Are you Happy?

I have something to tell you,

but I’m not sure how to say it.

Are you happy?

I want you to be happy,

But I’m not sure what to do–

I feel like I’m tiptoeing around shattered glass,

Picking up stray pieces,

Wondering where they came from.

I want to tell you something,

But I feel like there are no words left for me to say–

For me to fix the broken things.

I don’t know you,

But I want to.

I want to wrap my arms around you,

But instead of touching you,

I want my words to be the arms

That bring you comfort.


I want to make you laugh,

And see you smile with your eyes–

Because I want you to know that I really do care,

And I am a broken person, too,

But my heart still wants the same things–

To love well, and to be loved well.

So I don’t expect much,

But I want you to know my heart is here.

It’s beating, and it may sound faint at times,

But it’s here.

I know you can’t save me,

And I can’t save you,

But all I can think to say is,

I want you to be happy.

Are you happy?


A Word to the Wise

Your words are venom–

The kind of venom that gets beneath the skin and spreads like a bug bite.

A bee sting.

The kind of feeling you get from someone repeatedly pricking every inch of your skin with a fine needle–

You’re bearable, but miserable.

Your skin is corroding beneath the negativity lining subtle words,

Bringing death closer than it was before,

And deepening the creases you thought were signs of age–

And time,

But I realized you words were laced with experience.

Times when you had to fight beneath your skin while you listened

To adults tell you how to live and how to be.

I realized you didn’t have much of a chance to be yourself,

Because you had responsibilities and weights that brought you to your knees.

Your words aren’t venom,

They are burning because you didn’t allow yourself to cry

Over the loss.

This is Not a Black and White Story

I am scared of a lot of things.

I’m scared of ISIS, terrorism, disease, and people hiding in the dark, waiting for people like me. I am scared of him. I am scared of being alone, and having no one to go to. I am scared of disappointing my parents, getting pregnant before I get married, and not making it into grad school. I am scared of school. I am scared of losing everything, and dying before I get the chance to live,

But I love running outside in my bare feet, and making up words to songs. I love driving when everyone else is sleeping, and pretending like I am the only person left in a small country town with a name no one seems to remember. I love talking about nonsensical things with friends, and drinking underneath the stars that fall along the river.

My fears will not stop me from walking outside, and breathing in freshly cut grass, or the crisp mornings lining my windows. My fears will never leave me, but my love for life, and for people, will fuel enough excitement and energy to search for more.

More than black and white, and more than memories left behind in pictures.

I am writing this blog so I can continue to move past the darkness pressing into my sides, cutting into my lungs, while I look into my past. I want to breathe again, but first–I need to start from the beginning. Or maybe from the middle.

This is me.