I’m a paradox. I want to be happy, but I think of things that make me sad. I’m lazy, yet ambitious. I don’t like myself, but I also love who I am. I say I don’t care, but I really do. I crave attention, but reject it when it comes my way. I’m a conflicting contradiction. If I can’t figure myself out, there’s no way anyone else has.

I found this on Tumblr, and it is soo relevant to me.


Breaking Out.

“Ella? Are you going to come?” 

Great question, I thought. There was no way I would have done this before. The agenda? A party, with boys, drinking, drugs, dancing, and God knows what else. I’m not the girl who does these things. I read books at home and sew on the weekends with my Grandma and I’ve never danced in my life. I follow all the rules, keep my head down, and smile at everyone. I am the background girl, long forgotten, towards the end of the credits in Life’s movie. And I’m happy with that. 


Well… Am I? Grandma is great, but I am ready to do something on my friday’s besides crochet. I love reading, but I’d rather have my own adventures. As for rules, life has so many rules already, why should I add more for myself? I’m ready to quit being a side character in everyone else’s life, including my own. I’m ready to be my own protagonist, and that party was to be my big scene.  

So when Amelia asked me if I was going, I said yeah, I’ll see you there, I’m going to go makeover myself. She looked puzzled, but smiled anyway and said she’d see me tonight at 7, and to not be late. I went to the store and bought that black lace dress I saw last week but never imagined would be my mine. I tried the red heels on, size 6, and grabbed some make up from the counter and hurried home to get ready. I threw on the dress, shoes, and the bright red lipstick and I curled my hair, and made it to the party just in time, not too early but not too late. 

Once I got there, everyone showered me with compliments, saying my dress was amazing and my shoes were to die for. I smiled with a new found confidence and replied, that I knew. The cocky statement shocked everyone and caused much laughter. A few different guys asked me to dance, and I grabbed one’s hand and pulled him on the dance floor. Nothing was going to stop me tonight. I was given shots and tipped back each and everyone. Close touching, quick kisses, dancing slowly, music pounding; I lost my old self with each song. I had lots of shots and danced with plenty of guys. Some may say I lost myself and my innocence and became another person altogether. Maybe they are right. 

But let’s be honest. I became myself that night. I didn’t have sex with anyone, and I may have shed the nice girl act and drank a little too much vodka. I may have kissed a boy or two, and danced with plenty more than that. But that was not my innocence. I definetly didn’t become another person, I simply became more me, for we are all going, and why not take many different paths along our way out? 

So yeah. Judge me, tell me I shouldn’t be drinking or dancing or dating. I only ask you this. I lived for the first time in ages that night. I let myself go and became a girl with confidence and love and laughter. When was the last time you were truly free and careless? When was the last time you were genuinely happy with your life? 

Break out of your routine. Break the rules. Be reckless, ruthless, and confident. 


Some one once asked me why I am not afraid of anything. Here’s the answer: 

It’s not very logical to fear anything. Think about it. Fearing a spider you could easily step on, having a shark phobia while living in Oklahoma, hating the dark when you can simply turn on the light, fearing people when you yourself are a person, ect, ect. Where exactly is the logic in fear? 

I might add though, there is no logic in hope, dreams, love, even humor, or any other amount of wonderful things that happen. And that, my friends, is what makes logic a very funny thing indeed.

Please Fly Me To The Moon

Don’t tell me we can’t do it, just tell me we will. Tell me we are together forever, that we will travel the world. Whisper stories in my ear of our lives together. Tell me all about the day you convince me to marry you and the day we have our twin babies. Tell me about the time we danced in the street, and the time we jumped from the plane together. Tell me about our first kiss and our first time to make love. Tell me we will never end, tell me we belong together. Don’t tell me I’m Juliet and you’re Romeo, for they died too quickly, and I selfishly want to spend a lifetime with you. Don’t tell me we will break off and go back to our seperate lives, for I’ve found my missing piece in you. I don’t want to know that these things never last, and I don’t want to know that we will never have a baby and you won’t chase me down just to give me a white daisy for you know it is my favorite. Don’t, just please don’t, end this fantasy I’ve created for us. Instead tell me of endless skies and spin away at that web of lies, for I’d rather have the web then nothing at all. Don’t tell me you are only an almost lover.

Please, please, stay.

Whispers of Doubt

The mask I wear.

The whispered dreams at night.

The long scars and small tears.

The shadow hidden and out of sight.

What I am on the outside, middle, inside,

Which one is real, which do I hide?

I truly can’t find my shadow because it too leaves me, and without it I can’t find who I am. I am lost and found at the same time. I’m happy mostly, but occasionally a terrible sadness comes and sweeps all that joy into it’s stomach and all that is surrounding me is darkness.

Darkness, darkness everywhere,

It stays in my clothes and plays with my hair,

I can’t escape it, I can’t find the light,

This tunnel is too long and I can no longer fight.

I’m swallowed whole, down, down, I go,

Where is the light? It seems to be traveling slow.

The darkness and sadness can be tempting sometimes, because then I feel like I’m truly me. But everyone fights, everyone battles. The strongest survive. Despite the whispers of insecruity, I am strong, incredible, beautiful, and I will make it out of the darkness.

Come on little fighter, things will get brighter.


“Smiles, smiles, all around, a room full of teeth.”

Sitting on the bare, cold ground all alone, left only with my tears, I put my head down. Looking up hurts my head, and I reach up slowly to my temples, feeling the blood ooze slowly out. Through my blurred vision I see the room of people and gasp, about to cry out for help. My hoarse voice makes little sound, and the frustration I feel is taken out on the floor. Why can’t I think or speak clearly? Why am I here? Questions flow through my head just as the blood flows out of it. I look again at the room full of people and see smiles. Smiling? Why are they smiling at me? I need help! I again try to speak, and my pleas come out louder, but only a minuscule amount. The smiles are building frustration in my blood, and I could boil over any second. Damn them! Why are they not helping me? Ow, Ow, my head hurts. I taste salt and realize I’m still crying, but not from pain, only frustration. I can’t take it; I want to die. Kill me, Kill me please. My voice has come back and I scream at the smiling people, the fake dolls, the plastic room to kill me, kill me now. Finally a response from the people, but I don’t feel relief. The panic sets in. “No, no, no, I didn’t mean it, don’t kill me really, please help, my head is exploding with pain molecules. Please! Someone help!” The smiles close in, holding knives and clubs, waiting to tear me apart. My last thought is that if smiles are supposed to encourage, I’d take a frown any day.

Striking Out

There once was a little bird who was born in a nest. It was a nice nest, as far as nests go. The problem the little bird had with the nest was the fact that someone else had made the nest; she had not made it her own, therefore she simply could not call it home.

So the little bird walked to the edge of the nest and looked down, something you should never do. But even though the little bird saw all the limbs and branches in her way, she knew sometimes you’ve gotta fall before you fly.

The bird jumped and down she fell, hitting branch after branch. After a few more of such falls, she flew more and more. Even though she wouldn’t fly very far and she often fell, she was on her way to her own Great Perhaps.

Finally, she made it to her own tree, and built her own little nest. She met a young bird and fell in love. While she slept by his side one night, she looked around at the nest and realized how similar it was to her childhood home. This realization baffled her since she had worked so hard to find her own place.

The point, she concluded, was not that she had her own place, a home, or that she had been somewhere new, but that as she fought to get here she became a little fighter, and she became her.

Positively Pesimestic

The on-going debate of half-empty or half full

Is quite clearly irrelevant and complete bull,

For who wants half of anything?

When I see something beautiful and sparkling

I want the whole package, all of it.

I don’t want to lay down and sit

or settle in anyway,shape, or form,

I want to be an individual, not conform.

So I’ll wait for a glass of wine

That won’t be half at all, but all mine.

Helios & Luna

“Tell me the story

About how the sun

loved the moon so much

he died every night

to let her breathe.”

Once upon a time, there was a man named Helios. He was radiant beyond belief, and everyone depended on him. He could have fallen for any of the lovers after him, but he fell for an odd one. She often hid part of herself away and made herself scarce, but sometimes she would be full and happy. He loved her dynamic nature, and soon fell for her. He found that they could not always come together, however. They spent the beginning of their love trying to find a way to be together. He almost said it was not meant to be, but she cried out that distance was okay, that they would be together some days. So he agreed and decided that he would lay down his life of radiance for his love, Luna, to shine. She could not do so while he was out and living, but when he laid down for her, she shone bright and big. She still hid part of the time, but she gradually became whole again, only to shrink back yet again. Luna was in love with Helios, and Helios was in love with Luna. And with a love like that, something is bound to bring them together. They had two children, Solar and Lunar, and their last name was Eclipse.

That, my darling, is how the sun fell in love with the moon so much that he lays down his life each night in order for her to come out for a while and breathe.

Night Time Toast

Here’s to you, here’s to me,

Here’s to us and all that means,

Here’s to the girl who is all alone,

Here is to the child newly grown,

Raise this one to all the teens crying,

Raise it higher for the quite ones sighing,

Sing this out for us who stay up late,

Who were offered love but never took the bait,

So, yeah. Cheers to us, to us who fell out,

Who never knew what that was all about,

Cheers to me, who has yet to see,

What it means to truly love, live, dream, and be.