My Campus Letter

A poem I wrote during my Senior year of college.

I am going home.

I am leaving, but I hate saying good-bye.

Good-byes are hard, and they aren’t honest. You can’t look someone in the eye and tell them it’s good that you’re leaving– 

So here I am


Looking around at empty spaces,

Thinking about the students melting away in plastic chairs,

Waiting for their day to start.

Why am I here?

Give me back my sophomore year–

When my friends sat on the quad and played guitar music,

And started paint wars, flour wars, and water balloon fights.

When my first impression consisted of the random girl sitting in a tree reading

And people called me a hippie, because I ran in my bare feet.

Give me back the late nights at Omlette Spot, and the basic days at Starbucks,

When we used to think the “Why?” questions, and found ourselves in the stars–

When we sat with our legs crossed, shuffling through a deck of cards–

Give me back my friends,

The people I shared my life with,

And the people who loved with their whole selves–

Not just with their words.

Give me back the girl I was sophomore year.

I want to feel light again, like I can fly,

And find off the wall dreams.

Give me back my piece of something…

But I am leaving.

And this short span in my existence is coming to its end–

So the bell rings.

My mind rushes forward as I see students pour out from their classes,

And relief leaves me.

I bow my head, smile at my bare feet, and close my eyes.

I guess this is good-bye.

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.