As a young adult who is nearing her strictly adult future, I am still trying to find the time to be present and engaged. While my time is ramping up, people my age are following adventurous paths that will guide them through a seemingly happy life. How are we to judge that? For me, I feel as though I’m walking along a dirt road to a foggy destination, and what awaits me is fear and destruction. We often believe these concepts to intertwine, creating a brutal ending that is unlikely to ever be repaired. This causes the common foe of anxiety to fill my stomach and my lungs. My future is waiting to be released from my grasp, but I truly fear that I will never be ready to let it go. While it’s important to want a future in order to create one, I’m afraid that I lack the skill to do what needs to be done. I love to swim in the deep end of the lake, but metaphorically I am bound to the shallow entry overlooking a possible outcome, yet never letting the water overflow my head, revealing that my true future may as well be underwater, swimming alone with the algae.



im not afraid to stare at myself in the mirror

im not afraid to believe in something i don’t have

im not afraid of the harsh reality

im not afraid of cutting my clothes

im not afraid of confessing

i am not afraid



3 months

whenever i take a substantially long break away from writing i feel like i’ve abandoned my heart in the middle of a grassy field

three months later and the trees are naked

three months later and my hair is a faded shade of auburn

three months later and i’ve learned the basics on conversing through sign language

three months later and my ears have heard fresh tunes that keep me up at night

three months later and my room is filled with colored lightbulbs

three damn months later, i am 22 years old, and this year is almost gone


see you for the next even year







people enjoy thunderstorms because the sky is creating a light show, the rain makes a trickling sound that roars into their ears, the thunder wakes them, catches their attention. it’s a performance, a scientific production: the sky is doing something different.

maybe i’m not a fan because of childhood, because the police knocked on my door  from mom and dad fighting too loud, almost in tune with the thunder outside.

or maybe it’s because i appreciate the simple, blue, quiet sky. how the trees lightly sway but are kept dry, content. maybe i love those silent moments, in between the inevitable chaos.


don’t tell me what doesn’t matter

when quotes that are supposed to be casual yet powerful say shit like “nothing matters” and everybody is like “damn, deep shit” fuck them.

your shit matters.

everything matters.

maybe we exist in a rotating sphere, but everything you’re saying, everything you’re going through, it fucking matters.

that boy who didn’t text you back, who made you cry? it matters.

that dress you got red wine all over? how it made you annoyed? it matters. 

why are people obsessed with giving the entire planet no meaning?

just because death is inevitable? just because everything can end any second?

that means every single thought and emotion doesn’t actually mean anything?

fuck that.

i’m not okay with that.



i want a lifetime guarantee

humans are not one thing; we are created to be versatile and unique. however, lately a streak of uncertainty has been painted onto my back, making it present but seemingly difficult to keep track of.

a bed is comfortable, but it’s possible to be uncomfortable while laying in a bed

everything is so damn dependable in my life

i am not a shy person, but i am also not an outgoing person: it just depends on who i am around, what mood I’m in, the energy of the other person

we often give people these specific adjectives that make up their personality: funny, quiet, affectionate, sarcastic, silly, serious. 

we are so multidimensional and complex, so why is it so easy for me to stamp a logo that reads “outgoing” onto someone’s forehead and forever associating them with said logo, when i can’t do the same for myself? it must be easier to describe someone else than to describe myself

but i personally can’t put myself into any categories, because almost all of my logos depend on every little thing

i want a lifetime guarantee
of myself



too much, too little

“Never apologize for your enthusiasm. 
     -Ryan Adams 

Love is scarce?
Love is fleeting?
Love is blind?
These are just excuses.

Love is shunned.
“Too much” love is exhausting.
“Too little” love is harsh.

So we dumb down our love to a happy medium
Nothing special
Nothing extraordinary
Everything becomes numb, expected, content.

Why should we live inside a bubble, floating, letting the wind carry us
when we can pop it
with just a flick
of a finger

I feel stale
I feel locked,
held back
from the fulfillment
of extra love

and I decide to climb on top of an ice berg
ready to see beyond my vision
and the cold isn’t reaching me because my limbs are already numb
and I’m too busy climbing to see my progress

i’m at the tip, where the cracks begin to merge
it’s separating
neither side can hold me
but i’m so numb
that when my body enters the water
i’m already