pressed in a book

what do i do if i want to major in agricultural/natural resources, sustainable/environmental studies, culinary arts, photography, psychology, and foreign languages? 

seeing thousand faces

some we know, some we don’t

and we accept that this is just a phase

of our lives; we won’t be here long

but it feels like forever

it feels like a dream

and i take it in turns

of reading or sleeping the hurt away

trying to remember who i was when i started

trying to figure out who i am now

i’ll leave when i can, but first

pretend not to notice that the girls at the table are pretending as well

sunday night i went to the movies with someone stupid. now he tries to walk me to my classes. when did he start thinking that we’re together or something? and how do i stop it? almost cried today; i don’t want him following me around. i want him to not talk to me or notice me or smile at me or anything. 

well the heat it is heavy

and the morning is dark

we run to our busses 

and wait to embark

you thought it was real

you thought you were safe

but morning it scared you,

and the dark you embraced

keep to yourself,

don’t look around

cause nobody sees you

and nothing is found

my history teacher thinks jack kerouac is pronounced “jack crock” and has no idea that he actually wrote books, INCLUDING ‘On the Road’ which is one of the most famous books written during the beat movement, WHICH IS WHAT WE FUCKING LEARNED ABOUT TODAY.

history class makes me want to beat myself up with a plate.

i’m not trembling because i’m shivering cold

i’m trembling because my emotions are overwhelming my voice

the tears come not because i’m sad or angry

but because i know there are beautiful things in the world that i can reach

and also some that i can’t

i know that i’m seventeen and my life is just starting

but sometimes i feel so old

like a sitting couch woman

who went through her whole life without a real reason

nothing pushing her, nothing driving her…

and she never wanted to.

but tonight i realized that there are no answers

only questions that lead to us figuring out why and who

and i love it

i’ll reach out my hand one day

and i don’t care if anyone grabs it.

it’ll just be enough that i loved myself enough to trust that someone else would too.

i have a blog just for photos now.

http://bewhoyouwantedallthetime.tumblr.com/

hugh, hush, sound

voices all around.

i feel a slip, i fall & trip:

back to the beginning of time.

let me go!

don’t hold me so…

i’m trying to escape.

the water’s too deep,

i’ve tried, but can’t sleep;

in the mornings, my face isn’t there.

i’ve become many things,

i clutch & i cling

to roots now too slippery to hold.

now i’m alone

and robotic as stone;

my movements i cannot control.

they tell me i chose

to live a life so morose…

still, i can’t help but think

ALL ARE LIES

like a dream,
like water,
like a shiver that runs through your spine after seeing yourself for the very first time,
the black trees whispered softy into the night.
they told each other stories from years ago when they were newborn roots growing ever upwards.
and i stopped to listen that night,
hoping to make out their hushed disconnected words suspended in the branches, unheard by everyone that looked down when they walked past
other nights i was not able to hear them,
but tonight i sat down gingerly on a
pile of brownredyellow leaves,
a soft covering on the dirt and moss
and as i gazed up i could just barely connect the sounds they made to pictures in my head.
after a few minutes i heard and understood, and as i cried something lifted me up up up
into the air
into the clouds
into the above
here is what the trees said to me (what they said to everyone who would listen)
‘this is the day you were born
this is the day you will die
tomorrow you will not live
today is the only day that exists’
and that night i died,
but the next morning was born again