It's So She Can Fly

I need to do something. I need to do something out of the ordinary. Something unlike me, or maybe, even something true to me instead of what I've been doing, which is nothing. I've been hiding, I've been crying, I haven't been living. I've been a pathetic mumbling mess complaining about the crap in my head even when my life is fine.
I want to take a midnight walk in the woods by myself and stare up at the wickedly ghostly trees overhead.
I want to do nothing but work outside for a whole day, and get that achy feeling at the end of it all, smiling to myself.
I want to take a risk.
I want clockwork to stop controlling me! Just because summer's gonna end, doesn't mean that all hope has to, too.
I want to smile and laugh and stop posting despressing posts.

I want to live.

Everyone sets these plans for themselves at the beginning of the summer, a list of what they want to accomplish and get done or start, and most of it never happens the way things were intended to. Plans change, people change. I'd say that I've changed in a way over the summer. I know I have, yet I still can't identify a specific day or week when it all changed. But I know I did.
I'm a work in progress. We all are, and always will be.

"I don't get it", Caroline said, bemused. "She's the only one with wings. Why is that?" There were so many questions in life. You couldn't ever have all the answers. But I knew this one. "It's so she can fly", I said. And then I started to run." ~ Macy in The Truth About Forever, p. 368

Blink

Max: Did you make this?

Carol: Yeah, yeah.

Max: It's very good.

Carol: We were gonna make a whole world like this. Now, everyone used to come here, but you know... you know what it feels like when all your teeth are falling out really slowly and you don't realize and then you notice that, well, they're really far apart. And then one day... you don't have any teeth anymore.

Max: Yeah.

Carol: Well, it was like that.

- Where the Wild Things Are, the movie version

Blink, and you'll miss it all.

I'm Restless

I've got all this cooped up engery, and I just don't know where it's coming from. Everybody else seems to want to slow down, while I just want to go, go, go. I feel as if I could run across the beach and back, and still feel the need to take a few laps around the house just to calm myself down. I'm always moving, but nothing ever seems to make me tired. I've tried everything. Chamomile before bed, kayaking and then swimming, but I'm still screaming inside:
I'm so bored.
I'm so bored.
I'm so bored.

I Call it Home

Why is it that I find myself loving the crummiest places? Why is it that I wish my house were sometimes a pint-sized apartment with low-grade appliances? Why is it that I miss taking down our clothes with my mom down to the laundry room, which has no AC or heat, and smells heavily of old things? Why is it that I love going downtown, even though the air stinks of greasy fast food? Why is it that I wish I were waiting for something? Is it because sometimes we love things dearly that are imperfect, like we crave it?

Perfect things are boring, and flawless. Airbrushed faces, straw legs, pink lips, big blue doe eyes. You see that everywhere. Nothing new.

Wild unkept hair, a girl who's not obsessed with her weight, two different colored eyes, a crooked tooth here and there. Surely imperfect, definetly not in a magazine. But that's the beautiful part of it all. It's real, something simply, and utterly gorgeous all on her own.

I guess it's just those rare moments that are crappy and nowhere near beautiful that I live for. Imperfectings are perfect.

"Dear mother can you hear me whining, it's been three whole weeks since that I have left your home, This sudden fear has left me trembling, 'Cause now it seems that I am out here on my own, And I'm feeling so alone, Pay attention to the cracked streets and the broken homes, Some call it slums some call it nice, I wanna take you through a wasteland I like to call my home, Welcome to paradise."

Bit-O-Honey

People think they can tell me what to do. How to dress. What to look like. What I should look like. What kind of job I should get. When to get my drivers permit. When to dream the impossible or not, and drop down to reality once more. When they can finally read my story.

But here's the thing: They can't. Only I can.

"Tell my mother, tell my father, I did the best I can to make them realize this is my life; I hope they understand."

I need to move at my own pace, at my own clockwork. But that doesn't mean I don't love you. It's just that you're putting me under so much pressure, and you don't even realize it. Let me open each door in my life at the time that's right not for you, but for me.

A word is dead

When it is said,

Some say.
I say it just

Begins to live

That day.

-Emily Dickinson

They All Say the Same Thing

I try to tell my parents that it's not a joke, I'm really just miserable for no particular reason that I can define. I try to tell them that it's not funny, that inside it's killing me. I'm trapped and restless and I want out.

And they always give me the same response. "You're so cute, honey", they say, kissing me on my forehead, leaving me to let everything sink in by myself.

No, I'm not. I'm not trying to be cute at all.

Let Me Out of This Deal, Please?

Sometimes I wish I were an animal. Things are so much simpler in their lovely little worlds.
They don't need to worry about school and schedules and just pressure in general.
They don't think things out, only doing something on pure instinct. It's just so true and split-second thinking.
They don't hold grudges. Whenever one of my cats tumble around on the ground together growling and hissing at eachother, a few minutes later I can find them curled up together in one of my sweatshirts. Gotta love that.
They don't have the tube shoving spoonfulls of mindless media down their throats.
They don't obsess about their weight.
They don't need to pretend to be happy socializing with others while inside a tiny voice is screaming I hate this. Let me out!!!
They don't need to buy clothes for all sorts of occasions.
They don't need to get a job when they grow up.
They don't think about death all the time.

...

Sitting in the kitchen watching the falling rain, I glance over at my cat, who's tucked into a little ball on an island chair, sleeping through the storm that lulls her to sleep. I wish I were you, I think to myself. My cute little orange cat looks up at me sleepily and lets out a small purr, tucking her head underneath her paw once again.

I envy that.

Everchanging

Even when it feels as if the clock never ticks faster, and it's always winter, just remember that there's always a spring waiting for you around the corner. Things will feel better soon. Just remember that.

They will. I promise.