we could be invincible

we could be invincible, you know

we could fly to rome with gilded wings

and rule france from the halls of the versaille

let's serenade pedestrians in birkenstocks and visors

screaming ironic throwback lyrics at the top of our lungs

from the edge of the rustiest railings we can find

we may be tone-deaf but our song will be perfect

with the taste of freedom on our lips

and our hearts stitched painstakingly onto our sleeves

we’ll be those star-crossed lovers

delirious, foolish, and blinded by our youth

straight from the pages of a storybook

the cynics will shake their heads, maybe throw their dusty six-strings, their ripped manuscripts, their broken dreams at us

they’ll try to weigh us down with their alcohol tears, bringing us back to reality

but we’ll just laugh

because time’s running out and there isn’t a moment to waste

so maybe you can show me your favorite movie so I’ll have an excuse to stare at your face for two hours

and maybe I can teach you how to play guitar so that your fingers can brush against mine again and again

me and you

we could be invincible, you know

we could end wars and walk on water

and maybe

just maybe

you could want me

the way I want you

who are you?

I've never really liked the gap between my teeth
and I ponder my mortality more than any 18 year old girl should
My mom tells me I'm too opinionated
but I think that's because she's scared I'll grow up to be a democrat.

I've been told I give good handshakes
I think that's because I've always felt like I have something to prove,
ever since I got second place in my elementary school spelling bee,
ever since my seventh grade teacher accused me of cheating on my paper because the words I used were "too big",
ever since that boy told me that I didn't seem like the type of girl who actually had a brain,
ever since I started to dream.

I get awkward when I talk to teachers,
and I never know what to say when people cry,
I used to believe I knew exactly what my future held.
But the envelope from my dream school that I received in the mail this week told me otherwise. (Application Status: Deferred)


Today while I was writing college essays, one of them asked me:

Who are you?

Well, Admissions Committee, that's a good question.


I am:
Stubborn.
Passive.
Awkward.
Confident.
Hesitant.
Loud.
Quiet.
Passionate.
Careless.
I am:
A nobody.
I am:
A somebody.
I am:
One big walking contradiction.


Who are you?

My mom calls me Samantha.
My friends call me Sam.
The internet calls me @SamBamYesIAm.
You call me Celeste.

And as for what I call myself?

I'll let you know when I figure that out.

samantha frazier

of raindrops and sunshine

I remember the rain.

I remember words hurling through the air like daggers and I remember the hole he punched in the wall.

I remember the police sirens disrupting the night and the unopened bottle of Gatorade I found on the counter the next day.

I remember you walking me to my car and walking away awkwardly because you weren't sure whether to hug me or not, so you didn't. I remember you never hugged me again.

I remember wishing you would've.

I remember when they sat me down and delivered the news, tears streaming down their faces. I remember that at six years old, I didn't quite comprehend what it meant when they said she was in a better place.

I remember the tears that only come once I saw the cold marble headstone.

I remember the sun.

I remember dancing in your bedroom at two in the morning to some vapid pop song and wishing that moment would last forever.

I remember mint ice cream cones on the corner of Dewey Street with my second grade crush.

I remember the stranger that called me beautiful at dinner that night.

I remember watching High School Musical for the first time and how I cried at the ending.

I remember shaking hands and butterflies when I leaned in for that first kiss. (It was truth or dare, but still. #manbun)

I remember laying on the golf course looking at the stars for hours.

I remember that night on my couch when I cried into your shoulder, and I remember feeling so damn lucky to have someone like you in my life. 

I remember every kind word and every soft smile and every little compliment and every warm embrace and every peal of laughter 

and I remember falling in love with the human race 

over and over again

I remember the rain.

And oh, how I remember the sun.

I Can't Breathe.

stalwart mind, reckless heart

the heart and the mind

they fight

and fight

and fight

I am a worn torn state
the chest cavity a barren ruin
the skull a smouldering crater

the mind tells me no
don't do that
it'll only lead to trouble

the heart tells me yes
take a chance
break me and then patch me up again

the mind is sensible,
reliable
the type of boy that you'd bring home to meet the parents over thanksgiving

the heart is wild,
reckless
the type of boy that every father has nightmares about

and while the heart might drive too fast and smoke too much
I've come to see the method to his madness
because while he may be nursing a nasty gambling habit,
when he gets it right,
all doubt and fear and trepidation is eviscerated
with only happiness in its place

so it's time for a surrender
a wave of that white flag
because while the mind might be a trustworthy GPS
I've always preferred the challenge of reading a map
there's a sort of beauty in unpredictability
so mr. heart
take the wheel
I'm all yours.

not like the other girls

"I'm not like the other girls."
Congratulations! Your mother must be so proud.
But if you don't mind me asking....
What's so wrong with them?

"I'm not like the other girls."
Because she wears high heels and you wear sneakers
Because she paints on her confidence with a tube of red lipstick,
and you'd much rather go bare.

"I'm not like the other girls."
I didn't know your penchant for classic novels made you better than her,
she only reads John Green books,
and heaven forbid someone read something that can't be dissected twenty different ways in a classroom.

"I'm not like the other girls."
You whisper as you see her walk into the party,
Wearing a skirt that resides on the corner of slut and whore
And you wear your worn pair of blue jeans like a medal of honor.

"I'm not like the other girls."
Taylor swift, you know I love you..
But shaming the slut should be left in the sixth grade.
Your t-shirts aren't superior to her short skirts
and why does it matter if she's cheer captain?
                                                                   

                                                                      

Degrading someone for their sexuality is a new name for an old game
and frankly, it's about time someone flashes that GAME OVER screen.
Stop the hate.
I, for one, would love to be known as someone "like the other girls."
You are all beautiful.
Strong.
Resilient.
And perfect in your own way.

So let the sun keep shining on your faces,
All of you
Don't let the clouds of shame darken your disposition.
Your choices are just that-yours.

Do a duck-face.
Go to that party.
Join the cheer squad
 or
Write poetry
Stay tucked away in bed on Friday nights,
Join the marching band

But whatever you do,
Don't you dare make someone feel dirty or
inferior for their choices.
And just know,


I'd be honored to be like all of you.

For Them.

he was in the dark
and he didn't know how to get out
now he's gone
and we're just shattered pieces of glass

it's better where they are,
that I can say for certain
and while we're here and they're not
(and it hurts like hell)
we will be with them soon enough
I'll see my sister
You'll see your brother
We'll see our friends
all gone too soon
but until then,

don't

forget

to live

don't let his struggle be in vain
or hers
or theirs
because dead ends breed new life
don't let them be forgotten
live for them

send giddy peals of laughter up into the clear blue sky
past the milky way
straight into heaven
laugh for them

dance wildly and passionately
let your limbs flail and let your heart race
throw all insecurity to the wind
dance for them

sing along to your favorite songs
no matter how bad you are
let the music fill you with life
sing for them

don't let anyone wander alone
be a beacon of light for those in the dark
pull them out of the abyss
love for them

hug your mother
travel to a strange new country
go to college
make new friends
be kind to strangers
make a difference in the world
live for them

because it is through us that they live on,
in every technicolor memory shared around kitchen tables,
tears twinged with joy
in every photograph painstakingly hung on bedroom walls
looked upon with fondness and love
in every laugh line
in every kind word
in everything
everything
we do

live for them.

it's the least we can do. 

aquaphobia

I'm not going to write out all of my fears because trust me, that would take way too long to read.

But wanna know one thing I am afraid of?

the future

I'm afraid of the stacks of college applications on my dresser waiting to be filled out. I'm afraid of the ACT score I'm supposed to receive in 3-5 weeks  and I'm afraid because I didn't even finish the math section. (I just filled in C, C, C for the last ten questions. Oops.)

I don't know how I'm supposed to afford college tuition and hell, I don't even know if I'm going to be accepted by any colleges I actually want to go to. And you know what? That's scary.

I'm afraid of failure and mediocrity and heartbreak and the suburbs.

I'm afraid that my future holds all four.

I don't know if I have enough ink to fill the blank pages of my future and I'm not sure if my hands are deft enough to sketch my dreams. And I'm afraid to find out.

I'm frightened by fear itself. I'm afraid of his icy choke hold-and what it's preventing me from achieving.

I'm afraid of the could haves and would haves and should haves and the regret that comes along with them.

I'm afraid of paying taxes.

I'm afraid of my potential and I'm afraid of your potential because Hitler was once just a teenager with potential and look how he turned out.

I 'm afraid of looking in the mirror and seeing a wrinkled face staring back at me, a shriveled body unable to travel or explore or stay up until two in the morning or dance until the sun goes down.

I'm afraid to die because this world is all that I know, and while silence seems like a worthy companion, I love the sound of my own voice too damn much.

You know when you were a little kid at the beach with your family, how you'd run into the water splashing and squealing and shrieking for joy? Remember the moment you realized that you could no longer feel the velvety grains of sand caressing your little toes, and how you panicked, panicked as you found yourself suspended in the ocean's unforgiving grasp, the water closing in on you with every second?

That's the future.

Yeah, it's kind of a bitch.

And I've always had a fear of drowning.

press play to smile

I hope you feel like this all week. You deserve to be happy.

stop stressing and just dance

flightless bird, monster trees

I've got a serious case of homesickness 

that is, I'm sick of home

and sick of you

these mountains don't feel like a playground anymore

they feel like a prison 

the neighbors are faceless and the cars are just specks

blurred together

like one of those "abstract" paintings that's really just a bunch of smudges.

this town is a fish tank

too small for the dreams held within my mind

and I'm the little girl waiting in the doctor's office,

sucking on a lolly,

the stars painting constellations in my head

and the moon is made of cheese.

 

on those 5am jogs

the dusky pink sunrise my only companion

the sweat gathers on my skin like angry lava

burning and burning and burning

but when I look down, the edges of my clothes aren't seared

my skin isn't charred

and when I look up, I see the same sun.

fake is in the water here,

and I'm afraid it's permeated my bloodstream

now my smile is made of silicon

and my heart is made of plastic

(at least it can't be broken now)

give me taxis and grime and shoe-box apartments

give me chaos and confusion and opportunity

give me the world in a city

and I'll take it for my keeping

and in return,

you can have the small town gossip

you can have the judgmental glares on Sunday mornings

you can have the guy at age 19.

trust me, I won't lose any sleep over it.

the trees have never looked so much like monsters 

but the sky has never been so blue

and I'm a flightless bird

chained to the ground

a hiker passes

"why don't you fly?" he asks, 

gesturing towards heaven

and while the forest floor may be beautiful

it's never felt more like hell

a sparrow takes flight

"wait for me," I murmur.

these mountains are a prison but my sentence isn't forever

this isn't home

but it's out there waiting for me

page blank, waiting to be written

my pencils are sharpened and ready to go

and my heart is too.

so, I'll see you soon.

maybe I'll send a postcard.

adult-induced amnesia

my mom told me that there's no such thing as teenage love.


I call bullshit.

I've got this theory that the moment you turn 18, a veil is dropped over your mind and suddenly you forget what it's like to be young

forget every feeling

every emotion

everything

adults tell us that we need to grow up, but they're amnesiacs with a superiority complex so excuse me if I ignore their advice

because they've forgotten.

they've forgotten what it's like to fail that test you studied all night for in the hopes that maybe, just maybe it would bring that stubborn A- up to that ever elusive A.

they've forgotten what it's like to write essays for hours in the hopes that you'll get into that prestigious school you've always dreamt of, and they've forgotten what it feels like when you get rejected and watch your dreams crumble to dusty pieces.

they've forgotten what a curse it is and what a blessing it is to feel deeply enough to skim the ocean floor.

they've forgotten how it feels when he writes his name in permanent marker on your heart

they've forgotten how it feels when you realize that he only let you write yours in pencil.

they've forgotten what how it feels to be told that you don't know what you want and you'll understand when you're older because as a teenager, there's no possible way that anything you are feeling is actually valid.

they've forgotten what it's like to be too young to fall in love but too old to order off of the kid's menu.

they've forgotten what it feels like to be late for curfew and they've forgotten what it feels like to sneak out after curfew.

they've forgotten how high school hallways feel like a little bit like hell and smell like a locker room.

they've forgotten about that couple that always makes out in front of your locker and while you act disgusted, deep down (and I mean deep, deep down) you're actually jealous.

they've forgotten the words to their favorite songs and they'll never understand why those concerts you go to make you feel so alive.

they've forgotten what it's like to plaster on a smile and paint your lips with lies just to make it through another day.

they've forgotten why you write that angsty poetry and why you dress in black and why you listen to those depressing songs on rainy days.

they've forgotten what it's like to rearrange the stars for someone whose telescope lens is pointed at some other constellation.

they've forgotten how to throw care to the wind and maybe common sense too, and how to love too deeply and dance too wildly and care too often and live too fully.

and as 17 creeps closer and closer to 18, I can't help but dread the moment that clock strikes twelve

because I don't want to forget.
 

how to not die of some terrible disease web md diagnosed you with (aka how to be okay.)

Every day when you look in the mirror, you see those frown lines that are becoming more permanent and the storm in your eyes that gets more cloudy by the day.

"You'll be okay," everyone tells you, "just give it some time."

But it's been three weeks and the wounds haven't healed yet and Web MD told you that you're gonna die from some horrific disease you've never heard of.

So instead of slowly bleeding out, let me give you a step by step guide of

how to be okay.

1. Delete his number from your phone, and every text message he ever sent you. It doesn't matter how sweet or sentimental a particular message is to you-for every kind word, there's ten that made you cry. Toxic people come in the prettiest packages. So take that box and throw it out the window. You're better off without him.

2. Sleep more. Stop wasting your nights thinking about him or thinking about her or thinking about what she said about you during third period when your back was turned. Curl up in your bed by 9:30 and drift away by 10. Take a nap after school while you should be doing your homework. You'll thank me for it eventually, I promise.

3. Wear what you want to wear. Put on those high waist pants that your brother said made you look like a mom from the 80's. What does he know anyways? Wear red lipstick because it makes you feel dangerous and make the wings of your eyeliner sharp enough to kill a man. Dress up for no good reason other than you want to, because despite what you've been conditioned to believe, what you want matters.

4. Smile so big that you think your cheeks will split and laugh way too often and much too loudly because statistics show that people who laugh more live longer, and statistics never lie. (some statistic taught me that.)

5. Allow yourself to be alone sometimes. Not feeling up to going to the football game? No problem. Does that party that everyone is going to be at sound more like a prison sentence than a good time? Stay home and read that book you've been meaning to. Alone time is a rare treasure, so cherish it. Download new music or start a new Netflix series or write a novel or go to your favorite coffee shop and people watch or ponder the meaning of life or find a cure for cancer-the world is your oyster when you're by yourself. It's not a bad thing.

6. Stop blaming yourself. He was a grenade and it was only a matter of time before everything exploded-and it's not like you were a member of the bomb squad. So walk away from the detonation site and don't for one second look back at the gaping crater he left. You handled with care, and it just wasn't enough. Nothing could ever be enough for him.

7. Dance in the streets with music blasting from your car and sing all of the words to your old favorite songs and eat all the crappy food you want while your metabolism is still working like an olympic sprinter and take advantage of every moment because you'll never be this young again.

8. Tell yourself over and over again-"I'm okay."

And eventually okay turns into good and good turns into great and suddenly you can't remember why you were ever just okay in the first place.

The gashes have been stitched and cleaned and all that's left is a thin white line reminding you of before.

And that's okay.

You're okay.

No, you're not.

You're better than okay.

So keep dancing.

regrets of an unwilling assassin

Let me start this off by saying:

I'm not licensed to kill

But cold metal felt so good in my warm hands

so natural

so right

But now you're all dead and I see your faces in the mirror

so I'd just like to say

sorry

(and please stop haunting me)

To you:

I'm sorry for shooting you straight through the heart. I didn't know you would be so easy to kill.

Who knew that those three little words could be so fatal?

You were a werewolf and they were my silver bullets,

And now you're just a vacant corpse

Unseeing

Uncaring

The fire kindled between our fingers is nothing but smoldering ashes now

And I never thought I'd miss the feeling of being burned until now,

So if you can hear me,

I'd like to feel the flames again.

To you:

I wasn't thinking when I sent that bullet straight through that pretty head of yours,

And now your lovely (fake) blonde hair is stained scarlet

And my hands are painted with blood.

Your knives were dull and your aim was poor,

But I've never been a particularly brave soul and you've never been a particularly good person,

so when you came at me, what was I supposed to do?

Good thing you that you line your eyes with misery and even better that you dress in shades of death,

It's perfect for you funeral (and for your stupid soft grunge Tumblr page)

But now he's standing at your coffin and I'm standing alone in the the cold

So you win. (like always)

To you:

My fingers trembled when I pulled the trigger.

I just want you to know that.

I didn't want to shatter you into a million pieces, believe me

but when I tried to collect the jagged shards of you in my hands,

you made me bleed

and then I remembered why I killed you in the first place.

I couldn't see it while you were here,

But in death you're transparent 

So forgive me for leaving you on the cement and forgive me for stepping on your remnants

Again

and again

But now you're just pulverized, pathetic, sparkling dust and now I'm finally free

You'll never pierce my skin again

"These violent delights have violent ends"

Oh, how you delighted me.

And oh, how violent was your end.

sorry

Songs 4 U

songs for rainy days:

samson-regina spektor

untitled no. 3-sayde price

fake plastic trees-radiohead

asleep-the smiths

landslide-fleetwood mac

montana-youth lagoon

we don't eat-james vincent mcmorrow

another love-tom odell

wolf-first aid kit

dead hearts-stars

songs for falling in love:

turning page-sleeping at last

blood bank-bon iver

robbers-the 1975

one-ed sheeran

your song-elton john

funny little frog-belle & sebastian

us-regina spektor

lover-devendra barnhart

stuck on you-meiko 

strawberry swing-frank ocean 

songs to feel like a bada$$:

in bloom-nirvana

do i wanna know-arctic monkeys

black skinhead-kanye west

paris (ooh la la)-grace potter & the nocturnals

the car song-the cat empire

break the rules-charli xcx

my song 5-haim

happy ending-the strokes

fitzpleasure-alt j

body electric-lana del rey

songs for dancing:

long hair-drowners

punching in a dream-the naked and famous

one way trigger-the strokes

recover-chvrches

i sold my bed but not my stereo-capital cities

ways to go-grouplove

diana-one direction 

girls-the 1975

on our way-the royal concept

how to be a heartbreaker-marina and the diamonds

songs for gurl power:

***flawless-beyonce

fu-miley cyrus

mamma knows best-jessie j

potential breakup song-aly & aj

wings-little mix

independent woman-destiny's child

no scrubs-tlc

pretty girl rock-keri hilson

wannabe-spice girls

bo$$-fifth harmony

a tree of my own

When I was 8 years old, I tried to climb a tree.
I hoisted my gangly legged, scabby kneed, bright eyed self up that first branch,
Following the trail of laughter left behind by my brothers,
Already at the top
They smiled down at me, adventure radiating from their every pore-
And then I fell.

"Leave the tree climbing to the boys," my neighbor said,
"Girls don't have to bothered with that type of thing."
What she saw as foolish, I saw as unfair,
And that day,
That very moment
 I burned the kingdom in my mind to the ground,
Only ashes and cinders and smoldering ruins remained
And I planted a seed inside of my head,
Childish tears acting as the water,
So that I could grow a tree of my very own.

As the tree grew, I slowly climbed
Branch after branch,
And watched as other girls struggled to find a place of their own to grasp.
When we were twelve our church leader told us,
"In order to be happy,
You must find a companion."
So what does that make me?
Pathetic.
Broken, jagged, incomplete.
The last place runner in the race society threw me into the moment I was born.
Because queens must have kings in order to rule.
And they can't climb trees.

But little boys don't go to bed dreaming of being someone's prince charming,
So why have I been taught to aspire above all else,
To be your princess?
I am not yours.
I am not anyone's.
I belong to me.
So I will keep climbing the tree growing in my mind.

Perched on my branch, I see those who have been pushed to the ground,
by promises of happiness brought about by two week relationships.
Knees bleeding, spirits broken,
a string of faceless companions by their side,
because without them they feel alone.
Without them, they are nothing,
because this is what they have been told.

But they are not alone.
I have seen the universe in their eyes and the seeds they hold in their hands,
ready to be planted,
without help from anyone else.
You are stronger than all of the armies on this earth.

We do not need someone to carry our loads as we scale mountains,
as we traverse rivers,
as we take on the world.
All I want is to walk in that grassy meadow by the lake with my favorite person in the world by my side,
next to me on my branch,
not because he completes me,
but because I love him,
and shouldn't that be enough?

On a camping trip I recall being told that if you ever find yourself lost in the woods,
climb the nearest tree and search for help.
But the purpose of my climb up this tree I have grown is not to search for anything,
or for anyone.
In fact,


I think I'll just enjoy the view.

I Need A Forklift. (please)

Bricks currently on my chest:

• Hamlet (and the one hundred pages I still have left to read)
• The dirty clothes on my bedroom floor
• That snide little comment you said to me last night
• College
• And the countless college essays I have yet to write.
• And the fact that I have no freaking idea where I even want to go to college.
• The future
• Chemistry
• That death on Grey's Anatomy
• Awkward conversations that keep replaying over and over in my mind 
• Unrealistic expectations from my dad
•  Love
• And the apparent lack thereof in my life
• All of my hopes and dreams and desires and the fact that I probably won't achieve them
• Not being good enough
• Life

The cement has dried and bricks are in place, so can someone please get me a forklift? Because it's getting hard to breathe.

And I'm not sure how much longer I can take this pressure.

(here's another song about bricks.)

Someday, Someday

someday, someday
love will make my acquaintance,
first he will offer me a smile,
then he will offer me the world
because I will be his
And he will be mine

he'll be a lighthouse in the eye of the hurricane,
kissing away stormy tears and clouded doubt,
until I am no longer crying
but I am crying
because I am happy
that at last, the sun has come out.

he'll look at me like poetry,
seeing meaning beneath the black and white,
and like my ap lit teacher he'll analyze
annotate
lift layer upon layer
and during one of those late night conversations he'll finally understand,
and we will breathe the sadness out of our blackened lungs
so at last
we can breathe together.

this love of mine, he'll have the patience of a saint.
when I pause, he'll wait
eager to hear every thought
every idea
he'll feast on my words like a man starved for years,
each syllable a drug,
and he's an addict with no intention of quitting.

he'll let me ride on his handlebars,
(no one's ever let me do that before,)
wind intertwined with tangled hair,
the moon will baptize my freckled face,
the stars act as our enraptured audience,
the lucky ones with the coveted ticket
to the greatest love story of all time.

but for now, I'll wander alone
my hands will hold nothing but my hope for the future
my lips will mouth the words I am too scared to say
and I will love myself the way I deserve to be loved.

someday, someday
that day is not today
but this is not a poem, this is a promise
this is an oath tattooed in the crevices of my heart
buried deep but never forgotten
so that when love at last arrives
I'll be able to offer a smile back,
and when he hands me the world,
I'll know how to handle it
because I have held the moon,

and

someday

is

now.