Different Kind of Poetry” poem.
[Because of Me]
I lose my way
I’ve always been lost
And it’s not too long before you point it out
You find me, mockery in your eyes
I cannot cry
My tears dried up long ago
Because I know that’s weakness in your eyes
I am not strong, yet I still stand tall and proud
I’m forced to fake
I wish reality was a lie
A smile, a laugh everyday of my life
I hide my laughter behind fake laughter
My heart can’t possibly break
You shattered my heart beyond breaking
When it wasn’t even whole to start with
It was never yours to break.
-I’m a bookworm. Want to plan my presents for the next fifty years? Buy me two books (preferably romance and fantasy/paranormal/sci-fi) (and maybe a stuffed bear) and a bag of Hershey’s Cookies n’ Cream chocolate bites. That’s it.
-No one has realized this yet, but I’m a party girl. I like parties. No, not for the drinks. Or the food. Or the boys. I go to parties and dances to dance. Pure and simple.
-I’m really mellow. This could be associated with my bad memory, but I doubt it. I just have this sense of calm where I tell myself to just not think.
-I am who I am. How you interperet me is what you get. I won’t explain myself to anyone. Hence the multiple versions of myself.
-I’m not who you think I am. I hate when people make assumptions about who I am and what I’m like without consulting me or hearing my opinion. You think I’m selfish? You’re darn tootin’ I am, but if you ask for some of my beloved, coveted food, I’ll give you some. You think I’m lonely? Lonely people hate when they’re alone. I find it peaceful I just have a fear of being completely alone and death. They’re strong.
-I’m a contradictory mess. Some would say an oximoron. Others would say a paradox. I say it’s a lack of sleep and stunted emotional growth.
-I’m dark yet cheerful. It shows in my writing. I’m most neutral in stories because it’s not about me- it’s about the characters and my future readers.
-I hate awkward moments and fights. Some could say I’m passive. Haha, believe whatever you want, darling. Just wait until you try to touch my food….
Clawing at my throat
Dangling by the chains that I swallowed to hide.
Fear that everything bad thing I imagined will be true.
Fear that every amazing outcome is possible.
Fear of my dreams-my thoughts-my hopes.
So I take that fear
I hide it in a cupboard.
The cupboard is every fake laugh
Every fake smile
Every groan during the during the day
And every illusion during my insomnia nights.
My fears control me.
And that is the only thing that I’ll ever hate.
[Why do I always end up on this topic?!]
I am freaking out.
I revently had a dream about the person I like. The week before and a while back I’d also dreamed about him, although I can’t remember those dreams now. And last semester I had a really vivid dream where he saved me from falling from one of those climbing ropes (weird, right? I was exercising!). I called him a cutie in the dream which is what my brain and heart practically scream at me whenever I see him even though a better description would be charming or hot. Anyways, I was just freaked out because I’ve never dreamed about one person more than three times before. Except my family, but that explains itself.
[Song: Uptown Funk by Mark Ronson]
Fifteen years ago on this day, a little girl was born.
She started out innocent and sweet. She found a love for books, fantasy, and romance. She learned about loyalty and perserverance. She learned to trust God in all things. She felt invincible, but, slowly, life caught up to her.
She felt out of place at school: her weight, her style, her accent. She fell for guys a lot (foolishly), made a lot of mistakes, and became a hollow shell. Bleak, dejected, and broken.
Fifteen years ago, that girl wasn’t broken.
Fifteen years ago, that girl was me.
Today, that girl knows that love is truly awesome and awaits her day to walk down the aisle. She tries harder to accept herself and chooses to ignore the judgements of others. She remembers the importance of friends and family. She never lost her love of books, fantasy, or romance. She has a dream to become an author whose books people will fangirl and threaten her over. Because it shows they care. None of this is to say that girl isn’t broken anymore. She still is. But she tries. That girl still craves the attention that her old boyfriends gave her, but she’s willing to wait.
Today, that girl soars.
Today, that girl is me.