thoughts between 12:30am and 1am.

I write for no one's approval. I write to find myself, to make sense of all that appears in my mind. I write to remember the little lines that come to me, that stay in my head until I create something, not thought of but felt. I write to find the thought that left before I could think it. I write of people I want to meet, of my dreams and memories I want to set on fire, then watch the flames shoot up as the memory gets set free into the universe, no longer locked up in the back of my wild mind, haunting my dreams. I write to find my voice, hoping it will be heard and clearly understood with no explanations being asked. 

For the words I write are not jumbled or stuck in my throat screaming to get out. They are pure and honest, crazy and calm, sad and exciting, reflecting and wandering. They are mine and mine alone. Some will be showed, others kept for my eyes only in notebooks written in pen with awful handwriting.

As I write these words, sounds of Sympathy For The Devil playing on repeat, mixed with a calming fan at 12:47am, barely Monday morning. I got the urge to write with repeating the beginning lines of this piece as I was getting ready to sleep.

I'm not sure when or if this piece will catch your eyes. But if it does, stop and listen to the voice you hear in your head while reading my words, and think of the images that cross your mind throughout my piece. 

As my hand gets tired, words start falling off the lines of the page they're being written on. The Stones still playing, fan still calming, elbow getting tired as I lay on my stomach. My mind begins to dream of the sparks from those burning memories like shooting stars as I close my notebook and the clock strikes one.

A blue star dances by the fire as I close my eyes.

Dreams begin..  

10.12.2015

just kids

burning tears roll

down my pink cheeks

the world outside crying

it's own cold tears

I look out to a wet

yard and droplet

covered leaves

nothing could prepare

me for this

the feeling of being

moved to tears

no matter how many

times I read

this story of two

young artists

and their relationship

throughout their lives

the words are written

in a way that

affects me like

no other writer has

I feel as though

I'm along on

their journey

feeling their pain

crying their tears

loving their joy

their story inspires me

to write when I have nothing

to say or cannot comprehend

the fog that takes

over my mind

write every little thing

I think, feel, or see

to see parts of myself

in my words I have

not yet met

writing sloppy handwriting

that not even I

can fully understand

beautiful stories

move us in ways

we're never 

prepared for

but then there are
the stories that

stick with us

change the way we

move through life

challenge us to become

the people we were

meant to be

inspire us to never

stop doing what

we love most

as I write these words

the rain calms down

as the sky

begins to lighten

sun trying to

break through

I see a rainbow in

my mind as

memories flash

by my eyes

I smile for

the two kids

who inspire me

their story stays

with me on my walk

creating the artist 

I hope to become

blue star

10.22.2015

untitled.

I sit and wonder what will happen in my life. 

What choices I will make that will change the direction my life.

What I maybe should be doing now that I'm not.

The different perspectives people see me in and how that affects how I see myself. 

How I shouldn't let other people's perspectives cloud how I see the young woman I am and want to become.

That I look at artists now and from the past as inspirations for my own work as well as consider them people I know but have never met.

Trying to let go of my past troubles that shaped me into a scared child that ran away from her problems instead of facing them head on.

Realizing I'm no longer that scared child.

That somedays I think of how all my struggles in the past had negative affects that I cannot change but grow from.

Wanting to be normal but seeing the beauty of not fitting in the crowd.

Not being able to hide my struggles from anyone for one second of my life. 

A few times people have asked if I have a disease or struggle with things I've never heard of and assume things that I have never dealt with.

Being looked at as someone I'm not by the way I speak and interact by people I will never see again.

Asking questions I cannot answer and awkwardly try to walk away.

Wanting so much out of life but love getting lost in other people's stories.

Being confident for the first time in my life while still getting emotional over things that shouldn't have the affect on me that they do.

Learning that I have something to give to the world and accepting myself for who I am.

Seeing myself as beautiful instead of focusing on things not worthy of a single thought.

Being blessed to be able to breathe and that I can overcome every obstacle thrown my way.

Working on myself through my work, trying to understand why my younger self struggled with such silly things.

I will make something of myself because I survived when others have not and that must mean something.

10.17.2015

youthful innocence of her dreams

sitting on a beach

just before daybreak

she reflects on memories 

that never happened

white lace window shades

blow from the soft

summer breeze in june

staring at the open window

city sounds mixed with

the heartbeat beneath her

laying on his chest

she can feel his warmth

while the open window

with the white lace

brings the outside

world to their

own universe

captivates her attention

small studio in

new york

crazy expensive

for such little space

white walls with wood floors

an old stove that

doesn't supply heat

in the winter

mattress with

sheets and a pillow

sits on a floor

pushed against the

west wall

she spends lots of

time writing by the window

looking from the

world above

creating art from

characters that

walk the streets below

autumn leaves blow

the crisp air in

through the open window

layers on topped by

the warmest sweater

she could find

fuzzy socks

covering her toes

tea in a red cup warms

her tiny fingers and

creative soul

he creates his art

when the stars shine

the moon is his lamp

sleep is for humans

with normal minds

he would say
when she'd wake

to find him drawing

or writing scribbles

in a notebook filled

with thoughts only

an artist could

think of

for artists can see

what's invisible to

the normal eye

turning what inspires

them into works

of beautiful art

making people see

what they cannot

look into a world

their minds cannot

imagine

snow blows against

the glass reflecting

the candles

keeping them warm

the old fashioned

stove serves as

an art piece

a sense of false hope

but a beautiful one

at best

the window that

once captivated her

eyes in june now

serves as a shield

protecting them

from the cold in

the dead of winter

but not even the cold or

broken heat source

can stop their

happiness from

shining through

smiles across their faces

as they dance around

their space wrapped

in thick blankets

classic rock flowing

through their veins

while steam from the

boiling noodles on

the kitchen stove

serves as their only

real source of heat

moments that stick

with her

not even the cold

could freeze away the

beautiful dreams

of her youth

the sun begins the day

awakes the sleeping

calms her mind

of the memories

she wished were hers

but never were

only dreams she

pictured over and over

that somehow became

moments of a life

she once lived in a 

different time

with a boy who gave

her the universe

with only a smile

and she was the artist

that wasn't meant to be

10.25.2015

colorless reflections.

a black and white mirror

only reflects an outline

showing my body

without details

no color in my green eyes

blonde hair now white

my flaws hidden

by the darkness

blinding the light

staring into a

white mirror

a pale reflection

stares back

the color in the room

now vanished

the bright orange wall

behind me appears dull

my green eyes

I see are

the least green

I have ever

seen against

my white skin

and light hair

a colorless world

that has no

interest to me

everything
full of beauty
only appears

in my dreams

10.8.2015

spinning lights in a dark room.

pop pop pop

repeats and repeats

in my ears

like a little kid

playing with a

broken light switch

lights are spinning

my skin glowing

hatred of the world

is my conscious nightmare

I escape through

my calm dreams

but wake to find

the spinning lights

once more

closing my eyes

I can see

the lights spinning

through my

thin pale eyelids

will this chaos

ever be finished?

my eyes

see nothing

in the blank room

no doors or windows

to be found

I'm trapped

floating through time

without the sense

of the outside

or anything at all

wood floors

with no lose boards

are utterly useless

walls appear to

be white

but the perspective

is always different

in dim light

moment by moment

I wonder how

I got here

how I will get out

tugging on my hair

my strained eyes

want to cry

but no tears form

I am stuck in a box

some call a room

where, you may ask?

wish I could tell you

maybe I am stuck

inside my own mind

maybe I'm that insane

the memories I had

are no longer

present

the people I liked

are nowhere

to be found

I wonder if I'm

staring at these

fucking lights

to make me realize

apart of myself

I didn't dare know

or even acknowledge

until I ended up

here

living this nightmare

I can't wake up from
to finally

figure out all of the

inner demons living

in me

one light falls

to the wood floor

shatters to a

million shiny

glittery stars

one chaotic second

turned realization

into glittering stars

on the ceiling

laying my head down

as I prepare

to fight the

inner war

I've been avoiding

my whole life

another light falls

more stars above

a new way

found

10.15.2015

thoughts of the past reflecting on the present wondering for the future.

lights shoot across

the night sky

dazzling eyes

reflecting the

burning glitter

through anticpating

souls

this year becomes

the past

stepping down to

the present

new year

saying goodbye

to what will

never be again

only to be remembered

by memories with

old photographs attached

taking us back to moments

we can feel

but will never

touched again

it's a bittersweet

moment as the

ball drops in

new york city

welcoming another

year to the

table of life

cheers are announced

kisses are shared

tears are shed

happiness runs through

my veins

an undeniable

smile I can't let go

of making my cheeks

swell with pure joy

my cat comes running

moving the pages of

my notebook

and playing with

the bookmarker

trying to get

my attention

leaving hair

on the pages

while clawing 

the rolling stone

magazine 

in front of me

bob dylan

plays in the

background

for the soundtrack

to remember this

tiny but precious

moment

we don't remember days

we remember moments

I capture many moments

through writing words

on pages that take me

back to the moments

when I read them again

as my cat sits

on the table

watching me

write these words

the times they are a-changin'

gives me hope and courage

for what's to come

in this new year

fireworks can be

heard from all around

to become louder

 in the upcoming hours

closing the book

of this year

with 365 pages

filled with stories

told differently by

every soul you meet

life is in constant motion

as the sunsets

as the moon rises

showing the universe with

too many questions

the years fly by

the older we become

it's a fact

no one can deny

it's a feeling

we cannot express

clearly through

common words

as the wind blows

as the stars glisten

as the ball drops

as the year turns

we begin once again

12.31.2015