my loneliness calls.

original photo

i have had people leave in my life. i have been the odd one out. i have known what it is like to be left alone, and i want to treat people the way i wish they'd treat me. you are a gem, you are special, and someone is coming. they will not come, they are coming. there is a difference in tense. and the future will become the present, and the present will become the past, and you'll look back and say "look how far along i am now." <3

i think i wrote this in 2013. i just felt like someone really needed to read it. 

-kiss kiss kiss, don't you wanna dance-

{pea ess: book comes out thursday.}

do these hands look relaxed to you?

original photo

“i worry. i worry about the future, and want to control everything. i worry about what others think of me. i worry that i'm not doing enough and then i overwhelm myself. i just want to be good enough.”

if this were a movie, we would cut at all the right moments.
the fight would end before things got too gory.
dessert would be done in two minutes instead of twenty.
we would only sleep for a few seconds.
the pain would only last until the next title sequence appeared to say “six months later.”
and sometimes we think that way.
sometimes we think about where we are now, and how in the blink of an eye, we'll be at our destination. 
sometimes we think about the alternate realities in which our grandchildren are born and the universe that exists to them is the only one they know.
in a split second we will extend ourselves generations forward.
we will be married, we will be what we used to be afraid of.
everything we know will be already is, we're just not there yet.
if this were a movie, we'd be there.
and yet, we are not.

relax your hands. shake it out. take a deep breath. just the other day someone asked me what i was going to do after college, especially if i had some scholarship money left over. i told them i'd probably go to grad school. the truth is, i don't know. i don't believe in five year plans because everything is subject to change. every moment is a choice and each choice has prices and benefits. you never know which one will alter your life for a few years yet. sometimes, when i talk to people, and especially people i like, i try to manipulate the conversation so i can weave in something i wanted to say. i try to lead them into saying things that'll prove that they want me too. it hardly ever works. it never does. i don't like going places by myself, like the mall or the movies or something like that, because when i see a group of teenagers there and they're all laughing and having a good time and wearing nice earrings and shorts or talking and i walk by i feel like they're judging me, that they're going to start snickering and whispering and deciding what part of me they hate the most. there are some girls on tumblr who are literally so popular. hundreds of thousands of people know who they are. they are literally world famous. they have so much power. and i feel like i have nothing. i don't know what to do. i'm writing a book that's due in 10 days and if they helped it would be so much bigger. it would help reach other people. and yet all my messages go ignored or unseen. "all my messages" being like one. i feel invisible and unimportant. i am 18. there is a 16 year old doing more than me and i'm supposed to take over the world someday. what is this? how can i be beaten at my own game? i always feel bad when i think like that because i know i'm valuable. i always feel bad because all they're doing is trying to help. but they see the results. they're helping. i'm waiting. and i get sick. it's like when you start to literally question your life after being on the internet too long. nothing has any meaning. everything is boring. there are no movies to distract from your mini-existential crisis. and yet, in all that thought process you only intend the best for yourself and others. you mean no harm, you just want to do something good. you want to step away from the mirror without feeling the need to tweak anymore, because you know you're done and you're confident in that knowledge. i'm confident in that knowledge. at least i think i am. but most of the time, i'm not. 

half the time, i just can't wait until i'm 15 years in the future, when i'm probably queen and i probably have a cute boy who i've married and i probably have a kid maybe. all these american dream goals that are supposed to make life worth living, but i'm just an 18 year old girl who's worried about the things she can change, and yet she does nothing, because she knows it won't happen immediately, so it might as well not happen at all. 

-kiss kiss kiss, you've got a look in your eyes-
{pea ess: i just took everything you said you were worried about and related it to my life. sorry about that. 
it's a thing. it happened. i been thinking too much. help me.}
{pea pea ess: we can get through this together. i love you. i understand you. i want to be there with you. i love you.}

like her, unlike me.

{sources // one, two}

first of all, i am sorry, love. i am so sorry. you sent these to me in september of 2013 and almost two years later i'm finally actually doing something about it. i never knew what to say about your secrets and i never knew how to turn them into poetry, but your email kept popping up in my mind and i knew i had to do something. i think the constant reminder of your email was the voice of God prompting me. so i'm going to do what He says.

2. Sometimes I'm logical and I don't like that. So I try to find out what it's like to run entirely on feelings. And when I do, I feel pretty happy. But not any sort of new happy. And when I do, I feel worthless. And it's a new sort of deep, horrible worthless that makes me pinch and bite and cut myself. But it would be too logical to do a cost benefit analysis and find that it might be better to be logical. So I don't.) 

3. Sometimes I'm dumb and I don't like that. I swear I have the right ideas but that's not what comes out of my mouth or my actions. I'm a shallow blonde. So I try to be deep. And when I do, I make myself sad. Everything seems like a big deal. So I starve myself and hate and love my sore wrist at the same time. But if I can either keep myself on the edge of exhaustion and dehydration and starvation or be a dumb blonde which would you choose? 

4. The truth of why I'm being mean to myself is so dumb I pretend it's not true. Sometimes I think the reason I'm starving myself is because I said that dumb thing to him the other day and he probably thinks I'm an idiot. And sometimes I think it's because I'm trying to take control of my life where I have no control. Sometimes I think the reason I bite myself harder and harder is because my friends have problems and I'm coping with it. And sometimes I think it's because the world is a horrible place of darkness and I'm coping with it. Sometimes I think the reason I run a scissor blade over my wrist is because I want to have scars there and I want people to looks at my wrist and think "there's a girl who's different". And sometimes I think it's because I want to have scars there to remind myself the world is broken when I think it's not.Sometimes I think there's nothing really wrong with my life much it's pretty good and if I just bucked up I wouldn't do any of this. And sometimes I think I'm not ok. And I'm not sure which of these are the true one.

the thing about blonde girls in this society is that we depict them to be boy-crazy, superficial idiots who cheated on their SATs to get into a good school. when we hear the word "blonde girl," we automatically think of h&m and forever21 and pumpkin spice lattes and scarves and one direction and other things that seemingly make every blonde girl appear the same. people have come to the conclusion that blondes aren't special. that they have to try extra hard to be seen as a normal human being. they have to listen to alternative bands, wear black, dye their hair outrageous colours, maybe even identify as a feminist before being taken seriously. and if you think about it, it's kind of ridiculous. it's ridiculous that we've let a movie portrayal or just one person shape the way we see an entire group of people.

that said, there is nothing wrong with liking or adhering to the aesthetics of other people. that said, it is completely unfair to you that you are perceived as a shallow blonde just because you don't always know how to say what you want to say. it is completely unfair to you that you are perceived as shallow just because you're a blonde, and that it would take something as detrimental as self-harm to get people to see there's something more to you than that.

because the truth is, there is. there are things about you that are so intricate even the most detailed of scientists can't replicate them. there are things about you that you can't see and even more so things that other people can't see. so what are you doing? you are taking the things you can see and picking them away with the scissors because you see them as unimportant. you're cutting out the most vital parts of yourself because you don't think you're necessary. you are slowly burning because there is some possible chance that you might warm someone else. you are destroying yourself little by little because of a standard that throws you under the bus. don't make yourself sad because it's a requirement think bigger. don't kill yourself because you think they'll look at your body and feel bad, saying they should've listened.

1. I can't tell anyone because even I would be weirded out. And I never get weirded out. Sometimes I think maybe I'm Gay. Or Bi. Or weird. I've never told anyone. I was pretty convinced I was Bi a while ago but now I'm not sure. See usually I don't like sex. I rarely get turned on. And I have to think about it. (I already sound like a psycho. Whatever.) My fantasies are sometimes girls sometimes guys. Honestly girls are way more attractive than guys. My truths/lies I hide sometimes: I live in a sexual culture where naked women are everywhere how can I not get influenced? Ive done far more intimate things with my galfriends than my guyfriends. Girls mature faster than boys and I like mature people. Its attractive. So I think it might be normal. Maybe other people feel this way. But I don't know. And I can't ask. Because what if I'm wrong and it's just me.

my friend rachel and i collaborated on this one.

Girls like her

with thick black clumps

of mascara in her lashes

and freckles and tan lines

on her shoulders.

Girls like her

who give big hugs

and use big words

they learned from

Victorian era romance novels.

Girls like her

who shine

like a lightbulb

without a lampshade.

Girls like her

who look my way

and meet my eye,

smiling with their whole face,

eyes squinted and dimples sunken deep.

Girls like her

make girls like me

lie in bed

at some unholy hour

looking at the moon and wishing

that she and I could

see this moon together.

Her breath against my shoulder,

her words strung together

like lazy embroidery,

her warmth shining light

into all my darkest corners.

Girls like her

makes girls like me

want to buy bouquets of flowers

“just because.”

Just because

I would do anything

to make her smile.

Just because

I want to feel her arms

on my waist, my arms

on her waist,

our souls and limbs

holding us together.

Just because.

Girls like her,

girls like me,

are as innumerable

as tulips in

the Netherlands

and stars in her eyes.

Girls like girls,

like her,

like me. 

i love you. i love you. i am so sorry you've had to go through all of this. i am so sorry both you and i have waited this long to see the product of your words. you are beautiful. you are valuable as you are. and yet, there is always room to grow. there are so many parts of all of us that need healing. 

but they will only heal if we let them. let them heal. it is time. it is beyond time. 

-kiss kiss kiss, goals-

the elephant.

i wrote a new slam poem. and it's very important that it's shared. disclaimer: i realize there is language in this video, but i am only repeating what people have say to/at me. even so, not everything is gosh golly goodnesses and oopsies. sometimes it's the N word. and yes, it has been directed to me.

Talk about how your friends laugh and say oh! You scared me. It was so dark I couldn't see you. Talk about how you were one of the last people found during games of hide and seek because you were so good at hiding in your skin. Talk about how that's not right. Talk about invisibility as if it's your duty because you're tired of other black girls asking why you so bougie. Talk about the ideas you won't use in this poem because you don't think they will improve the silence that has already hollowed out your soul. It's been seventeen years and I haven't spoken up for myself once. 

I used to tell my parents stories about how at swim practice Kyle or Preston would say something stupid and I would combat it perfectly, the air becoming a chorus of "oohs" and "you just got burns" but that never happened. Usually when someone said something insulting I would crack open a smile and laugh with everyone else, putting my head down as if I were an ass submitting to its master. 

My mom and I have had several talks about how it's okay to stop a conversation to speak up and let everyone know how I feel. With each opportunity I find myself withdrawing deeper and deeper into the caverns of regret. 

You see, when I was little me and all my friends from church used to have school together at the psalmist's house. I remember bible stories with our children's church leader and twix yogurt after lunch but mostly I remember being asked "Jocelyn, why can't you colour inside the lines? Jocelyn, why don't you write with your right hand? Jocelyn, you're not funny." We were less than five years old and I had already stopped talking. One of the biggest lessons I learned in my K-12 years was that if no one respected your voice, there was no pointing in using it. 

As I got older, the questions and statements changed. "Jocelyn, you can't be First Lady of the United States that's not a real job. Jocelyn, how can you not understand that joke? Jocelyn, no one else thinks Little House On the Prairie is cool."

When my mom began training me to become a leader, one of the first things she did was teach me how to speak publicly. She made me look her in the eye and recite poems that I had written, poems from the curriculum we were using. And I hated it because she made me laugh and I hated it because I didn't want anyone to give me reason why I was not welcome, or worthy. I still get nervous talking to bank tellers, I still get nervous talking to people on the phone, I still wonder if anyone wants to hear me speak or if their silence is a tired form of being polite. 

All during my high school career the questions got louder and louder and my voice became softer and softer. I am a freshman in college now and my mom cannot hear my voice even when she is sitting in front of me. 

They ask "Jocelyn, why do you dress like that? Jocelyn, why don't you like rap music? Jocelyn, why must you act so white?" They say "Jocelyn, you can't compose music for the movies, that's what men do. Jocelyn, the only think black about you is your ashy skin. Jocelyn, you're just a knock-off nigger."

Someone once asked me why I couldn't just speak up for myself. I told them when an elephant is captured and taken from its home, the person who kidnapped it chains its feet to iron shackles at a post. No matter how hard the elephant pulls against it the skin breaks but the iron holds fast. After awhile, the master replaces the iron with a pile of rope and the elephant does not move. It is easier to be still than deepen the gashed about its ankles, it is easier to stay silent than to speak and be hurt is the process. 

"Jocelyn, why is your YouTube channel called joceeisawesome? I think that's a little conceited, don't you? Jocelyn, you remind me of the light, bright, and wannabe white people from the Tyler Perry films, you know, the ones who try to forget their roots."

I have been trying to make roots with my words but what good is that if I cannot so much as open my mouth? These wounds have been reopened so many times that no balm, no cocoa butter can heal them. 

My best friend says I'm soft-spoken. I've known her four years and she's gotten used to the lack of volume in my voice but the last time we where at camp, I expressed my annoyance about something and she jumped, saying "oh my God. I haven't heard you speak that loudly all summer."

I am seventeen years old and I have not spoken up for myself once. "Jocelyn, speak up I can't hear you. Jocelyn speak up I can't hear you Jocelyn, speak up I can't hear you. Jocelyn how do you spell that? Jocelyn I didn't expect you to have such a pretty name."

The reason I am having so much trouble sharing this with you is because when I transfer the written word to my tongue, I feel as though something is lost in translation, that if you actually listen to me you'll think it's not as serious or dramatic as I'm making it seem. But I am almost eighteen years old. If I do not speak now, I never will. 

I am not your nigga, your nigger, I am not a mat that you can just walk all over me, I do not wish to be white I wish to fulfill the promise God has placed in my life, I am a daughter of the most high who was stoned and persecuted for His words. Sticks and stones will break my bones but I will not be soft-spoken with my words anymore.

-kiss kiss kiss, ooh girl-

i'm saying something.

it's almost as if when i say "things have been really hard lately and i can't explain that," things stop being really hard. at least in the specific area i'm referencing. and that's what happened a little after i wrote my last post. and it makes me wonder what the point was of saying anything. it makes me wonder if there was anything wrong at all. 

i think i was going to go somewhere with that and lead into the main point, but i can't find a way to put two and two together. i just saw something that made me think, and i want to talk about it. 

so i'm on my instagram and i'm one of those people who occasionally checks who likes my latest posts/how many likes, etc. (i probably do it obsessively, but i don't care.) and i noticed someone liked my post (it was a picture of plants) (i really like plants) who i didn't immediately recognize, so i clicked on their profile. (it was private. awkward.) fortunately, they had a blog link. and i clicked it. and it was this sweet girl. i didn't plan on scrolling much but i realized she only had like two posts, so i read them. and the second post really got my attention. it was amazing. 

i came to realize that when someone creates a blog, they often write an introduction post detailing what they're blog is going to be about, and then they write some cute, fluffy posts before really getting to their blog's content. i understand i can't say this for everyone, because everyone has different personalities and ways of approaching things, but this is what i've seen. 

madison's second post was about hurt. and it takes a lot of people a long time to get to the point of talking about it. maybe it's because they don't want to scare away their readers, maybe it's because it's not normally what they put out. sometimes people suddenly go against their flow and talk about something abnormal. maybe that's because they feel like they have to say something somewhere. maybe it's because they'll be eaten alive if they keep it in.  

i guess what i want to tell you is if you're hurting, please don't be afraid to say something. please don't feel the need to continue as if you're functionally properly when you're internally bleeding. in the blogging community that i know, people take the time to listen to you and try to understand what's going on. and even if you don't say something here, this applies to every area in your life. it took me months to tell someone i hated my body (again). and the fact that i stayed silent so long just added to the problem. so with whatever you're going through, even if you are afraid, talk to me. i'll listen. talk to someone you can trust. after all, you trust them for a reason. sometimes the first step is getting it off your chest. it's a part of letting go. 

i got the inkling{??} to write this post a few days ago, and since then i'd been battling off and on about whether or not i should post 4th of july photos or mention that i was up north for a week and a half. but i'm going to camp tomorrow, for two weeks. it's the same camp i've been going to since i was five years old. there won't be any guests posters this time, or scheduled posts. that's been tradition for a long time, i know, but i think now it's okay to deviate from that. 

i'm going to get myself back. it's been a long time coming, but it's here. 

i love you guys, and i hope all of you are doing okay, and if you're not, i trust you will be soon. 

-kiss kiss kiss, what to heq-

maybe we shouldn't blame adults for everything.

origin

i don't think the thing about adults knowing what's "in" (or not in) has anything to do with the adult, really. what i mean is, we have been molded by today's technology. we have access to the world, and we constantly learn about everything as it happens. we're not really trying. sometimes we come across things or our friends' statuses come up on our timeline, and we're suddenly aware of something new. whether it be a new band, clothing style, whatever. we know what's going on because we "follow" people who have information about those things.

and the thing about adults is they don't always follow the same thing (or people) we follow. they're not always aware of what we know because that's not what their newsfeed is giving them. not to say they're not interested - we don't know that. they know different things, not just because of experience, but because of the people they spend time with. the people they pay attention to. it's a cycle of the generations. when they were our age, i bet they knew tons about the up-and-coming bands and style and whatnot. the technology they used was different, but it's initially the same thing. so when you're upset that an adult doesn't know about or understand something you like, know that 1) whatever form of media they use to acquire information may not replicate yours {ie: twitter vs newspaper} and 2) there is a time and season for everything. maybe their season in life doesn't revolve around the arctic monkeys. and that's okay. 

please understand that when it comes to adults relating, they have likely gone through the same things as you. it just came in a different package. for example, when they were our age, they didn't have internet or cell phones. things like bullying were probably done on a more face-to-face basis. a lot of people communicated exclusively by telephone, things like that. what they had wasn't as instant as what we have. so if, say, you're getting hateful messages from a nameless, faceless person, they may know how that feels but they won't know what it feels like in that format. 

there are a lot of things adults do that i don't like, and i think that may partially come from the label "adult," and what we've recreated it to mean nowadays. i'm still what's more commonly known as a "teenager," so i can't explain it all. i don't know it all. i'm just trying to say that it's different for people in all walks of life. and adults or not, maybe we shouldn't blame people for everything. because we're people, too.

i just felt like that needed to be said.

-kiss kiss kiss, mother of dragons-

i promise i'm going to bed, but wait. just wait.

original photo

yeah, i'm mostly done pretending i'm okay, but i just wanted to pop in and say a few things.

when i was swimming, i always used to promise myself that the swim meets would never come. i'd never have to do one again. i even remember this one time where my swim coach said we weren't going to have a swim meet in october because he messed up on something. (he also said he wouldn't do that again.) i remember being so happy, because i hated swim meets. i hated them. and i hated myself too, because when the night before a swim meet came, i started getting hollow and i couldn't stop moving, and when i finally slept i awoke every hour until it was time to go. i lied to myself for so long and i was so angry when i realized these things weren't worth running away from. i had to go through with it. and i always felt so sick when the time came to. 

so it's the night before my piano audition at the university of texas. (i spent so much of my life in their pool.) and i promise i'm not in the same mindset about that as i was about swimming. music, words, notes, adjectives, they're all related. they're my life. and this time, as a part of growing up, i'm showing people what i've learned to do with them. i know i'll be able to sleep tonight because this isn't swimming and i'm not really nervous. still, i'm not going to pretend i have it all together (sometimes i think i'm not really ready), because this is pretty vulnerable. (when are we ever really ready?) in swimming, your back and limbs were bare for everyone to see. and it's the same for piano, except my hands are the gateway to everything inside me that i've been too afraid to physically put out there in the world. i'm not nervous, but i'm still trembling. (and i guess that's where i ask for prayer.) but all the more reason for it to get out, right? there is a purpose to all of this. 

i don't know if i was supposed to really go somewhere with this post, but this is where it's at.
i told her i would go to bed and i am, i just wanted to say this.
i've always known God is with me. it's time i started believing that.
-kiss kiss kiss, an evening in-

we are valuable like silver and i will not let you tarnish her any further.

let's play a game called "education." everybody sit down, put your things under your desks. i am ms. you will never know me but by my surname yet you will fear me more than your mother. in my class you will not speak lest you raise your hand, you will not switch seats. you will not wear hats or clothing with profanity, you will not pass notes. fighting will not be tolerated, cheating will not be tolerated, late homework will not be tolerated. funny how this game starts with telling people what they cannot do. this has always been the way i've seen the public education system.
i've been homeschooled my entire life. since i was three and a half my world was figuring out what i could and focusing on what i could do with it. reading, spelling, penmanship, history and math and it's never been solely about my marks on the tests it's been about my understanding. but the first time i took the PSAT (when i realized my education had to have a name), i gave myself over to the statistics of american students. when i saw my math wasn't up to par i started to worry. i stopped understanding formulas and started hurting to the answer key just to make my mom happy. i still haven't finished geometry. what a wake-up call that must be. despite this my educational experience hasn't been that bad because i've been learning about what it takes to become someone extraordinary. unfortunately not everyone's had it that easy.
let's play a game called "realization." elementary school and it's predecessors are all about creativity. we take attractive learning concepts and tack them to our minds like pinterest boards. we're encouraged to draw nonsensical shapes and apply them to our fantasies but by middle school it's not cute anymore; 
it's time to get into the real world. by high school you need to know who you wanna be but "yourself" isn't an occupation worth paying for.
it wasn't until recently i found out college students were dismissed as absent if they're not in their assigned seat. i started to pickup on when teachers said "everybody" and not "everyone" because suddenly we became numbers and not human beings. it wasn't until recently i realized when my friends said they didn't want to go to college they didn't mean "i don't want to go to school anymore," they meant their inability to "measure up" was a chemical foaming out of the mouth of a beaker. like a paper chain of snowflakes we have come to believe that only a specific, identical kind of people are cut out for university. so many letting go of degrees like "only so much more of this hell and i'm free" and the problem with this system is that it's teaching a generation of brilliance that education is something can finish!
dear public education system: let's play a game called "i am stewing with anger because my best friend is scared to death of reentering the halls she'd like so much to cave in on themselves." stop talking pythagorean theorems an start planing the formula for personhood. people wonder why teens aren't equipped to launch. maybe it's because we're being instilled with fear rather than passion. maybe it's because the system is so fubar we're becoming damaged in an environment where we should be manufactured for decency; forget greatness! we've been told to stay silent so long we forget what it's like to SPEAK. taking on so much pressure you' think we'd be formed into diamonds when we feel like dust.

dear public education system - no, actually, you are not dear at all. the dictionary's definition of 'system' is a set of things or parts working together to form a complex whole. dear education let's play called "where did your foundation go?"
force-feeding us opinions unfit for adoption, injecting inferiority into our veins, embodying the belief that beauty only comes in air-tight packages; shrinking down passions to focus on a core curriculum ready to blast into supernova. and then you tell us to solve for x as if we have all the variables.
math has never been my strong-suit but if i have to give the formula for personhood i will tell my best friend that, helayna, in a world that embraces the attitude of peasantry, you are a green and i will tell you that until you can't look in the mirror without seeing royalty. and despite the abandonment you've experienced here, my name is jo and that is not a synonym for leaving, just like school is not a synonym for learning, in fact, i heard someone say he didn't want students killing themselves on campus because he had a reputation to uphold. we hey mr. educator, instead of joking around telling people not to kill themselves because it'll make the school look bad, tell them not to kill themselves because it is not what they were born to do.
i hate that a six-letter word has become a trigger warning so powerful people beg for death like a dog begs for dinner. i want to understand how each of you feel when you come home. "how was school today?" "fine" no i can't believe that anymore because my friends my friends are wearing down the barriers between layers of skin as means for coping. if school was fine tell me why i'm afraid to approach the people i hold most dear; tell me i've had to make physical lists of reasons why my friends can't leave this earth yet; tell me why if school was fine tell me why souls are dying and bodies are destined to follow suit? who are you that she gets so afraid her lungs forget their purpose? my generation is stumbling through life with their deficiency wondering my help is so beyond reach. dear public education system, let's play again where you loathe your vulnerability because you haven't been nourished with confidence.
but what do i know? i'm a homeschooler; i should be wearing jean-skirts cooking meals for my ten million siblings; i should be reading books that censor the idea of what goes on in the "real world"; i shouldn't even have a voice!
but maybe this is bravery. it's not a 'one size fits all' kinda thing. it comes in different combinations like cowboy boots and aviators; snapbacks and lipstick; leather and metal; crop tops and cardigans; compression shorts and nirvana shirts and man oh man, maybe the reason why we wear profanity isn't because we condone it but because we are braving contact; maybe we need a man to tell us to cover up because ours was too busy to notice; maybe we need to be admonished because it's still better than being hit; see, teachers, we want you to understand us more than our parents don't so if you want us to stand out, don't sit back, lead us! you've tested the ground before us, said "it's fine! come out!" and we want to believe you took this job for a reason. maybe we don't need you to hold our hand and recite motivational passages but if you are human too, if you understand what i'm going through, allow yourself to guide me onto the pathway of success
dear public education system: let's play a game where we pick up our broken selves and be taught what it is to become whole.
now i've solved for x. do you understand why?

it's called slam poetry because we are valuable like silver and i will not let you tarnish her any further.

it's called slam poetry because sometimes, bravery screams.

and bravery is not meant to be kept inside.

joy and the big heart.

original photo

i'm ticklish on just about my whole body. and sometimes when people touch me, i run like a deer in the headlights. and other times, i don't care. it's strange. sometimes other people's fingers feel like the continuous urge to sneeze, or when something itches but when you scratch at it it doesn't go away. when people touch you (on accident or on purpose), you tend to feel them even when they're gone. and sometimes i don't mind. but sometimes, yes, i do.

i got ready for bed slowly last night. and something tells me i know why, but i don't know how to explain it. the lamp was on and i had a fresh crop of bed clothes in the basket from the dryer. maybe i was just wallowing about, deciding which pair of pajama pants i should wear first this week. the pink pair i chose - they ride a little low on me, but tight enough to wear i don't have to tie the drawstrings. sometimes i like looking at myself in the mirror, at the way the pants are loose on my limbs, and i think that i still have some athleticism in me.

i guess that's what i was doing when joy popped up behind me and swiped a finger at my side. "what's that, sisser?" "hmm?" "what's that on your hip?" "oh. those are stretchmarks." "ew. i don't think i want those." "a lot of people have them. it's a sign of growth." "really?" "yeah--" [shrug] "--i think it means you have a big heart." [pause] "sisser, is your heart bigger than mine?" "yes." "does the heart grow when the body grows?" "yes." "even at night?" "yes." "your heart must be really big." and she can say that, because it's okay. "well, when my heart grows, i grow. it's all connected." and she looked at my scars, and she looked at me, and she said "okay."

she probably didn't really understand. and maybe she won't for a long time. or maybe she won't remember. we never really came to a big conclusion last night. no aura or epiphany. and maybe it's not true for everyone. that stretchmarks are the sign of a big heart. because sometimes, they're the sign of two hearts. and sometimes they can be signs for other things. 

but initially, they're the sign of growth. maybe even growing together.

and i don't think they're something i should be ashamed of anymore.

-kiss kiss kiss, let it go-

a list of things bloggers do when they feel their following has died.

have a giveaway. what better way to stack up comments than to rally up your favourite etsy stores?

build suspense. (this usually leads to a rebrand and takes a few weeks.) posting is most nearly on hiatus, but with good reason so all you readers don't go away. on the day before rebrand launch, the blog shuts down for "overdue maintenance." and then you're hooked. (also i'd like to say that most people who rebrand like to say they're blogging for themselves now. and i can't believe that anymore.)

rebrand. remember when that was the big thing? figuring out who you were and letting the whole world know that was the way it was going to be from this point on? identifying yourself with colour palettes and pinterest boards and quotes from people who were making the rounds on your tumblr dashboard? we have all, at least once, created for ourselves a big box in which we want our blog to settle. and usually that goes well for a few weeks. but what we realize, after we start overthinking and wishing we could post about that instead of this, is that we are wild things. and we want to jumpstart. not stay. 

write a post as long as the great wall of china explaining why they blog. this means baring the soul. tearing up at the keyboard. telling the truth on some things and making yourself believe others. talking about real life and why it's so hard. (remember when everyone was obsessed with what was real and what wasn't?) apologizing a lot. confessing the contemplation of quitting. saying it's not about the comments or followers. and starting a revolution. huzzah! we are better than this! and such. and that works out for about a year. 

do said monumental thing on a major holiday. {tomorrow i'm doing my forgotten frames post, so put your fingers down.} i've learned that from looking at other people's blogs, unless you're that much of a big deal, people are off the internet and doing something for whatever special day. 

what i'm trying to say is, we're stirring up a group of people that we want to be faithful forever. it's like being at a sleepover at two in the morning. everyone is dozing off but you keep shaking them, making them stay up with you. we keep creating new beginnings for ourselves whenever we feel like it's necessary. and there's nothing wrong with that. but these are such short term things. what we do, we do to feel good now. we're not into the idea of putting in work for results later on. that's no fun. 

the reason i'm saying all this is because i'm tired. i'm dozing off and i think a lot of other people are, too. i'm guilty of everything on this list and i'm tired of lying to myself, saying it's not about the comments or the followers and saying that i'm doing this for me. because that's not true anymore. and to be honest, i don't think it ever was. when i tell you guys something (personal or not), i like getting a response. words. that's my love language. i don't need to physically hear them but i need to receive them in some way. i'm not saying that you're obligated to comment, i'm saying that sometimes, when no one says anything, i start to believe they don't care. maybe that's a codependency issue or maybe that's just how i'm wired. and doing this for me? i love you so much. none of the secrets that are stacked up in september's comment box are for me. you serve as my fuel. and without someone else to lift us up, we all become subject to personal discouragement. 

so yeah - on and off for a few months, i've felt as if no one cares. and nothing can change that. and i can't go on writing just to keep my dashboard consistent and i can't pretend that nothing is wrong, so there you go. that's where it's at. maybe it looked (looks) like i'm quitting. but i'm not going anywhere. i just want you to know that as bad-arse and beastly as i think i am, some of you have had to hit me to keep me awake. no more rebranding or revolutions. i'm just telling the truth.

-kiss kiss kiss, alright it's alright-

the last day i will ever be sixteen.

i've cried multiple times today. once because the wind blew and my glasses were not a shield. twice because of something i don't understand. and thrice because of something i do. i think i'd been meaning to take a walk for the entire last half of the semester. i guess i finally did. there was a poison ivy warning near the creek and i stood on the frisbee fairway and realized "it isn't all that cold." and believe me, i want to write something poignant and powerful and closing about my sixteenth year. but i've spent over an hour studying for music finals and my voice is a high-pitched mess, and i'm super hungry and i want... well actually i don't know what i want. my thoughts are racing and i don't know what song to listen to and the most prominent thing in my mind is that audrey didn't say happy birthday like she said she would this time last year. it's kind of like being in a big room full of people or going to the movies by yourself. everyone is there except for the person you want to be. and tomorrow helayna is busy and i think all i want is for her to tell me happy birthday. and so many of you have told me how i have a way with words, but i can't explain how much that would mean to me. maybe if you looked at me, you'll know. 

in the mean time, i'm scheduling this post for midnight but i have a half hour left. i should probably make a cake for english class and take one last selfie before the clock strikes. i guess i'll lie on the floor and listen to sleeping at last, because that's probably what i need to do soon. update: helayna said "i'm going to bed, but happy early birthday." i said "thank you, beauty. i'm kinda scared." she said "don't be. make it count."

i love you, kid. like hella. 3<
i love all of you.

relevancy.

i remember trying not to cry for the entire week and i remember thinking "just let it come so i can get through it." at 7:47 last night, i started getting hollow. that is, i started remembering everything that i made myself forget over the past year. the Christmas lights, the the long texts, the car ride home and the subway we passed, the semi-secretive conversations, the disappointment and the apatheticism. i kept dipping my hands in hot candle wax and listening to loud music, and i don't know what i was trying to prove but i do know that i was scared. 

last year on this day, i sat down on a swinging bench and wrote stories about beaches and birds. last year on this day, i ate too many ice cream puffs and took several pictures of Christmas lights. last year on this day, i thought that i would get over it soon enough. last year on this day, i failed, and my best friend and i let go. 

before i went to bed (which was at about one o clock in the morning), i asked God to at least let the sun come out. we've got below freezing forecasts and no snow and it's not even pleasant anymore. i don't know if it ever was. so i woke up, and it was cloudy as ever. and i chalked my hair in streaks, put on my only ear cuff and the dress that my mother wore when she renewed her vows ten years ago (i was the flower girl). i was completely red, save for my platform heels (black). i wanted to prove a point but i didn't know what it was. 

so i got to church wondering when helayna would arrive, and we talked about personalities in sunday school and i tolerated less-than-approving responses to my new 'do, and when she came in with her little sister at her heels i guess the sun started to come out. she was wearing green skinnies that made us look like Christmas and she poked me hello and she knew. and we giggled too much and talked about food afterward and complained about physics homework that i don't have to deal with. 

and then something happened. i don't think the english language would do me any good in describing what it feels like for the hollow to fill out itself. i thought i dived into today as if i were getting back in the pool for the first time in two years and i didn't know if i was going to climb out or have to be resuscitated. and by the time church was over and we all filed our way into the break room, the sun decided to make the cars shine. and even moreso when i announced to my parents in the car "i'm going to take selfies."

i guess i wore the red because last night my fingerprints were being scanned by wax and sometimes i fancy the idea of becoming a human candle. i don't fancy lighting myself on fire but when i blew it out the wick let a few "embers" glow red in defiance. i guess my red is the fire in saying "hey. i'm alive." 

i know i lost her last year on this day but i didn't lose her today. and i listened to a lot of music and decided to do a simple recording of a Christmas song by sleeping at last. and it's relevant because it's cold outside and it's relevant because, audrey, i think it's time to let go. i can't hate the number eight forever. and nothing's the same but i can't just seem to stop loving people, so. there's that. 

today i planned on telling this to helayna when she came inside: "today is the last day you're going to see me as a sixteen year old and i wanted to look beautiful." but that's not true anymore because i'm probably going to see her on tuesday. all the same i think i look nice, and i think it's time to let go of the fact that just because today sucked last year, it doesn't have to suck this time around.

-kiss kiss kiss, fading-

cupcakeing with a message (v.12.)

made these with my friend katy during the doctor who fiftieth special. aren't they darling?

i've unfollowed a lot of blogs recently so i don't know who's doing the "i'm thankful for," thing right now. and you know, it's refreshing to have a relatively small group of people around that you enjoy hearing from instead of a very large group still following the trends that we [i] demanded we have a blogger revolution over. oh by the way, it's thanksgiving. i don't know about you but i'm having a hard time being in a generally good mood. is this what happens when you grow up?

anyway, for the longest time, people have been doing little challenges here and there and posting everywhere about how they're thankful for whatever (and there really isn't anything wrong with that considering it makes you think), etc, and today is usually the grand finale. see, that's the first thing wrong with this picture because thankfulness only appears to be an annual occurrence. the second thing wrong with this picture is that if you don't talk about what you're thankful for, you're obviously not thankful for anything and you are a disgrace for a human being and you don't deserve your turkey or pie and your football team will lose their game and it's basically the end of the world. if you don't post it on social media, it hasn't even computed in your brain, much less come out of your mouth. so i'm calling it right now. quit that.

don't be thankful because it's a social media trend. it starts within yourself - you don't have to be pressured to share it with the world. and another thing: don't force yourself to say you're thankful for the same things everyone else is. i totally understand edification and public praise and stuff like that and how disputes should be resolved privately, but if you're having a hard time, take a deep breath, put on the great gatsby soundtrack, walk away. and ask God to help you forgive, because most of the time that's what you need to do. i think i'm having a hard time being traditionally thankful today because there are some things that need to be resolved within me (and others). that and this entire week is a deadline that no one in my family can afford to miss. and maybe that's okay. maybe it's fine to be constantly working on something. it's just that we shouldn't have to work alone. 

after all of that, i have to say that i am glad. i am thankful. i'm not in the place i was last year. and helayna? oh God. oh God, i love her. and cassia. and sundays. and the way the cold slaps you in the face after getting out of a warm vehicle and just, the flowercrown society.
(get slightly excited now). and innovation. hazelnut macchiato + peppermint mocha = heaven. and you guys.

and you know what? i feel the good settling in.

-kiss kiss kiss, godspell-

i'm coming out on self-love.

{one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven}

them loving you is like diving into the deep. you loving you is like testing out the water to see if it's alright. and sometimes, someone will push you in without pretense, and you'll be thrashing around unable to grasp something steady, but they will swim to you on their own accord, calm you, hold your head above the surface. i've learned that when you're learning how to love yourself, repetition is key. they have told me everything i've wanted to hear from my own ears over and over and over.

in general, if you tell yourself something enough times you will begin to believe it. and what they do will work the same way. trust me, learning to love yourself is not something you can do alone, because you will always doubt you. having them to help you is like dissolving those doubts in acid, because they will tell you how wonderful you are enough times to where you will be able to look at yourself in the eyes and say "yes, yes, i can see it now." yes, yes, i can see it now, and they won't let me see anything else.

them loving you is loving everything you've got. you loving you is a menagerie of different adjectives to fit the way you want to look in the outfit you've decided to wear. and when they tell you you are beautiful, it will feel like the gangrene of your soul is being removed and replaced with a gold illumination. when you tell you you are beautiful, you are forcing something down your throat that you need water to successfully swallow.

do not tell me that self-love has nothing to do with your physicality, because we have been taught to get in its car and ride along. we depend on our skin for plenty of reasons and it fuels the way we nourish our insides. so we were made by God from the inside-out. but we need to learn to look from the outside-in. that's the way it is in the world, right? through the looking glass. but this is something that we are not to do alone. and God speaks to us through so many people in so many different ways. to the point where we do not have the option but to look at ourselves -- not with disapproval, not with apathy, but -- with peace.

i'm coming out on something today. it's so cold out it might as well be Christmas, and i love myself. i love myself and i don't care about how much i weigh or which side is my 'good' side or the way my thighs look or my stomach or the palms of my hands. if only you knew how fulfilling it is to look up and realize that someone's love for you has no bounds. if only you knew that He is your Redeemer.

-kiss kiss kiss, guess what day it is-

everything has a timeline.

when my mom saw the vlog helayna-ocean and i did together, she said "but you never really told us how you changed each other's lives." okay, okay. let me explain you a thing.

there are a lot of messages i keep in my tumblr inbox. the first one was from alison sudol (of a fine frenzy), and it was received last year, after i'd been on swimming hiatus for a few months. she wrote about gardens. and stones. and if every human being is a gardener and their life is a landscape, then last year, my landscape was full of stones. and stumps. and they kept multiplying. when i wrote her a note, it was before i saw her in concert that november. when she replied, my world was still on its axis; not quite ready to turn upside down.

ali, i'm sorry. i have not been kind to myself. not always. but as my foundation crumbled and i was left with ashes, i still remember what you said. 

that december, four days before i turned sixteen, i lost audrey. and i remember thinking i had a pretty decent life so far, so i wouldn't be sad about this for too long. and i remember smiling like everything was fine. and i remember going home in the dark, berating myself for what i believed was entirely my fault. you don't have to cut yourself for it to count as self-harm. part of my self-harm was beating myself down, mentally. and physically, i think it started to show. i was walking around like a lost piece of baggage with no one to call home. i'm not a dog; i didn't need an owner, but i needed someone. and i didn't have anyone. 

everything i had left was a worthless remnant. a spoiled cloth with no one kind enough to help me wash. not really. to be perfectly honest, as i look back, i don't remember everything. a lot of who i was last year is blocked out of my mind. maybe that's a good thing, considering that now, i have been made new. 

i don't remember when i wrote the next message in my tumblr inbox. it had two parts - the last of which i still have around. i wrote a girl who published something that got me thinking. i don't remember what, and maybe that is okay. when she replied, i don't remember feeling temporarily better. but i remember being in confidence that maybe, someone would come along and i would help them. for the better.

i remember thinking brian was my saviour. 

now that i look at it in perspective, i think my body wanted someone near, someone who made me feel like i was making a breakthrough. in my healing process and self-love process. not to say that he didn't help, no. but after i reevaluated my priorities, i realized that everything i thought i had going for me fell like the veil that was my 'romantic' interest. i wouldn't replace the tuesdays we spent in the cafeteria. but i wish i knew that there was something bigger coming. i wish i knew nothing had quite begun. 

incidentally, the rest of my tumblr inbox are messages that helayna and i have sent, and messages other friends have sent to me. but now, it's time to talk about her. 

i remember buying perks of being a wallflower for audrey around Christmastime. i remember wrapping it in brown paper and covering it in tape, and i remember struggling to put her address in front. i remember writing her a note. and i remember knowing better than to apologize again. i remember her texting me a little later, saying "i don't want your stupid book." and i remember unwrapping it about a month and a half later and giving it to helayna on a february(?) wednesday. i remember the shirt she was wearing and her hair and how she spent the entire church service reading it in the back. 

i remember her saying thank you. 

there are only fragments of our learning and growing around each other (all involving church) until everything start falling into place at the beginning of june. i remember the friday night she left her notebook at my house. i remember the hoodie she was wearing. i remember calling her on the phone and telling her it was okay. i remember giving it back to her on sunday. i remember how her hair was long and wavy and i remember the blue plaid flannel it rested on. i remember when i was (deniably) sick on a wednesday and i remember her and jackie coming to sit with me in the break room over raspberry tea. i remember my blue button-down. i remember trying not to cry. i remember the outfit she was wearing when we all went to camp on friday, june seventh. i remember her, alexis, and jackie all falling asleep in the back of the van. i remember being the only one in confident consciousness. 

oh. i should probably tell you about camp. 

i remember feeling so heavy from everything i went through with audrey that i planned on getting it out. i planned on screaming. i remember trying when my family was away on errands, i remember mustering a squeak. by the time camp came around, i knew a lot about helayna and she knew a lot about me. and we both knew what we wanted in going to camp. i remember being afraid, because the year before, i brought audrey. and that only made things worse. 

but let me tell you a secret - history isn't meant to repeat itself. not always. 

when we were interning, a pentecostal camp came and rented out the grounds for five days. the interns had their own small services in the prayer garden and in the offices. and i remember trying so hard to feel something. and i remember feeling so dry.

and then, on a thursday (june thirteenth) we had service in the prayer garden. and i started crying. i remember sitting on the concrete next to a chameleon-like bug and i remember wearing my hair in a high ballerina bun and i remember my Bible and a blanket sitting on the stone (for fear of rain) and i remember putting my head in my hands and sobbing. finally, sobbing. mario, kat, jollie and a few others led service that evening. and by then, they'd dismissed everyone. but those who wanted to stay could stay. i was in no position to leave. i remember jackie leaving.

i remember helayna coming over to me, hands coming out of their [hoodie] shell, bending down, and whispering "are you okay?" shake my head no. "do you want me to stay?" nod my head yes. and she sat down, crossed her legs, and held me. and i remember seeing tears fall down her neck and i remember various hands on my back and i remember calming down. 

we have this amazing camp counselor named mallory. she has shoulder-length red hair and a louisiana twang in her accent. i remember her looking at me with confidence in the answer to the question that neither of us knew yet. i remember looking at her and becky, and i remember saying "i need to scream." i remember them suggesting going to the nearby flock of trees, and i remember not making it there. 

i remember mallory praying loudly, i remember bending my head down, i remember grasping becky's hands to the point of breaking and i remember letting go. three times i screamed. helayna says the last one was the loudest, and the hoarsest. i fell back onto the concrete. i looked up and i saw a sort of film that looked like someone, but it wasn't definite. i remember hearing mallory praying. i remember someone pulling me back and holding me close. i remember seeing nothing. i remember realizing it was Jesus. i remember being totally gone. 

allow me to tell you the truth: i've fought not to kill myself. december put me in a place no one should have to experience. i remember specific things that told me, on the inside, "stay. don't go. at least, not yet." i remember my mother telling me i was a good daughter on the day i almost had it all planned. i remember snapping rubberbands on my right arm in a syncopated rhythm. i remember helayna looking at me, saying "no." the hardest no i've ever heard. i remember the welts afterward. i remember the next morning when they were nowhere to be found. i remember knowing i had something to live for, but i remember being too tired to live. once upon a time, i wanted to commit suicide. joyfully ever after, i'm still here. 

i had a heart transplant that day. everything in me was restored. everything broken, everything singed. it's like i shed old skin and what was new glowed. i remember sitting up and checking to see if my hair was still in tact. i remember helayna laughing. i remember standing on the hill's slope and hugging her. i remember feeling physically lighter. i remember flying. 

i never felt that again. but i know what happened to me. and i know Who healed me. 

reaching the end of the past part of my timeline, i tell you this now because yesterday, i celebrated twelve years of living in Jesus Christ. when i was four, i gave myself to Him. and i live (i live) knowing that i cannot deny what He's done in me and for me. and i have so many people to share that with. thank God, helayna is one of them. so really, He changed my life. and everything happened in such a way that she was able to see it. to be there. and she's been here since. (yeah i totally dressed up as her yesterday. am i edgy yet?)

happy november, thanksgiving, Christmas, new year, everything. 

the sun is shining, the tank is clean, i am hella new.