all you need is (self) love

this year
I fell in love

it was magical
unexpected
the life-altering, earth shaking type of affair

this year I fell in love
not with the boy that wears the beanie in my fourth period class
or the sweet talking barista that memorized my order at beans & brew
not with the guitar player or the study buddy or even the boy who took my breath away
and definitely not with the jock swaggering down the 100 hall

they say when you fall in love it's like you're wearing rose colored glasses
like the sun shines just a little bit brighter and the birds sing just for you
but this love of mine?
it shattered the lenses of the glasses I've worn my whole life
destroyed the frames
canceled the prescription


20/20 vision's never felt so good
because this year was the year

I fell in love with myself

and my sight has never been clearer

I am a terrible dancer
I hold grudges longer than I should
I don't have the best hair
I use sarcasm far too liberally
I procrastinate (a lot)
I beat myself up over everything

but

I am passionate
I am strong
I am capable
I am talented
I am loyal
I am enough

I love the gap between my teeth and the freckles on my nose
I love the way I always pronounce words wrong that I learned from reading the books on my shelf
I love my awkward dance moves and my opinionated mouth
I love the every imperfection and flaw and all the terrible things that come with being human

this year I fell in love
it's not the type of love that nicholas sparks would write about
there's no dashing hero that pieces together my fragmented heart
but it's the type of love that saves you
that saved me

this love is deeper than that
it's life-sustaining
this love is happiness
this love is acceptance
this love is everything

love is a big word, but I think I've found it within myself

because I am me
and that's enough

and so are you

note: i highly encourage ya'll to go check out the blog post that inspired this new year's resolution here

montana

not alone, not alone

to the preening commons crusaders and the 600 hall wallflowers
to the chess club and the math club and the rap club that has yet to hold a meeting,
to every pair of lungs that breathe and every pair of hands that shake,
you're not alone. (excuse my cliche)
i see the fragile heart hidden beneath the mesh armor of the jersey you wear
the smothered words trapped behind metal coated teeth
i see the broken smile that not even the brightest shade of drugstore lipstick can conceal
and the pain buried somewhere deep in your binder
i've felt despair in the midst of the battlefield
when the sword just seems too heavy and rust-scented blood threatens sanity
i've been alone in the hallway stampede
each errant elbow and swinging backpack a deathblow,
each giggle shared amongst friends a eulogy
i've had a staring contest with disappointment
and felt the burn
that comes with unfulfilled expectations
you're not alone
i am you
you are me
we're comrades at arms.
and outside of the commons,
beyond the "world class" sign,
away from the teachers and hallways and grading scales and assemblies,
is another battle waiting to be fought.
because they don't write history books about those who let themselves be silenced
and you deserve to be heard.
you deserve to be seen.
you deserve to live.

raise your voice
paint the sky with your dreams
grasp the world in your palms and claim it as your own
because spring's just around the corner
and i can't wait to see what you
what i
what we
will become

you're not alone

so please don't leave me

red balloon

the other day I sprained my ankle

I jumped too high and fell too hard

I should've known the monkey bars were out of my reach

miss robertson gave me a red ballon after class one day

I tied it 'round my wrist but somehow it got free

I chased after it anyway because back then I swore I could fly

the stars sure do shine bright and I thought they were shining just for me

and all I wanted was to feel the universe brush my lined palms

not to be burned by the unforgiving galaxy

people aren't spaceships and I am a tree

better to stay rooted in the soil that is home

I may become gnarled but at least my branches stay tidy

last week I saw that red balloon floating in the unknown

but I kept my feet planted firmly on the ground

the other day I sprained my ankle, after all

up there in the sky is everything I ever wanted

but people aren't spaceships

and I have a sprained ankle

maybe next week, I suppose

hi my name is

my name is sugar and you stop in the middle of the sidewalk to scan me up and down like a piece of meat for purchase and the way you lick your lips kind of reminds me of a snake stalking his prey and your words reverberate in my dreams that night like the echo of a gunshot

my name is why don't you smile and i'm fourteen years old in the city with my friends for the first time and we walk a little faster along with our heartbeats as you follow us for a full block naming one of my friends why so frigid and the other don't be such a bitch 

my name is slut and i guess i deserve this because the skin of my shoulder is showing and i know how irresistible that is but a tank top shouldn't stop you in your tracks and it shouldn't prevent you from focusing in school but you were asking for it is yet another name you tack upon me

my name is damn girl and you laugh like this is a compliment but you can't see the blood in my veins turn to ice and you don't know what it's like to be scared to walk down the street because the saying boys will be boys seems to justify just about anything these days

my name is sexy thing my name is look at me my name is stop frowning and you think you're too good for me? and these are all compliments and according to merriam-webster a compliment is "a polite expression of praise or admiration" so i think you're a bit confused

my name is nice words turned into daggers, flowers turned into weapons, and i've never met a man who met his wife cat-calling on the street. my name is women like you need to go back to the kitchen and every single "compliment" you dole out like tokens at an arcade pollutes the air just a little bit more, my name is princess and if anyone ever spoke to your mother like that, you would strangle him with your bare hands

my name is look at that body and i'm twelve years old again and i'm pedaling my bicycle as fast as i can, away from you, your jeers sneaking into the basket between my handlebars and underneath the soles of my sneakers and at this moment i've never felt so small

so if compliments are supposed to make someone feel good i sure as hell don't know what you're thinking about but as long as your bros are impressed and as long as you're able to shove my name into your back pocket to brag about at the bar that night and as long as you don't see the way we run all the way home and sleep with the lights on and padlock the door because your words chipped away who we are

as long as you have the upper hand

my name is whatever you want it to be

identity crisis

she staggers around in her six-inch heels
leaving lipstick stains on her shot glass
slurring about how she feels like she's soaring but she can't feel her face
yet somehow she makes it home every night,
but she never lets anyone know how broken she feels
because she knows that there's no one left to pick up the pieces.

her morning ritual is advil and coffee and pain
but like a moth to a flame
the bright lights draw her back every weekend
because life never feels as lonely in the midst of a crowd

he's a creatine
gym machine
all hard lines and clenched muscles
a boy with a punch
the boy we can always count on for a fight
he's a 2nd string linebacker and a first string slacker
always late to school
always too cool
and the only time when he feels whole is when he's got a book in front of him.

his days pass in a smoke-filled blur
and his nights are black lights and bad dancing
and he would rather be writing than gyrating with the masses
but someone once told him that men can't be vulnerable
they aren't allowed to be soft or emotional or, heaven forbid, poetic
better not to let your guard down
and I heard that chicks like bad boys

they're charming,
rambunctious
always good for a laugh or two
the center of attention in every class they're in
they're shaking hands under desks as they deliver yet another punchline
and the only time that the bricks on their chests are ever lifted
is when they're too high to even care

their nights are dark thoughts and panic attacks
keeping attention on their teeth where everything sounds good
but behind the tongue there's something rotting in their brain
the words that they've held captive for so long,
but they have been told that the only way to fit in
is the hide behind the laughter that keeps them coming back for more.

these are the bridges between yourself and destruction,
and each brick is the place where the artist was told to consider a more sensible career,
where the 4.0 students was told that their A- was synonymous with failure
where the dreamer was told to stop reaching for things they'll never achieve
and one day it all comes falling down
because when the outsides and the insides don't fit
when that essential part of you goes missing,

that is when

you

 lose 

yourself

THIS IS THE REAL WORLD

I remember at four years old,

sitting on my mother’s lap

watching the towers fall with her tears

“don’t be sad,” I said

“it’s just a movie.”

but she just shook her head

“this isn’t a movie.

this is the real world.”

the snowcapped mountains act as guardians

and white picket fences protect our fragile hearts

we’ve got the one-way ticket to heaven here

as long as you keep your nose clean and your eyes closed

kids lose themselves in a smoke-filled haze

while others get lost in the smoke of the bombs

and white boys in snapbacks who’ve never bothered to pay attention in history class

throw the n-word around like kisses on the pedestal

sorry, rosa, they say

sorry, mr. king,

but how can you be sorry when you dance on their graves?
this isn’t hate

but we’re still asleep

and our history stays chained beneath our beds

there are graves underneath our pillows

voices rooted deep within our blackened lungs

whispering in the silence

this is the real world

so please

wake up

this is the real world

this is the sunburn that blisters after a day at the pool

the heartache that follows the whirlwind romance

this is a father’s last strangled breath on the concrete ground

the blood of those whose only crime was to write

this is the bullet holes and the rioting and the mother who hangs one less stocking on christmas day

this is the real world

and you can’t sleep through it like you slept through this class

blankets can’t protect you now

this is the real world

not the history resting tidily on a textbook page

this is the present

expertly wrapped and tied with rusty chains

while the only chains I’ve ever known are those of the playground swing set

that allowed me to skim heaven with my sneakered toes

there’s no anne sullivan to lead us out of the dark

and the blood moon only shines so bright at night

and the bliss that comes with ignorance also comes with the price of a child’s tear-stained cheeks

a child that can’t understand why this is her reality

while I’m still living with the stars in my eyes

this is the real world

don’t sleep in another day.