Scars

A brutal cut after falling off a bike
A caterpillar bulge from yanking out a stitch
A burn from the curler
A mopey looking scratch
A story for every cut,
bruise and
burn.
 Keeps this
beautiful body interesting.
Is a reminder of every life changing moment.
Scars tell a story.
They tell us who we are
they remind us of who we have become.

College.

College.
A place full of beginnings
The one time you can truly start over and begin again.
A time when you can take hold of all the little things you love about your self and make them who you really are.
You can finally escape the grasp of a controlling friend.
You can finally escape the reputation surrounding you.
You get to make choices for yourself.
If you don't want to do your homework or show up to class you can do that.
If you want to start drinking or lose yourself you can.
If you want to skip church you can.
You can do anything you want.
But the same consequences always follow.
I have seen people make choices that cause them to lose their freedom.
I have seen other people make choices that cause them to rise up and be a great strength to others.
Here at college I can make my own choices.
My parents aren't here to protect me anymore.
But they prepared me since birth for this first semester, when I would come to college, and I would make my own choices.
As I grew they taught how to make my own decisions, and they always reminded me to think of the consequences.
Now here I sit looking back on my first semester of college.
And I know who I am.
I know that I still have a lot of room to grow before I am at the next step of life.
But I can look back and be proud of the decisions I have made.
I can talk to my parents and my siblings and tell them story after exciting story.
There is nothing in my life that I want to hide or need to hide.
I am not perfect, but I am trying to be my very best.
And that is what has made all the difference in college.

Writing words.

Her breath came out stuttered,
her lips were confused at the  phrase.
Her brain knew the words were right
But nothing came out the same.
Her mouth never got the words right
But her hand on the page
Took the words right out of her mouth
Decorating them to fit her ideas and mold her

Ice breaking Blue Eyes.

Sadly stumbling down the street
He knows what he’s been missing
His eyes droop from many tearful nights
The permanent creases of a frown
Sit loosely on his face
Hours of no return
He hangs his head low
His heart is torn
His lover won’t show
When suddenly a woman
Turns haughtily around the corner
Her hips sway selfishly
She teases with a knowing smile
A glance could be caught in her ice breaking blue eyes
He walks cautiously towards her
Determined and decided
Anger and greed pull it from his jacket
Quick black movement sparks fear in her heart
he clumsily grips it in his hands
takes a breath before aiming
then surely his silent shot is taken.
Stunned, she has no response
He quickly walks away
a chance with her now forever gone
no evidence of lovers left
but secretly he kept
that single moment on the street
captured by his camera
it sits contently on his wall.

Sweets.

The soft sweet taste lingers even after the small round candy is gone
Seconds before it lay gladly on your tongue
Now long gone you feel as though you are missing something important
Once the sweet candy leaves her mouth
Something so small and almost meaningless
Strangely starts to becomes a desperate need
Smaller than your fingernail it sits on your palm
A great and delectable treat.

Photo by ms.Tea

Childhood.

Sarcastically speaking
A large grown man
Tells the story of his small boy life
Laughter rings through out the halls
The joyful spirit shouts
A battle ax
A car full of road rage
A fishing child
And a broken garbage can
Lucky to have a fabulous childhood

The Difference

    I constantly watched the clock counting down every minute until it was time to go to recess. Every moment pushed me closer to a different world full of a once hushed and quiet class. The girls who failed in class were suddenly at the top of the pyramid and in charge of those around them; while the girls who had grades of a scholar were almost instantly at the bottom of the food chain. I was the girl at the bottom of the food chain, scraping the good off of the “popular” girl’s shoes. Back then I didn’t realize how much better off I was compared to them and I decided to walk down to their level.  My story begins when recess started as I sat on the monkey bars, one chilly day. Sitting on the monkey bars was not my usual recess activity but today I was sick of being the invisible girl no one saw hiding in the slide, wishing for friends I thought I would never have. Instead I had come out of hiding today and sat higher than the rest of the kids on the playground. I liked it up there because I could see everyone despite where they played their games. Behind me the crazy boys played soccer, to my right the softball and baseball players made-do playing kickball, to my left the goody two shoes swung on the swings, beneath me were the weird kids who didn’t have friends. Subconsciously the whereabouts of all the different people were obvious but my focus was elsewhere. Right in front of me the jock boys and pretty girls played revenge on the basketball court. I watched wishing I wasn’t so shy. Wishing I was more pretty. Wishing I had friends. Wishing people cared enough to talk to me. Wishing my only friend hadn’t become one of those girls shooting basketballs. Wishing I knew what I had done wrong.
    That day as I longed to change what “wasn’t good enough” about myself, I made a promise. A promise that I was going to become one of them one day. I was going to become cool; I was going to get at least a little bit of attention. At that moment the strong determination to change myself to someone who I thought was better than who I already was, began a change that would distort my entire life.
    The next day as I waited for lunch, I hardly paid any attention to the teacher. I was trying to gather every ounce of courage I had, so that I would be brave enough to sit by them during lunch. As the bell rang my stomach dropped but I knew what I had to do. I was higher in line than the rest of the girls I looked up to and got my lunch first. I took a steadying breath and sat down on the long table, that according to some unwritten rule, was their territory. Shyly I ate my lunch hoping they wouldn’t be angry for the intrusion. Each girl sat down and took no notice. It seemed like they didn’t mind me sitting there. When they threw their lunches away I followed them silently like a shadow. I stood around and watched as they played revenge again. Watching as they would laugh and cheer when they would out shoot a boy and shout with flirtatious anger when one of the cute boys shot them out. The first day seemed to go well, as in they hadn’t torn me apart and left my bones on the side of the road. I continued this shadowing craze every lunch, and it seemed that they began to accept my presence, it was almost as if they didn’t even mind it. I started to feel like one of the popular girls.
    Being in their presence changed how I did everything. They slowly tore apart what I looked like and I began to mold myself to their idea of “beautiful”. I started to straighten my hair, I bought different clothes, I wore more make-up, and I gossiped about the other girls. When I went to hang out with boys on the weekends I lied to my parents about who was there. When the few friends I once had talked to me, I acted astonished at their bravery to approach someone as high up as I thought I was. If only I had realized sooner that I was rude and that true friendship isn’t someone who tells you how to look, who ignores you when you aren’t pretty enough, and who is quickly angered by ridiculous rumors. 
I followed these girls and hid who I really was for years. I didn’t find out I actually had a personal opinion until early senior year. It’s all thanks to a boy named Scott. He was my very best friend, the only person to like me, not for what I looked like, but for who I was. Of course how I looked must have been what originally sprouted his interest, but to my delight, he only pursued when he noticed that I had a different personality than the others.

He saw me for the unique person I was, but I didn’t realize that until I broke up with my best friend. On the day our relationship ended, I found for the first time I had no one to tell me that I looked bad or good. At first I didn’t know how to deal with it, but in time I realized I could finally choose for myself.

Suddenly the influence of the media and a cultural idea of perfection didn’t matter to me. What I wanted to do or wear was much more enjoyable than what my friends liked or what my boyfriend liked. I realized that being weird and a little different was very fun. I also found the more I acted like myself the more people wanted to be around me and become my friend. For the first time I didn’t feel shy because I no longer cared what people thought of my words. These changes made me feel more beautiful than I had ever felt before. Whenever I heard anything as simple as, “I like your shoes!” to “Wow, you look beautiful today!” a smile beamed from my face, because for once they were complimenting the way I projected my personality.

I found who I am, and discovered how much I like the person that lives inside of this unique, little body. This realization made me bold enough to stick it to the society that had sculpted me for so long, I stopped wearing makeup. To most people that may seem small and ridiculous, and they might no even notice, or they just don’t think anything of my refusal to paint my face. But In my perspective it is a symbol of being myself, showing my face completely natural, and being proud of every freckle and the pale color of my eyelids.

If you are nearly done reading this and you still sit there and wonder what in the world was the point of this story about a shy little girl turned popular and then weird. Well the message I hope to share is an appreciation for who you are. I spent most of my life wishing to be someone I am not. Most girls I know are obsessed with how they wished they look, they see every single spot they think is wrong on their faces and instantly look over all the good that is there waiting to be acknowledged. They think that their personalities are too crazy, not funny enough, too weird, and too different. This is ridiculous! Why not take the time to find something about yourself that YOU like, embrace who you are and share your personality with the world! People will appreciate someone who has finally left the cloned population created by the media; a little originality is fun and interesting.