Monthly Archives: February 2014

The letter

They say the pain lessens

Sarah knows better

She writes

and rewrites the letter


A piece of paper no one will receive

a note too soon forgotten

just the same

so was she


Crumpled paper

thrown in the trash

tissues pile on

Nothing’s the same

Now that her friend is gone


Regrets and reflection

From so long ago

on Sarah’s face

they show


Sarah be brave

they can’t know


They say the pain lessons

but Sarah knows better

she rests her head

as the room gets wetter

Looking back

Ever look back and wonder who that person was? Looks like you, same memories as you, and you remember being her. but you no longer know her? I can split my life up into sections. When I was friends with Emmi, when I was a friend of Rose, when Amy and I were friends. I can reach out and hold on to that memory but it isn’t me. But have I changed for the better? And seriously what is wrong with me, I lose friends left and right. My head tells me that I just pick bad people but they used to be my friends, They were at times nice to me, we had fun…where did that go? Why did I end up getting called pathetic. Why did I get bullied. Why was I so easily used? They were my friends, I don’t get it, was I never theirs? But that girl, she wore a smile on her face, had friends to back her up and didn’t care about the world trying to swallow her. Each time one of those friends and I “grew apart” my world crashed. My backup was gone. My life was gone. I could feel myself closing up. But looking back I still want to be one of those girls with friends that would go shopping with me and talk to me and do what friends do,  I have friends, but the only close one is now my boyfriend and that I don’t think really counts-plus he hates going shopping.  I wish nothing had happened that I could still call Emmi up, but I can’t.(she moved and we hadn’t been friends for 2 years at that point) I am a different person when I am a runner, when I am at camp, when I go to school, when I am around different people. but which one of those people is me and how could they all be? The girl at camp-that’s her second home and suddenly she isn’t the germ freak she is everywhere else. Suddenly she is okay with spiders. Suddenly this weight is lifted of her shoulders and she stops pretending.

“I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both.”
― Robert Louis StevensonThe Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Looking back I have lived many lives and continue to do so, they all are me and I am all of them even if I don’t understand how yet.


They haunt you now

nothing left to change

you can’t go back


My favorite books(not in order)

1. Grandma Tortellini Makes Soup by Sharon Creech

2. Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech

3. True(sort of) by Katherine Hannigan

4. The Secret Language of Girls by Frances O’Roark Dowell

5. The Second Life of Abigail Walker by Frances O’Roark Dowell

6. Where I’d Like to Be by Frances O’Roark Dowell

7.  Dovey Coe by Frances O’Roark Dowell

8.  Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli

9. Every Soul a Star by Wendy Mass

10. When You Reach Me by Rebecca Stead

11. Once a Witch by Carolyn MacCullough

12. Drawing the Ocean by Carolyn Macullough

13. Our Strange New Land by Patricia Hermes

14. Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson

15. Animal Farm by George Orwell


“Alice,” Margret shook her sister, but it was no use. They had been trying to catch Alice’s Rabbit, Time, when she had fallen into a hole and hit her head. Alice’s blue dress was caked with mud, it soak through to Alice’s skin, yet she didn’t wake. The sirens came and went. Margret stayed as though Alice had never left. Finally her father made her stand and go home. She pretended her sister was on an adventure. Margret came up with stories of caterpillars and tea parties, Alice had always liked tea parties. She would make up occasions, just to have a tea party. In Wonderland as Margret began to call it, there was always a tea party waiting for Alice. Disappearing cats and evil queens enough to keep Alice busy, she was such a curious girl, solving one thing and moving on to the next. Finally, Alice woke up in Margret’s lap, Wonderland a mere dream.


The van rumbled up, the gravel hit the side. She took a deep breath. Her lips parted into a smile. Home, finally she was home. The van’s door was thrown open and everyone ran out onto the bridge. Their hollowed footsteps took her back to the snow, falling, losing her boot, getting back up with a wild smile and going down to eat spaghetti. The sweet smell of clover brought her back as they turned. On her left  flags waved brilliantly, next a garden of rocks, out behind they called this small valley the friendship bowl and to it’s right was a disappearing circle of pine. She had been there when most of the trees still stood tall and proud surrounding the fire. Moccasins danced around the flame, family, friendship, freedom.  That was gone like the trees, but some of it is clung to this place. She cried when her eyes fell on the stump. She remembered the tree that once stood there. The worn trunk that had shaped to the foot, the smooth branch that she had hung on like a sloth, until finally swinging her leg over the top and traveling to her spot. No one else sat there-claimed it was too uncomfortable, but for her it was just right. She could sit, two loops and weave through. Sometimes she would look up and watch first base, the totem pole. Sometimes she would join the game. A hundred years changes a place. She saw the change in ten. But it was still there, the magic. Not having enemies or worrying about what people think of you. This place was special. Untainted by age. Everyone was part of it, the magic.  Somehow no one in this place had left their childhood behind. They were still young, there was good there was bad, no shade of grey. They didn’t care if an eighteen year old liked pokemon, they encouraged it. They didn’t care that you knew every line of “Strangers like me,” they did too and sang along. This place was happiness, hope, forgiveness, and love.

Don’t Think About It

Her eyes dash about each way

Her lips start to move


there is nothing to say

  Continue reading


I love to sing. I have always identified myself as a singer. My exfriend, Amy is a singer too. We were in the same choir and she got the only solo- I was upset I didn’t get it, but my range is no longer first soprano. We grew apart and by that I mean she kicked me to the curb. I can give examples… But I am really trying not to be bitter. ANYWAYS She and I both auditioned for the school musical… I didn’t get in, she did(choir member). One of my friends, Nick, got a small role in the musical. And I am really happy for him, his voice has really improved and he deserves the role. I also have some friends working behind the scenes in tech crew. All of my friends want me to go to the musical. Normally it would be right up my ally. I wanted to go to the musical last year but couldn’t because I was busy.  I should go, support my friends, and have a good time…BUT the thought of it makes my stomach churn. I am fine with not getting in, I am fine that my friend got in, happy even, I am not fine that Amy got in. Why? Am I jealous? I wanted a role, but I am fine with not getting one, Have a lot on my plate anyways. But I can’t stand the thought of seeing her there.  Like she’s mocking me. Reminding me she’s better than me…idk. Am I jealous or what? Why do I care?


My stepdad holds up a wine glass. Brown water swashes daring to fall out. He is making a big fuss about the glass. I don’t understand. It’s just a dirty wine glass filled with water to wash it. That is, I don’t get it until he tells me that water came out of our sink, brown.

Just my dramatic account 🙂


Who am I?

Isn’t that a question we all ask our selves?

I am a writer(am I any good?), singer, figure skater, horse back rider(western style), an artist(well I can’t draw or paint or anything involving art but I try), a swimmer, a runner, an idiot, a genius, a bad speller, lover of history, hater of war, vegetarian, geek, cello player(though not very well), debater, mock trial person, and so many other things.

But these still don’t answer my question.

Who am I?

I am the girl who sings in the hallways, annoying people out of their minds. The girl who is so scared about falling back into the old me, the person who didn’t think, just did, the person who gave up herself to fit in. Yes, I get it, hearing me sing is annoying but if I don’t am I denying who I am? The girl who wants to sing and probably has the closest thing to living a real life musical? But if I try to be myself too much am I really being myself?

But these things still don’t answer my question


There is no answer to my question.

I am me. I change, I grow, I learn, over thinking it is part of being me, pretending to be who I am not is also part of being me, trying too hard to show the world who I am is part of being me.

In short

I am free

to be

who ever

I want

to look into

that mirror

to see.