Don't change what you do. This is your path and no matter how many bumps are in your life you shouldn't change it. One move and your life in the futer could end. One redo and everything will change. Never give up on God or your dreams. God is real no matter what anyone says or does. their will be people in your life that will try and want to hurt you. You have to punch back and tell them no.

P.S don't start watching

Gilamore girls you will

want to watch forever. :)

@Harry_Situation I would

also want this to be a letter

to younger you, the part in

time when you were religious.

unbreakable . in the things that you make me feel

( hard to name

but felt with every little part of me )

even when these erratic heartbeats of mine

are made entirely

of paper-thin glass,

even then, I would shatter it into a million and one

fragmented pieces of hope,

turning it into softly falling snow

( the calm of a lost meadow ) under my winter sun

that golden glow touching the fragile drums

hidden under my chest

somehow, you can always hear them

sensing the rhythm, sensing the strength I seem to forget

how do you do that,

my beautiful soul?

moja piękna duszo

being ripped and torn apart--

feeling the words claw at the back

of my throat, raking claws up and

down the walls, leaving trails of blood

it is the opposite of feeling empty,

instead, being overflowed with so much

e m o t i o n and having only one place to

go to let it out, prose, my home away from homes

writing is rewiring my circuits

and sending test frequencies across the board

screaming and shouting and yelling because it works, it works, it works

and then feeling on top of the world once the words are out

except, this desperation i feel,

it is cacophonous and shattering,

one word is out but another is coming close behind--

oh, you have one child... no, twins! triplets! and next thing you know, i'm encrouching on 410

and it is my tonic, my addiction

to write these words and say them in whispers

smile around a stanza, an entire poem,

and to feel the words melt the feeling deep inside

this is my relief, my drug, my chocolate addiction

it is a fast-track and one i take wildly, grinning while the engine rumbles

it is the high i get off of living, the toxin in my drink

it is writing and it is my act of desperation and it is my home of homes

(October is so long gone now; the leaves are down in my neighborhood and

it is cold cold cold)

   I think I'll apply to Harvard I think I'll keep it a secret

 so then when I don't get in I'm not the failure or the punch line       

       of some long time family joke.

        Hilarious.

I've always been that dopamine snort but now I sit still still still at e-church sermons

that have long stopped being gone to.

She touches my arm and it tenses. I hope my hair grows by next Christmas,

this year's my free pass--don't touch me,     

   I beg.

         God, don't touch.

My show got turned down for something called "When Santa Lost His Ho Ho Ho"

and I wish I could say that I'm lying; I'm not.

And I wish I could say I'll put on my show but I probably won't, I won't let them

  keep it for January it won't even be Christmas anymore and--

Brief. 

    God, I'll keep my letter of thanks and resignation brief brief brief

           so I can shove it in my pocket and keep it for when I need it,

           brief. So brief, so

           deep deep deep, so

I can't help but wonder if God is waiting for me at college. I laugh with my

constant state of fear of the future but maybe She walks the hallowed halls.

Her walls are enthroned in feminist posters and ivy,

and She is just waiting for me to come so we can have tea and talk like old friends.

When you grow up do you want to go to law school? 

You always were so smart.

(November) going bad bad bad

   Put little candies in my lunch and dress like a skater LIKE HELL.

     Learn the Romans loved their structures like they loved their own selves but

   what's toppled over is oh my heavenly hosts I'll have to tell Aunt B--

              if this is a warning sign I'm an idiot for not taking it.

But we haven't spoken in months, she'll just laugh, call me cute and ever-changing.

I'm the angsty teen niece but it isn't bad--I just wonder how much she still knows,

and she posted her old wedding photos on facebook.

Aunt B made a beautiful bride.

And when a Roman structure toppled the marble was hard but the Romans 

          were fine.

     The place was not salvaged, but they rebuilt it on the ground

       and kept it holy.

I'll be the one who made it out--the compass faces North to the Lord of the sun

              She waits for me at college,

     She threw the paintbrushes out the window but I didn't even notice.

                      I was reading again.

(December will shine like the day,

I was promised.)

It’s 12:23 am

and I’m spinning

while forgetting how to sleep

as my mind becomes still

as I swim in it’s torrents

I can’t seem to see

how to breath anymore

as I hold my breath

and count down until it’s 12:25

im choking

on the water now

im tossing in the waves

flailing in my bed as I

drown drown drown

its 12:28 and I’m throwing up

the food from yesterday

so seasick

so hurt

so tired

yet I’m

awake

im lonely

no tears

because my emotions run dry

yet I’m submerged in an ocean full of them.

can you point me towards land?

can you

can you

will you

(no one will)

im alone in this sea

im Alone

im alone

im alone

my Mother holds me in the water

as well as my father.

some boy I chose to like

left me drowning.

my Only friend did the same...

noonecares

so I’ll just

drown in this isolated desert at 12:35am.

do you remember

the place

where the trees

stretch out

like hands

interlocked

sunset dripping

onto the

distant hills

quilt spread

over the

grass and bugs

the twitter

of a sleepy

songbird

scratchy wool

sweaters

against skin

and the

distant

scent of

s w e e t

c i n n a m o n

Once when I was about six I was going shopping with my dad and the girl behind the counter, when she wasn’t serving anyone, was writing out on a piece of paper and mumbling affirmations: “I am beautiful. I am strong. I can do this.”

There are nine year old girls who will do this. They have not formed an identity and they are searching for it. They don’t believe they are beautiful, so they try to confirm it without any real ground, without reason. Simply repeating, “I am beautiful,” doesn’t make them feel any better because they feel they need someone else to affirm it. They need their friends to tell it to them. They need their crush to say it out loud to them.

They are searching for the wrong kind of beauty. They have lost their sense of true beauty because the media, the magazines and articles that they read, tell them what beauty means. Beauty, according to the world, is having the perfect body. Big eyes and soft skin, a gap between your thighs (because otherwise you’ll be labelled as “fat”), a big butt and the skinniest little waist. Beauty comes in trendy Instagram photographs with pretty filters on them, in powder compacts and lipstick tubes. Beauty is having boys ask you out; if they don’t then you’ll probably have to start on a stricter diet and work out more often ... and then again, maybe you don’t have what it takes, maybe you never will, maybe if you aren’t born the perfect image of beauty you will never achieve it.

I think I was a fairly nice looking little girl, when I was perhaps seven or so. When I got to be around ten I had a very sensitive spirit and could fairly easily be reduced to tears, and I also became a little more chubby. I know, I know, that if I had gone to school I would have started to obsess over my weight and my looks. I would have been called fat. Apparently these days natural baby fat, ordinary weight gain, can label you as “obese.” Thank God for homeschooling! I was taught femininity and gently prepared for the world outside.

We forget about the beauty within. I can’t look in the mirror and say in all honesty that I have a beautiful face, a beautiful body, like the models on magazine covers, because I know it isn’t true. I don’t have that kind of beauty at all and I never will. But I have noticed that those same models are devoid of what could make them truly beautiful; they never smile, they look for the most part very unhappy, and it’s likely they don’t believe in their own hearts that they are beautiful. They probably don’t know what love is.

God does not create anything ugly. Our souls are beautiful. So very, very beautiful! Why should we care what the world thinks of us, what our girl friends gossip over behind our backs, whether this boy or that boy might just notice us if we looked a little different ... if we were skinnier or our eyes were blue ... when God himself, the One who created us (and Who, by the way, created our girl friends and this boy and that boy), Who loves us as He made us? We were made for a reason. We are loved and wanted. Did Mary, did Elizabeth or any of the women who followed God look like fashion models or worry what anyone was thinking of them? No, and yet they were beautiful. They were beautiful because they possessed beauty, not just pretty faces and admirers.

If we look to God we will find that beauty, ageless and lovely. We must run after Him to find what our hearts truly desire.

Violet is a humble flower, hidden in the shade

Indigo is ripened grapes, coloured with their age

Orange is a candle flame, flickering in the breeze

Red is a little poppy, pretty as you please

Blue is the ocean, spraying cold and wet

Yellow is the sun, as it rises, as it sets

Green is the grass as it sways in the field

Rainbow is the symbol of a promise fully sealed.