I could absolutely never say it never made me happy. In fact for a time, it was the only thing. Sometimes I think I owe it more. Like if it were a human being with feelings it would tell me I'm ungreatful. It would tell me I had a gift. And probably that right about now, I'm violently drowning it beneath the water surface. But there is a little bit of that gift I carry with me every single day, and I know I will never ever let it go.
I do realize it- that I'm looked up to and all. People are starting to see ME. And I like that. I've learned the one thing that carries the majority of the weight in your presence and in your being, in your thoughts and feelings; its the type of person you truley are. And I don't mean the person you're trying to be or want to be, I mean the person you are when you first wake up in the morning, before the first text message or the makeup mirror. Before you have the thought to judge yourself, or dwell on your imperfections, compare yourself to others. Everyday I try to stretch my morning just a little longer, and love myself a little more. Now you might be thinking SHES INSANE, and hell maybe I am. But sometimes I just wish I could challenge everyone to love themselves, I mean open their hearts and truley love themselves.. for exactly who they are.

Loves

Special thanks to the poet who inspired me to write this poem for rekindling my love for writing :)

I love frozen air
and the way it pierces my lungs
as I blaze down the straight away
I’m first.
I love being first.
With clear skies up ahead
and a swirl of dark dust spiraling
for miles and miles behind me.
I love the stone cold ground
and the patter of my rubber soles against it
and how it listens to my silent singing thoughts

I mostly love that it’s there,
in the rain and the snow
on Thanksgiving and Christmas
And I love that I love it
And that it loves me back.

You know what I really love?
I love sparkly nail polish and French vanilla tea
and the smell of freshly peeled Clementines.

I love the language of a poem,
heart language I call it
I love sailing away in its current
humming to it’s perfect pitch

Or something as simple as the passenger’s seat-
I love the passenger’s seat with the window down
and the sunroof open
with my hair twisting and tangling and dancing
on my freckled face

I love how he paces
back and forth and back again
while he waits for me
I absolutely love that he waits for me,
just for me,
and no one else

To be honest, I’ve never really loved black and white:
exponential functions or lines of longitude.
or twelve point Times New Roman font,
though I know some who do.
But for me, I love the bristles of my paint bush
I love gracing the page, investing complete assurance
in my hand,
and my heart.

I love Shakespeare;
when the struggle is over and the king is dead
And my teachers says “Read me your book number
then put it in the box.”

I laugh about meaningless things,
like when people walk by wearing matching rain coats
or when eggs splatter on my black tile kitchen floor
simply because I love to laugh
I laugh at my mommom because she laughs at me,
because she thinks my chaotic stressful world is just as crazy
as her demented one
And the funny thing is, I think she’s right
so we laugh
and laugh
and laugh
And I love it.

I love my future
because it’s boundless and
because it’s perfect right now,
in my mind
with flower boxes and a tomato garden
and Christmas tree ornaments from years past

I love that my loves are limitless,
open, silent, simple, tied into bunny ears
like the purple shoe laces on my converse sneakers
I love that they’re mine to feel,
that they’re tiny shards of who I am
that they create me.

I just love it, I really do.