Write

Maybe I'll write about tomorrow
Though today's not yet done
Of good days and bad days I've yet to pick one.

I know that day approaches, and the season is here,
Yet bundled up in me is a heart full of fear.

Have I done right or am I still wrong?
I'll sing my heart out with every Christmas song.

I'm a writer, a poet, that is exactly me,
And with my words, I'm hoping to fly free -
But I'm riding blind, this life I cannot see,
I'm trapped and I'm sinking into constraints of unwanted destiny.

I'll write you a tale of pirate's treasure,
Of friendship and love that is beyond measure.

Maybe you'll carry, maybe you'll ride,
Or maybe you'd rather just hide from your lies.

Tell Me I'm Good

Tell me I'm lovely, and worthy, and good,
Tell me you love me, and adore me, and should.
Tell me I'm beautiful, tell me I'm right,
Today is a day when the doubts I can't fight.

Tell me you've known me, and will know me for years,
Tell me that it's okay, you'll protect me from my fears.
Tell me that when I'm about to give up hope,
You'll tie me together with glue, tape, and rope.

I'm slowly beginning to fall asleep,
The darkness around me, and still I weep,
For the things that I've hidden and the things that I've learned,
And for every word said to me, it seems I have burned.

So as I rest, and as I change my mind,
I will remain here, loyal and kind.
To be forgotten and used, disbelieved and disliked,
At the end of the days, my own head on a pike.

Tell me you'll linger and not take me for granted,
Tell me that one day life will be enchanted.
Tell me that happiness will come if I wait,
And then to show me open up the filling gate.

Tell me if the world is snow white,
Or if the black has taken away the bright.
Tell me that by tomorrow I'll have found a friend,
And that THIS relationship may never end.

It seems I am fighting a lonely battle,
In which I am herded, a part of the cattle.
So tell me I've done even better than 'well' ,
And let me remember when my smile fell

SPIDERS Part Two

So I went to the bathroom just before I passed out, right...

And.

There was a spider.

Scared the crap out of me because I was all "la la la la!" and relaxed and chilling and then

HOLY SHIT SPIDER, HUGE ASS SPIDER.

So I watched it and it stayed where it was, right, all chill. So I washed my hands and stuff and then I thought...

Could this spider be the same one I saw almost a month ago?

It LOOKS very similar. I know like two days ago I saw an earwig when I was taking my shower and then it was gone later.
did it... eat the earwig?

Did it hide, knowing that the spider that stayed in plain sight for like two weeks got killed by my mom even though I was warming up to him pretty well?

Did it stay away, knowing I am afraid?

Is it.... a friend?

Man I don't know but I kinda hope that is the case because I would totally rather have a spider eating all the earwigs and shit than anything else in my bathroom.

So I'm just gonna... leave it.

We're chill, spider bro. Just don't climb in my shower, or let my parents see you.

Why Do I Suck at Titles

People are richly complex, in-depth, and beautiful,
And you and I are no exception.

I am a lyricist, putting pieces together,
Making puzzles into holes, and emptying time,
Trying to fit in music and rhyme.

We all live the dreams we make,
And the nightmares that make us shake,
And any way you try to put it you could still say,
You could still say we'll be wrong for another day.

And what if we're all wrong? What if none of us are right?

I am a dreamer, not a doer,
I'd rather live in my mind.
But you have to sketch it out sometimes,
Imagination to life,
Trying to find what goes right.

People hold tight to meaningless things,
And you and I just do the same.
It's easier that way.

There's so much more than what you and I say,
What we see,
So much deeper than we'd like to believe.

I am a lyricist, writing out my soul,
Because how else am I supposed to feel?
The words I speak, the way I breathe, hold on tight to destiny,
And then let tomorrow go.

SPIDERS and Basically a Nice Summary of How My Brain Works

There is a spider in my bathroom and I don't know where it is!

Basically I fell asleep at 7:00 PM and woke up 4 hours later at 11:00 PM (ish, there are minutes involved here). So then I tried to get back to sleep.

But, "Tristan! Tyler!" my mom called. Repeatedly. And had me get up and lift Tristan onto the bed. I was awake. Do not fall asleep by accident on your mother's bed. She will wake you and make you do things.

Anyway. So I'm awake now, my phone buzzes, I check it. I make a couple of posts, Google a thing (spoon theory to share with my mom, if you know if it I've basically been doing the mental equivalent of eating cereal with a fork for the past two months, I am OUT OF SPOONS), and.

Nope. Wide awake still. So I head downstairs. Mom complains because, as per usual, the dogs follow me. Even though I try to get at least Tristan to stay with her. Nah, man. He isn't having any of that.

So at about 1:30 or so I decide to take a shower because, I feel gross. I get into the bathroom.

Giant-ass spider behind my toilet. If you're South of me you probably would patiently say, upon seeing this spider, "Kuna... That's not a very big spider." But just assume it is decently-sized, okay, it is BIG ENOUGH. So I'm terrified because BIG SPIDER IN THE BATHROOM. I am like "I should free it" but you KNOW I am going to fail at that, I would be far too freaked out to take it outside. So I pick up an air freshener (it was the size of the bottom of this thing) and point it at the spider. I move it back and forth a couple of times.

...I can't do it. The spider is sitting there, I can't tell if it's -poisonous- venemous, it just. I can't. The spider deserves to live too. So I feel guilty.
And then I feel guiltier because it will probably die a slow and torturous death of starvation, I am terrible no creature deserves to starve.
And then I reason I can't kill it, it is behind my toilet, what if I slam it and it is not dead? Nope, too risky, there's my excuse.

So about to pee my pants I stare at it for like a minute, and then carefully sit on the toilet. I relax just enough to start peeing and then I turn around just enough to see it from the corner of my eye.
I actually wished for a penis. This was the first and will likely be the last time.

So then I get ready to go into the shower, and it starts moving. I freak out a little, quietly, but then triple and quadruple check my shower and it is free of bugs so I hop in.

I think of the spider that was here a year ago. What if this spider is seeking revenge because my mom killed it? No no no that thought is INSANE. I push it outside.

And then, my sentimental dumb self starts to get attached to this spider. It is a good spider. It will kill all the bugs. I think of it affectionately.

I get out of the shower.

It's gone.

I look for it, check various places, nope can't see it. It was on the wall, there is crapall for it to hide. Oh god, it's on the shelf in my stuff...

I start to get horror movie images of it climbing into my mouth. Biting me and killing me. Turning into a giant spider and squashing me (okay, this one is kind of comical). I think of every horrible thing that can happen involving spiders and imagine, with at least some detail, it happening to me with this spider that is now hiding somewhere.

I regret reading the SCP. I regret playing/reading/watching any horror ever. I begin to have an existential crisis that lasts all of a minute.

And then I flee to the living room, prostrate myself on the couch, and start writing about this stupid spider.

...I really hope it doesn't starve.

Pretend

Nobody wants to be called 'evil'
But the truth is we're all a villain
In somebody else's tale.

In the end of the dust and the breeze
We'll all fade away,
With memory and patience,
Because life never stays.

And I'd like to see a love that really lasts forever,
When it seems all the fairy tales end.
No hero stays a hero in a world determined to break you.

When you're there there's only one thing to see,
It's the heartbreak symphony, cacophony,
Love songs and brokenness can't quite explain this end.

And you can write lyrics into poetry
And try to pretend when really
It's obvious you're not okay.

You're determined the ending's coming,
You've determined that you're done.
But something keeps you here, anyway,
And it's killing you, every day.

So you walk further down that road,
Never looking back.
And when your map fails you,
And when the road ends,
What will you do then?

All your secrets add up somehow,
Into your greatest mystery.
You can't tell the truth, but then again...

Here's to hoping that all the good things,
You still think of from time to time,
Come to find you once again.
Come to fix your heart like they never did before.

Nobody wants to be called 'evil',
But the truth is no-one's a hero,
We're all just kids playing pretend.

Ingrid Michaelson and Love Songs

Every love song I listen to, all I do is think of you,
And I'm scared I might never hear a love song again.
All the music I loved doesn't seem so bright,
Rhythms and tunes no longer make me feel alright,
And it is all because of you.
But the roads lead you to mountains that were too high to climb,
And so your promises are broken, and I claim to be fine,
But here I am in tears again because a song said "you and I",
And I have to rewrite my future dreams in a sadder note this time.
I wanted to prove the whole world wrong when I was with you,
Everyone who said it'd fail, because we were too:
Too far apart, too different hearts, all the things that didn't fit,
But I guess they were right, so pour salt on my wounds.

I still claim you broke up with me because I feel it as the truth,
Because I can't wait forever and you were the one who turned it loose,
And when I gave you options, to maybe change the goal posts,
You still said no, you still let it go.
So while she claims I cornered you, I think we both know the truth.
You needed to be cornered so you'd say what you meant,
That we were better off as friends.
Well maybe for you, but not for me.

But love isn't selfish, I've said it before,
And writing this poem is something I abhor,
Because the last thing I want is for you to feel guilt,
When it is my daily partner and has been for years.
But I have nowhere else to go and nothing else to do,
When every love song I hear makes me think of you.
I can't even listen to some of my favorite songs,
Because the relationship, but not the love, is long gone.

So here I am crying because of a love song I liked,
Not even a favorite, and I'm not alright,
And "Maybe"s too hopeful, so I avoid the topics of heartbreak,
Trust me, my anthem isn't in these words, not anymore.

So why, then, are you the only one that understands
I need some space, I need a helping hand?
This time when you can't give it, when I'm all alone,
I have to some how figure out life again on my own.

1 Corinthians 13:4-8

My favorite Bible verse. It is written in the Bible; it is so important, it is so key, that it is written again in the Book of Mormon under Moroni 7:45.

NIV:
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away."

KJV:
"Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
5 Doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil;
6 Rejoiceth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the truth;
7 Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
8 Charity never faileth: but whether there be prophecies, they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall cease; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away."
BoM Verse:
"And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things."

Small differences, subtle differences, but this is one time where small differences don't change the meaning.

Charity is the pure love of Christ.

Love is the best thing in this world.

This is the strongest support in the order of sexuality, the way we love and who we love.

To love fully, to love purely, is to be Christlike. A mother's love, a father's love.

Please do not feel ashamed for your love. Not for love.

Not for that emotion which would have sacrifice and compromise and understanding and generosity. Not when those things are so entwined with love that love is nothing if not patient, if not kind, if not eternal.

Love is the least shameful thing on this Earth and it is the source of all the good, the best.

My favorite Bible verse, above all others. Because love, love is the greatest thing humans can possess.

"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." Martin Luther King, Jr.

Good Kid

I was the good kid.

My worst year I was in third grade. I told a teacher, direct quote, "You deserve to go to heck." I was upset, I lashed out.
I told two boys I would call birds down to peck their eyes out with my flute. They were threatening to shoot up the school.

Those two boys reached the TA first, the TA who didn't like me. They believed every word those two said.
My parents believed me, because I admitted to the flute. The school did not.

They got off scot-free.

I yelled at someone, fought with someone, to stop them from bullying someone else. A verbal fight in the fifth grade. The PE teacher, whom I liked and who liked me, told me to not do that, to just let it pass, that it wasn't worth it.

They say, "no good deed goes unpunished".

I am the rock, the shield, the person who is always there. It took this year for me to stop being afraid that, like so many others, I would be taken for granted. Because I had been before.

It is a moment of heart-stopping panic when I admit I'm not okay. Half of me believes they won't do anything, won't believe me, and is relieved for it. Most of the other half hopes that is the case. Every time, a small sliver breathes just a little better because love, instead of indifference,  is given.

Being good, being kind, being compassionate isn't all bad. It is lonely and hard, but there's good things too. If I messed up I could get away with it. I was never asked for a hall pass; they always assumed I had permission.

(One time I smiled at her, the woman who never smiled, even with adults, and she smiled back)

Be the better person. You make your day. In elementary school I was taught that people are mean, hurt others, because they are hurting. I keep that in mind, always. I always give people the benefit of the doubt.

It is hard. It hurts. I wish, I wish, I could just be angry, feel these negative emotions directed at someone who isn't me.

But I care, far too much, about people for that. So I take a deep breath.

I keep being kind. I keep being good. No matter how much it hurts.

Regrets

The thing I regret the most... Well, there's several things.

Not standing my ground in seventh grade, when it had to be a unanimous decision. I was right and knew I was, but eventually gave in.

Not standing my ground when an adult (or two adults) and three peers crowded around me, one placing her arms on my shoulders and forcing me to the BB gun range set up, forcing me to do something I wasn't ready for. Go figure, I'm now scared of guns (yet anti-gun-control. Hm.)

Not telling the truth when the lies someone else told were believed, because it would take too much effort.

Saying no.

Saying no sooner.

That is where my biggest regrets lie.

In going to girl's camp for four years instead of two, in letting people convince me to do things I didn't want to do.

I don't regret refusing to learn how to whittle. I wasn't ready. Later, years later, I picked up a small multi-tool pocket knife that has my name on it. I love this knife. I was ready when I was sixteen, not when I was twelve. I wish I had been ready sooner, but I don't regret it.

I regret all the times I said "yes" the most, when all I wanted to say was "no". These things haunt me.
More than everything else.

Learn from my mistakes. Say no. Put your feet down.

At nineteen years old I am learning how to assert myself. Because asserting myself meant conflict, meant distress. If I went along with it it would still hurt, but less so.

Going to the gun range, willingly, terrified me. It hurt, it was scary, and I trusted the people around me.
I wanted to shoot a gun, I wanted to try it out, but it wasn't the noise; it was memories of a twelve year old kid being forced into doing something she didn't want to do, just once but once was enough.
(And, in part, by someone with fly-away shells, but I ducked behind an adult there with me and I was okay, away from the source, and the woman with the gun smiled and apologized even though the ear plugs made it so none of us could hear each other.)

It feels weird to say I was traumatized. I don't have PTSD, I don't have triggers or flashbacks. Many of my habits can be attributed to anxiety instead.
But I don't like guns.

I don't trust myself to be right. I defer, I step back, instead of fighting.

Dear God, I fought. I fought, once, and I was met with silence. In elementary school I was the good kid.
I got punished. I was the one who was talked to, every time I stood up for myself.

I don't regret standing up for myself.

I regret not doing it more.

I do not wish
for this eternal,
permeating,
sadness.

So though I have tools
and medication
you must understand:
all the tools and treatments
in all the world
cannot stop bad days
bad weeks
bad months
...bad years.

Each tool,
each treatment,
each proper medication
chips away at it.

But it is using
a plastic knife
to cut down a redwood,
a metal spoon
to carve out a mountain.

So please believe me,
I am trying,
but it is very hard,
and sometimes,
I will have bad days
bad weeks
bad months.

Fight or Flight

So I'm on my way to work.

I'm at Nine Mile Station waiting for the bus and there's about five people with clipboards asking people "Are you registered to vote?"

Normally, I'd be happy to talk with them, but I'm on the bus schedule that's half an hour later than my normal because I missed the bus by being ten feet away from the bus stop when it came. This threw my mood off.

So all five of them, in turn, ask the question. The first one I just furiously shake my head at and walk briskly away from. The second one I manage to say "yes" before I have to move away (he cuts me off and doesn't let me get past him until I manage to give my very panicked answer, which lets him know something is wrong and he finally lets me pass).

The third I straight-up run from, and same with the fourth.

Flight or fight has kicked in and now I'm flinching, jumping, cringing away from everyone who gets too close. The fifth attempts to ask me anyway and I nearly run out in front of a car because I'm panicking and can't think straight.

People, if someone is flinching, hyperventilating, and seems jumpy, do not approach them unless it is to ask "hey, do you need help calming down?"

Because I'm finally on the bus and my fight or flight is gone but I still feel anxious and exposed despite positioning myself to minimize that feeling.

And now I'm scared something is going to go wrong, too, because anxiety is a little bitch.

Shake Your Head No, Nod Your Head Yes

I feel like this is needed at the moment.

For those of you not in the know, we have no working air conditioning while it is hella hot and my boyfriend broke up with me. That should catch you up on my current life status and why I'm writing this.

(Also, hi! Been a while, Blogger.)

So. If you haven't gotten the advice "don't ask questions that aren't yes or no to someone having a panic attack", you've know gotten that advice.

Let me talk about what a panic attack feels like.

I have fallen overboard off a ship. It is raining and the waves are rough. I can only catch a little air; my lungs are filling with water. I have to fight against a heavy weight I can't get rid of, all to just stay afloat and breathe.

Someone picks up a life preserver.

They ask me to solve x squared plus 8 equals three fourths x plus 24 minus the square root of x for x.

That is the equivalent of being asked "What do you need me to do?"

Someone gets rid of all the life preservers and yells at me to solve the equation for their math homework.

That is the equivalent of being asked, "What's wrong?"

Someone throws me a life preserver and pulls me in. They aren't strong enough to bring me over the side of the boat, but they are enough to help me stay afloat.

That is being asked, "Do you need me to breathe with you?" or "Do you want to hold my hand?" or "Would you like me to take you someplace quiet?"

At the end of the day, I manage to get myself back on the boat. It either exhausts me and leaves me unable to function for a while, or I can manage to continue whatever thing I'm doing.
That's the difference between getting a life preserver and doing math for one.

I don't know how it feels for other people, but that is how it feels for me.

Depression, too, is best treated with yes or no questions.
I have used the ice motif for depression before. I am under the ice.

Someone holds on to me. They ask, "Do you want me to stay?" and listen to my answer.

Someone grabs at me wildly, making it worse. They ask, "I know you're depressed but can't you just try and think differently?"

Someone holds on to me, but they shake me around and really do nothing at all. They ask, "Why are you depressed?" trying to find the source without finding it ridiculous.

When I am in that state of misery, I do not have air and energy to waste in giving a complicated answer to your complicated question. It is hard enough to simply say "yes" or "no".
Help me, don't hinder me.

And for Pete's sake when I don't want to talk about something, talking about it obsessively is going to make me miserable and unable to maintain a mood that isn't suicidal.

A little drabble for the many people who are called ‘gifted’ in elementary school and then are promptly dropped in middle school where they immediately realize everything is shit.  Like yours truly.  I can’t know what it would be like to have an undiagnosed academic disability (dyscalculia and dyslexia come to mind for examples), but I do know it’s pretty shitty when your mental disease(s) start acting up.  So this is just related to that, and the fact that so many kids get called “gifted” and then basically are thrown down the drain around middle school time.

They tell you that you’re gifted.

With capability, in their eyes you’re lifted.

But when you’re older, you find that you’ve drifted,

From perfect grades to barely passing,

Suddenly years go by, and the effects are lasting,

You blame yourself, after all, only you can fix it. 

...

They tell you the reason why.

It’s such a relief you start to cry.

Because regardless the reason, regardless the cause,

If people are hurting, it’s not all a loss;

So whether it’s because your heart hurts, or your brain is strange,

Find the reason; they need to change.

I'm Not an -Ist

So.  Let's do a little exercise.
I'm going to run off a list of things/words/phrases and you're going to look at them and keep in mind what you thought of them.  Write it down if you want I guess, but honestly you really don't need to respond with what you thought.  Just kind of look at them and acknowledge it.

Feminist
Meninist
Animal right's activist
Human right's activist
Humanist
Egalitarian
Social Justice
Social Justice Warrior
Athiest
Christian

If you didn't have some negativity about at least one of those, you're lying.  There's more I could have done, but I think I might offend enough people, so...
This is why I'm not an -ist.

I used to announce with pride that I'm an animal right's activist, and then always say "BUT NOT LIKE PETA" because PETA gave a bad name.  And while I'll still say I'm Christian and Mormon (hush, I believe Mormons are Christians, this is my blog, my opinions) I much prefer reciting the first article of faith ("I" instead of "we", but "I believe in Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost") and saying I belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints more than anything.  Look at that.
You can't get confused with that.  You can't think I believe in polygamy or that I'm a part of FLDS or anything like that.  You just can't.
So.
I'm not any of those things above.  I believe in equality, and love, and compassion, and respect, above all else.  You can't get confused with that.  You know exactly what I'm saying.

So sure, it takes more words.  But I don't mind using more words - simple words, easy words - in order to preserve clarity.  I'm not going to join a movement.  I'm not a part of a movement.
What I am a part of us the human race.  I will not add more labels to distinguish myself from my fellow brothers and sisters.  No sir.
So I'm not an -ist.  I'm not a feminist, or an activist, or what-have-you.

I will volunteer, and I will write, and I will fight for animals to be treated with respect instead of stuck in lonely cages where they can't turn around.  I will fight to make sure there's no more child brides and I will always, always remember to love and to care.

I'm not part of a movement.  I'm just me.  And you can say "oh but these things make you" whatever they make me, and maybe you're not wrong.  But I don't care.  I really don't.
And if you're calling me one of these things, the only one-word unclear answer I'll take is "Christian" or "Mormon" (slash LDS).  Otherwise?
Stop.  I'm not a part of this movement.  What name or label I claim for myself doesn't mean a thing.  What matters is what I believe in.
And quite frankly, if you've read anything in this blog at all, you already have at least some idea.

You Know Who You Are If You're One of These People

(Or, alternatively, either one of these:
"Because Really, Stop Trying to Corrupt Me, You’re Not Helping Anything I Swear"
"Why Is Changing My Personality Something You're So Excited To Do")

People assume many things about me.
But never do they assume that I
am very
strong.

I know this is because
I am naive and innocent
But they do not realize
How much I have fought
To be this way.

I am an optimist
Who believes in love
Who cries
Who watches Disney movies
Who has a very big heart
And always feels
very
very
small.

So people assume
That I need to be fixed
Corrected
Changed,
As though being
Positive and innocent
Is some sort of curse
Unless you are a child.

They do not realize
That I am happy with who I am,
Or somewhere, circling,
In the vicinity.

They do not realize
That depression
Can make it hard
To move.
But still...
I wake up
And I smile
And I believe
In the happy ever after,
In the better,
In the 'maybe's.

I am emotional and innocent
Someone to be protected.
What is unseen is how strong I am.
How hard I fight for every little scrap
Of innocence
Of optimism
Of looking in the mirror
And not hating myself,
From my hair,
To my eyes slowly growing more and more brown,
To the extra weight I hold.

It is strange to me
How people take my innocence
As a challenge,
How the best goal
Is to corrupt me -
How, in pretending kindness,
They claim it is to 'protect' me,
Never realizing
That by being innocence
That by being positive
I am slowly proving the world wrong
Letting my heart grow bigger,
Even though it's been shattered before,
That I am becoming more.

And yes.
I cry easily,
But I also laugh easily,
And if you ever need someone,
I'm used to being a rock,
Someone with good advice,
Someone to listen,
And I may be naive,
But I am also
very
very
strong.

Edited Version of Last Night's Poem

Many thanks to a friend I shall refer to as "AC".  He's air conditioning now.  It's done and decided.

I remember the isolation, the defeat,
As I wandered halls, invisible,
It seemed the journey was eternal;
The way they never believed
The voice I could not muster.
I fought, so hard, back then
For things I wasn't then -
Things I still fail to be -
Hoping that I'd feel like more
Than a talentless hack, worthless,
Wasting space that would be better off empty.

Happiness
Is not impossible when the devil whispers in your ear,
When you are caught in a web of lies
By a brain that never tells you the truth.
Instead, happiness
Is a difficult mountain, with moments of peace.
But each pause is a risk of avalanche,
Folding you into an airless tunnel,
Pushing you back so you must climb, again,
That terrible, insurmountable height.

When you are left in silence,
With a voice that works, but is unheard,
When the world around you is tough,
Filled with rocky terrain that cuts
As you walk with only bare feet,
You begin to believe what
Hell would have you convinced of.

Your inner demons
Are the worst ones to fight,
Because at least outward
You can cast anger and terror
Without ripping open cuts
You thought were finally healed.

It takes realizing
In the half-way milestone from self-hate to self-love
That your life was difficult,
That your ups were wonderful,
But your downs were utter despair;
That feeling sad is something you are y of,
That pity of self does not mean you are selfish
But instead have finally taken the time
To realize you need peace of mind too.

So when your voice is, at last, heard,
And you are above the raging waters, breathing,
And you catch the life float,
And are holding on for dear life,
Though you know you will fall under, eventually -
But not now, not this moment-
It is okay to tighten your grip,
And shed some tears for yourself;
For your lost innocence and lost chances
Because you are battling a disease
That is misunderstood and unseen.

It is okay to take a moment
And admit to yourself that you have reasons to be sad,
That your problems are equal, not lesser,
To the problems of others.
The devil's lies can be overcome, and defeated
But that does not mean you have to be happy -
It only means that you have to realize, once and for all,
That you are worthy and people love you.

The worst part of having your mind be your worst enemy
Is that only you can enter your mind;
Only you can rewrite your thoughts.
But it can be done, it has been done,
And you have done it several times before.
And the best part is:
All your accomplishments? All your downfalls?
You are not alone
Even if they're not always with you.
Even if God cannot be hugged.

So yes, you are battling a disease
More malicious than cancer,
More misunderstood than evil,
More unnoticed than heaven and hell,
But look at the path behind you,
That mountain you've climbed up yourself,
That ice you've broken through,
And take a moment to yourself.
Just breathe.
You're doing well.

Late Night Poetry (My Insomnia is Due to Creativity)

I remember the isolation,
The defeat,
As I wandered halls, invisible,
The journey taking to infinity.
The way it seemed they never believed,
The voice that I could not muster.
I fought, so hard, back then,
For things I was not, am not, even now,
To feel worthwhile, to feel like more
Than a talentless hack, worthless,
Wasting space that would be better off empty.

Happiness
Is not impossible when the devil whispers in your ear,
When you are caught in a web of lies
By a brain that never tells you the truth,
Instead, happiness
Is a difficult mountain,
Where sometimes you can picnic,
Breathing in the air,
Before an avalanche, a landslide,
Catches you in an airless tunnel,
Pushes you back so you climb
A terrible, insurmountable height
All over again.

When you are left in silence,
With a voice that works, but is unheard,
When the world around you is tough,
And difficult,
And filled with rocky terrain, while
You are left with bare feet,
You begin to believe what
Hell would have you convinced of.

Your inner demons
Are the worst ones to fight,
Because at least outward
You can cast anger and terror
Without ripping open cuts
You thought were finally healed.

It takes realizing
In the half-way milestone from self-hate to self-love
That your life was difficult,
That your ups were wonderful,
But your downs were utter despair,
That feeling sad is something you are worth doing,
That pity of self does not mean you are selfish
Or do not care,
But instead have finally taken the time
To realize you need peace of mind too.

So when your voice is, at last, heard,
And you are above the raging waters,
Breathing,
And you catch the life float,
And are holding on for dear life,
Knowing
That you will fall under, eventually -
But not now, not this moment -
It is okay to tighten your grip,
And shed some tears for yourself;
For your lost innocence and lost chances
Because you are battling a disease
That is misunderstood
And so very often unseen.

And it is okay to take a moment
And admit to yourself
That you have reasons to be sad,
That your problems are equal,
Not lesser,
To the problems of others,
And that the devil's lies can be overcome,
And defeated,
And that does not mean you have to be happy,
It only means that you have to realize,
Once and for all,
That you are worthy and people love you.

The worst trouble
Of having your mind
As your worst enemy
Is that only you
Can enter your mind;
Only you
Can rewrite your thoughts.
But it can be done, it has been done,
And you have done it.
And the best part is,
All your accomplishments?
All your downfalls?
You are not alone
Even if
They're not always with you.
Even if
God cannot be hugged.

So yes, you are battling a disease
More malicious than cancer,
More misunderstood than evil,
More unnoticed than heaven and hell,
But look at the path behind you,
That mountain you've climbed up yourself,
That ice you've broken through,
And take a moment.
Just breathe.
You're doing well.

The Necessity of Creation

I consider myself a writer.  I don't have a published novel.  All of my poems are really drabbles.  I've attempted a script or two but then never turned back to it.  But I am, 100%, a writer.

I may not be an authority on the subject, but I am frustrated when people say you should be doing this or you should be doing that to really be able to create.

The bottom line is: every individual is unique.  We all create differently.  Our ways of creation are all valid.

Some of us stare at blank ~whatevers~ for hours until we finally muster up the beginnings of something.  Some of us take long walks, listen to music and conversations, experience the world.  Others draw inspiration from other art (in fan fiction, this is especially obvious).

Each method of art - dancing, acting, drawing, game design, music writing - requires a different method.  But then, each person requires a different method.

I am not disciplined; I have a fickle muse, and inspiration is random and sporadic for me.  Getting me to settle on one idea is nigh-impossible.  For me to ever finish something, I need to allow myself to work on multiple projects at once (while at the same time actually working on them.  I am a lazy procrastinator).

I start with a vague idea.  Plenty of people make outlines.  Some people need to write out a couple of scenes.  Other people use character sheets.  All of these are different ways to start.

You do not need to be what they tell you that you need to be.  You just need to take a deep breath, and create.  If everyone were so focused on the how-you-should-be, nothing would ever exist.

Just because you have a different process of drawing from someone else doesn't mean your way is "wrong".  Just because you like to start at the beginning, in the middle, or at the end of a story doesn't mean you're "wrong".  Just because you take a fragment here and a fragment there and mash them together and mix them up and create a line from point A to point B doesn't mean you're doing it "wrong".  There is no such thing as a "wrong" process.

If you're creating, you're doing it right.  So please don't listen to the people who outline a specific way you need to do things.  You don't.  You're not any less of an artist - any kind of artist - for doing it differently.

Just needed to get that out there.

If There's One Thing That I've Learned

If there's one thing that I know,
It's that love never dies.
If there's one thing that I've learned,
It hurts as much tomorrow as today.
If there's one thing that I am,
It's a girl who falls too fast.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again,
I lied when I said it was the last.
Because the truth is that I love you,
And the truth is that I prayed.

And as I sit here, late at night,
The thought comes to mind.
This is not the end of "us", simply just a pause.
So we both have a bit of growing up to do.
You have a fear to overcome.

Neither of us have anything but "love",
Neither of us feel like we're good enough.
I hate that I'd be selfish,
That I'd ask you to come back,
But I'll find the words someday,
Because I still feel that who I am
Is incomplete without you.

If there's one thing that I know,
It's that I love you still.
If there's one thing that I've learned,
It's to hope even when it hurts.
If there's one thing that I am,
It's a girl whose optimism remains.

If this is the end, your inability to commit,
And my worried heart, hoping
I'll save us both pain,
Maybe this isn't the end of us.
Or maybe I'm ashamed.

If there's one thing that I know,
It's that you love me too.
If there's one thing that I've learned,
Love always comes through.
If there's one thing that I am,
I'm not complete without you.

Not For Me

I thought for once in my life, ‘forever’ could actually be.

I just can’t see the light.

I knew this was coming for far too long

But I thought it was worth the fight.

All things must end,

And now my chest is tight.

My heart is broken, my hands are aching,

All I can do is write.

I’ve found a song and now it's on repeat,

I don’t have as much strength or might.

As everyone seems to think.

Of anything good I’m losing sight.

This is a losing battle, it was from day one,

But I’m an underdog, that’s the blight,

The curse and the blessing God gave to me.

I dreamed of our children flying kites,

But I guess that will never be.

I just wasn’t the one for you

And you weren’t the one for me.

The Quiet

psst,
i have a secret,
something i want to share.

There are those who will tell you many things -
And there are days when, maybe,
You might just believe them;
But let's set the record straight,
They're wrong.

Love comes in many forms,
And who are we to say
Which one is more or less valid?
The best cure to a curse
Is love of a mother.

There is value, regardless
Of how you were born
Of who you are,
Or who you'll be.

And some will stomp their feet,
LOUD, LOUD, LOUD
as if drowning out the quiet voices
will ever make them feel better.

But you and I, we know better.
It's the soft voice of reason,
The becoming little bit of love.
Compassion is the best way to teach.

And wasn't it Jesus who said
Love one another?
Wasn't it Jesus who
Spent time with the sinners?
We're all a little broken and that's okay.

Some will stomp their feet,
As if loud can overcome soft,
But though soft is quiet,
Though sometimes soft is unseen,
Soft finds its way to the scars and the bruises,
And patches them up.

So yes, this is a secret,
Because loud is so easy to hear,
But listen to the quiet,
The quiet singing love, love, love.

To The Ones I Love

No words can express all the things you mean to me.
All the things you've done,
The ways you push happiness at me.
The little ways of coping,
The love beyond compare.

I thought I knew what love was,
I though I knew what awaited me,
But it takes a little growing up,
To realize all the things I never knew.

You've seen me at my lowest,
And raised me to my best;
Through thick and thin, by my side,
Long or short, undivided,
And the distance, oh the distances,
Between the ones I love and me,
Still, I wouldn't change this
For a thing.

I thought I knew what sadness was,
I thought I had experienced misery,
But it takes a little bit of changing,
To realize you can run free.

As I say you, I mean many,
Because you've always been there for me.
And sure, it hasn't been easy;
The roads we've walked have been rocky;
But something says we climbed a mountain,
Something says we could do anything.

I thought I was a burden,
I thought I was a martyr,
But it takes a little bit of a late night,
To realize I've barely done life's starter.

All the things you mean to me,
All the ways you've let me know you've cared,
Family, written by love,
Any relations on lonely blood could never compare.
So, to the ones I love,
Who are both near and far,
I just want to let you know...

I thought I knew what love was,
And I thought I'd experienced misery,
But it takes a little bit of a late night,
To realize all the things I can be.