This is the post excerpt.


hey guys, it’s me. i dont think we’ve ever met before, so let me introduce myself. i’m a fourteen year old girl who’s lonely and sad and just wants to understand and be understood. i love a good laugh, the kind that makes you keel over and fall on the floor with tears rolling out of your eyes. i love to write and paint and draw and listen to old music. i’m incredibly naive and immature but it takes an ocean for me to trust you. i’ll always worry that you’re going to leave me. more often than not, i’ll push you away if you care cause i’m scared. not a whole lot of people who care are in my life. my biggest fear is being left behind. my innocence was stolen as a kid, leaving me with the lowest self esteem in the book. i can’t leave the house without a fuckload of makeup caked on my face and I’m insecure of my smile. my favorite book in the whole wide world is the perks of being a wallflower, which houses the only quote from a book that’ll ever resonate with me: “we accept the love we deserve.” i accept the bad stuff. i love the boys who fuck everyone and the boys who only call me when they’re high. i kiss and flirt with and tease everyone, but i scare easy. i fall in love quickly and then run away and keep looking back. I miss everyone who’s gone and hold on too tightly to the ones that are here. i swear a lot and crave everyone’s approval. I love kurt cobain and amy winehouse and joan baez and simon and garfunkel and the beatles. i laugh at corny jokes and i’m ticklish as a four year old. i have a fuckload of fun. i have a pearly laugh and i’m up for almost anything. i watch a shitton of tv. i hate change and i’m scared to get better, but i’m trying anyway. I can’t sleep without drugs. i love root beer floats with rocky road ice cream and my favorite letter is the letter i. i love cats. my mom is my favorite person in the whole world. i eat like a motherfucker. i love to workout and long hugs and steamy showers that make the fire alarm go off. I love carnations and pretty woman. My favorite smell is the scent of cloves. i write poetry every day. sometimes i cut myself. sometimes i’m so sad i want my life to end. ive even tried a couple times. but now i live for roasted peanuts and good music and great friends. i never say goodbye; i dont want anything to end. im a realist. i like to lay in front of the fire with my dad who somehow knows everything. i love my little sister and hate family therapy. im emotionally drained. i can social media stalk like an FBI agent. i have so much shit in my life i can relate to almost anyone. the ocean is my happy place.  i listen to sad songs on repeat for days and drink myself to sleep. i think long nails are hot as fuck and i have an obsession with tattoos and piercings. i dream big but fear they’ll never come true. i love elephants and lions and my birthday. i prefer giving to receiving. im scared of everything. im learning to love myself.


ive always had  intense, all encompassing relationships. my therapist says that’s because i feel empty inside, and other people make me feel whole and loved and okay. she says i need to start making myself feel that way. the problem is, i dont know how.

I’ve been through several lonely periods in my life; periods where i’ve had no one to talk to. in fact, I’m going through one right now. I’ve lost just about everyone. but if you’re reading this (or writing this), it gets better!! you will find people. remember that. this lonely time is a window of opportunity for other people to present themelves to you. so go out there, smile and laugh, and youll find someone. i know it. 

a best friend

a best friend,

to me,

laughs at your stupid jokes.

they stroke your hair

when you’re down.

a best friend

has a nickname for you

that no one else can call you.

they call every night

and text

every morning.

a best friend

will die for you.

a best friend

always says she loves you

no matter what.

a real best friend

never leaves.

i guess

you were never

my best friend.

what is love to you?

to me, love is a lot of things. it’s standing outside in the rain and not caring if you get wet, or if you get cold, cause you know you can go home and they’ll hold you even past when you get warm. love is spending ours on the phone, staying up into the wee hours of the night. not because you have insomnia, not because you’re restless, but because nothing beats talking to the one you love. .love is being warmed by the sun and love is butterflies in your stomach. love is like a warm bath, a bath that never gets cold, a bath that you never want to step out of. it’s the smile that spreads across your cheeks when you hear their name. it’s being content with just their presence, craving their touch and craving their voice. it’s forgetting your own name cause theirs is engraved in your mind. it’s that feeling you get when you think that someone knows all your sins and all your flaws and chooses to love you anyway. love is the fear that one day you’ll have to live without them, and it’s also trusting them enough to know you won’t. it’s listening to your favorite song and thinking of them, the lyrics melting like warm candle wax into your mind. it’s a hot shower, cleansing you of every bad moment you’ve ever endured. love is not being able to focus, or think or move or breathe because all that matters is them. love is wanting to hold their hand and kiss their lips and hug them, breathing in their scent and never wanting to let go. but love is also pain. cause eventually, you will have to let go.

you’re not in love

if hearing their voice doesn’t cause a smile to spread across your cheeks like honey, you’re not in love. if you don’t want to be in their arms when a panic attack strikes, wreaking havoc on your sanity, you’re not in love. if you’re relieved when they go to sleep, you’re not in love. if you don’t love to play with their hair and kiss their lips, you’re not in love. if the thought of holding their hand forever  makes you recoil, you’re not in love. if your heart doesn’t leap out of your chest and fly around the room with wings made of gold when they call, you’re not in love. if everytime they send a sweet text and you wish it came from another, you’re not in love. if you don’t want to fly away with them to Madrid, or Thailand or Brazil, you’re not in love. if you’re not infatuated with their scent and voice alone, you’re not in love. if your favorite song comes on and you’re not reminded of them, you’re not in love. if you only call when it’s raining out, you’re not in love. if words and texts and laughs are forced, you’re not in love. if your heart doesnt sprint around your body when they call you “baby girl”, you’re not in love. if they can’t cheer you up when you’re in your lowest of lows, you’re not in love. if they ask you to be their girlfriend and you dont jump around the room, you’re not in love. if you’re sick of pretending, you’re not in love. i want to be in love again.


the word passport implies travel. when i think of travel, I think of freedom. boarding a plane, handing your passport to the bright eyed, smiley flight attendant, and going far far away and never looking back. never looking back, that is, until you have to go back home. but when im finally free, finally able to hand my passport to that bright eyed atendant, it’s going to be a one way ticket. im not going to look back as i fly away, leaving everything behind and starting anew.  via Daily Prompt: Passport