I have never be…

I have never been willing

to surround myself with light.

I have  fought to stay

in the dark. And yet you

come and shelter me,

warm me, illuminate me.

Like you are suns

and you have been waiting

for someone as cold and

as shriveled as I am

to come into the light.

And it didn’t take long for

my hunger for the darkness

to be dispelled. And then

I fought to stay in your light.


And her mind wa…

And her mind was blank

waiting to be written on

and he wrote in it

he engraved lies

and he painted layers of dishonesty

on top of other lies

and her mind was

no longer blank

but filled with misconceptions

and she believed him

and she needed his falsehoods

And then he left her drowning in the fantasy

he created.

And now she is alone

with the mosters unleashed 

roaming inside her brain.

They ripped out her nerves 

until all she could feel was

them, and she tried 

to make her mind

blank again, but he had

dispelled the clearness and lightness.

And he left her with with a  hunger

for more lies and the monsters

Suddenly.  I was supposed to write something that started with “suddenly”.  I am half way there, only two thousand more words to go.  And I have been on this prompt for two weeks now.  Usually I go home, and pop out a two thousand word essay in the day it was assigned.  It is easy for me, it is my specialty.  But I am introspective. I don’t tell stories through my writing.  Sometimes I allude to my story but I like to be vague.  I like to keep people guessing, and it is easy for me.  It comes naturally.

But suddenly that word just screams action.  And I can’t write it.  I just can’t, so I worked around it.  I was smarter than that, and maybe I am cheating, and as they always say, I am only cheating myself.  But I have been stuck on this prompt for much to long, and I have been waiting and waiting for an idea to come my way to write about but Suddenly has just been sitting there, blocking me from any creative writing or thinking and I have turned to the evil.  I have turned to YouTube.  And texting.  And, at my weakest hour, OneDirection.  Actually, at every hour.  Come on people, lets face it they are way too hot to be ignored.  But this is very unlike me.  I am the girl who manages to still seem cool because I listen to old heavy metal rocker bands and pretend to be a bad ass to try to get around the fact I have no idea who any celebrity is.  But now I know the names of five celebrities, and I didn’t even learn their names in the New York Times.  I am a disgrace to my family, and all because of the word suddenly.

Damn Suddenly! I mean most of the time it only seems sudden to one side of the story.  A woman asks for a divorce, and that seems sudden to the man, but really the woman has been thinking about it for a long time and it has been gnawing on her for forever.  And the is how things happen my life.  They happen slowly, and they start with a slow drip, something so slow I don’t even notice and the ripples are so small that they don’t disrupt me, but they spread infinitely far, and the drip speeds up and it is like the drip on the faucet right next to where I sit in science and i can no longer concentrate on what is important and i start to think about how much water has dripped out in the time I was sitting there, and whether i should go and turn it off, and then I get yelled at by the teacher, and after  all that the dripping still continues.  And then you know that it is real and it is no longer inside of your head and you know that it is only a matter of time before it turns into a torrential downpour and then a hurricane, and then all that is left to do is shut yourself inside of a hotel, hoping that the hurricane you created won’t find you.  And so really nothing is sudden.  At least for me.

And maybe that’s why I can’t write about something being sudden because nothing has ever happened to me that I didn’t know was going to happen.  I knew everything.  Every once in a while an outcome occurred that i hadn’t expected, but I still knew it was a possibility and I had prepared for it.  I remember the first time I thought something was sudden.

I was in sixth grade and I was happy.  I had a best friend.  Her name was Rose she was an odd child, and I looked up to her for that.  She was the kind of girl who would pretend to be a wizard and wear the one of her many rain boots on the days when it wasn’t raining.  And she would do things that she liked because she didn’t care what other people thought and I wasn’t that kind of person.  I was the kind of person who would dance in the rain in my bikini if I knew nobody was watching.  I loved life and I loved experimenting and I loved following my heart wherever it led, but I wasn’t willing to do that in front of people at the time.  I used to sing in my backyard and babysit the girl next door just so I could play in the swing sets.

And Rose taught me how to be like her and I loved her for that.  I remember the day I became her friend.  She was walking up the alleyway in front of me.  She was wearing clear rain boots that had little ice cream cones and hamburgers on them.  She was eating her favorite green coat that I found out she had bought in Seattle the first time she had visited.  She was wearing blue skinny jeans, and she was humming.  I ran to catch up with her, not wanting to waste the opportunity to meet a girl my age who lived on the same street.  And we were friends instantly.  It was like we were in kindergarten again.  She asked me if I wanted to help her fix up a little shed in her backyard into a tree house and I said yes.  I ended up getting home at ten thirty, even though it was a school night and she lived two houses away from me.

She lived in that beautiful house with the spiraling tower at the top for six months.  During that time I spent at least an hour every day at her house, usually after dinner.  I never had a sleepover and I only had dinner there once.  We had boiled Top Ramen because her parents were at church.  It was probably the oddest relationship we ever had.

Then one day I was about to walk to her house and knock on her front door like I always did, and I saw a pile on my front porch.  It consisted of a big wooden basket, a table-cloth, and a huge junior mint book.  The evidence of a friendship.  The wooden basket was the one I made the year before, it held a toy top, a paint scraper, some nails, and the biggest mess of a ball of yarn I had ever seen.  The tablecloth was yellow, we had used it as a wall, since we had run out of paint after only painting three of the four walls in her shed.  And the junior mints book.  It was a party favor, and we had kept a record of our lives in it.  We had assigned jobs, recorded our days, who we liked, who we thought was the hottest guy in our class, and our favorite teachers.  I picked up the book.  We had left the front page blank.  It now wrote in Pink highlighter:

“I am going back to Colorado.  Here are some of your things.  I had fun.”

And the first thing I realized was that she had kept my pink highlighter.

And it seemed sudden then.  And it seemed blunt.  And at first I was just shocked and then I remembered a conversation we had a month before.  She had said she would be leaving to go back to Colorado that summer, but I never imagined it like this.  I thought it would be filled with hugs and tears and I few awkward glances at her parents who I had never said more than the words “is rose home” to.  But it was three short sentences written with my pink highlighter that she never returned.

And so I didn’t cry, and I still haven’t.  I haven’t cried for her yet.  But still two years afterwords I will walk out the front door thinking I am going to her house, but then I keep on walking.  And sometimes I go down to Taylor dock to watch the sunset and sometimes I continue to the Village Green.  And sometimes I take out my phone and start texting someone, asking them if they want to go get some ice cream.  And I know that she isn’t thinking about me because it was probably easier for her.  Because it wasn’t sudden for her.  She had her plane tickets booked back after the first week they got here.  It was a temporary thing.  It was a job in-between two jobs.  They had kept their old house and the pink house with spiraling towers was just a stopping point.  And so it wasn’t sudden for them.  It was only sudden for me.

Like everything there is always two sides of the story.  And it is impossible to have a story that starts with two suddenlys.  And I always like to be the one to know when the surprise is coming.

Three in the Morning

I tend to only stay up until three in the morning either on a major party when I have nothing to do the next day, or a movie marathon.  I usually prefer the second, which now happens a lot with help from my lovely new laptop, though I do like the occasional party, but when I have a major test the next day, staying up until three in the morning is not a good thing.

I was exhausted last night.  I was dead.  At nine, so by nine thirty I was asleep, which is unheard of for me.  My perfect sleep pattern is one in the morning until nine, but that doesn’t happen very often.  But anyways I went to bed at nine, and I was still tired when I woke up at three in the morning.  For future reference, being up from 3:00-4:45 in the middle of the night, lying on your bed waiting to fall asleep is not one of the more enjoyable activities one can do.  I can think of a thousand things i would prefer to do at that time, and yesterday it was to sleep.

I am not an insomniac.  I believe in lots of sleep, and my body has absolutely no problem sleeping.  Some times I even power nap, usually on the way to or from mt. Baker, preferably in the back of Stanley Harris’s yellow Jeep (it is always very hot and sunny, and his seats are very comfortable, all of which add to the sleep appeal).  So why on earth was I awake last night at such ungodly hours?

My mom said it was probably stress.  And the only thing I would think of to stress me out was cross-country.  We had run a practice race that day, in preparation for the race next friday.  It was not fun.  It was a 1.4 mile race, which is arguably my worst race.  I have three speeds.  Speed A=my marathon/5k speed.  Speed B=my 100 meter dash speed. Speed C=my run for your life/ball is about to go into the net, and I must stop it speed.  My best race is probably an eight mile race.  That is of course, assuming that everybody else in my grade can’t run for eight miles, which is a fairly safe assumption for must people, except Andrew and Sam, because they are both training for marathons.

I think I was stressed about cross-country because I don’t know what to do about it.  I don’t know whether to race or not.  I am probably the third best girl from my school, which means that in all school races I don’t have a chance at winning.  I am not very good at losing.  I am not a sore loser, I simply beat myself up.  I remember getting second at Districts in cross-country in New Zealand and I ran and ran after that.  I trained so hard, and the girl who beat me ended up dropping out of regionals, so I won.  But even then I was still mad at myself for losing.  It is hard for me to let things go.  It is impossible for me to lose without inflicting pain upon myself.  So last night I was sitting in bed, wondering what is the best thing for me to do.  I can’t remember what I decided, but I must’ve come up with an answer because I went back to sleep at about 4:45.

Wilted flowers

petals dropping

one by one


and we are


caught up


that we are

watching the

time move by

and we

are unable to

take it back.

The last

petal hits the

earth with an

imperceptible sound

and so do we

and our life

moves on

without us



Beside you

I am beside you,

for support, for

love, for life,

I will be

behind you

when you want. I

will be invisible,

I will disappear,

like a raindrop

absorbed in the moist earth.

I will be undetectable,

illusive, or I

will be beside you. Behind you,

near you, I

will always be near you,

if untouchable,

if unnoticeable. I

will be near


A moment of happiness

We search

for happiness

everywhere, we

scour others, ourselves

under rocks, high in trees.

We want to find

a source

something stable

everlasting, insuring us

with more. We

aren’t satisfied

with a moment,

a moment of happiness.

But that is

all we can hope for.

A few moments of

happiness. We

can hope to be more

lucky that others,

and maybe we

will find a few more.

But we

have to believe

in those moments,

those few moments

glad we have them

not wanting more.

I will be remembered

I will be remembered

by you. You

will remember me.

I haven’t yet left

a dent on the world.

I haven’t written my

name across

the sky. I

haven’t written my

name on anyone’s heart.

But maybe I will.

Maybe it’ll be etched

on yours, long from now

you will remember me.

my face, my name.

You will remember me

as I am now, before

I left my name on the world,

I will leave my name

on your heart.


Words can fade,

words that are

written by pencils

can be erased.

words written on

computers can be deleted

by a click.

Words said,

Spoken words are

different. They vary.

Some are remembered.

Some forgotten, and some

are rewritten.

Words you’ve heard,

words you’ve said,

for different reasons.

But some are scratched

too deep, and you try

to scratch over them

until all that is left

is a hole. A

hole that eats you.

Change For Them

It wasn’t that I

didn’t know where I was,

It wasn’t that I

didn’t know what

to do,

It wasn’t that I,

Didn’t know who

I was.  They didn’t

know me. They didn’t

like me. They didn’t

respect me. I had

learned long ago

who I wasn’t.

I wasn’t them.

I wasn’t like them, and I

didn’t like them.

It wasn’t my job to change.

For them.