I wonder how a coming-of-age character would describe me
What's the first thing they'd notice? 
Would it be my hazel eyes?
My dyed hair? 
The ever expanding rotation of band tee shirts I collect? 
How superficial would our story be, I wonder
Or would they notice my 
My passions
The way I write in my own form of cursive
How I scrunch my nose when I laugh
Or the way I eat with my left hand but wear hairties on the right 
I wonder 
What's my relevance to their goodness? 
What do I have to do with this? 
Perhaps I am coming of age myself

What's your planet like?
I wanna know
Where are you when your head's in the clouds
I want to learn every little detail
Where do you go when you're spaced out?
I wanna be your Earth girl

1. What is your favorite genre to write? 
2. What is your favorite genre to read? 
3. What draws you to the WtW community? 
4. What do you find most challenging about writing?
5. Most exhilarating?  
6. What is one goal that you have for yourself while here? 

1.  Poetry. Any kind of poetry. Lately I have been writing songs for my band or just random poems
2.  I love reading anything. Novels, comics, grocery lists. I'm a huge fan of John Green, Marissa Meyer, and Alice Oseman. 
3.  I want to put my unintelligible thoughts into words that other people can relate to. This is my way of being listened to. 
4.  Finding the perfect words and rearranging things. I get frustrated if something doesn't go with another line exactly how I thought.
5.  The way I can take a few simple thoughts and expand on them and present however I want to. 
6.  Maybe get more confident about sharing my writing. 

I have a query. The thought has lingered in my mind for a while now. I sit alone, in my room, in the dark, on the floor and think about it. I sit in my living room, bursting with laughter, family members desperately trying to get my attention, and I think about it. I lay in my bed, sprawled out, under the covers, and think about it. Everyone I know tells me, "Enjoy it. You're too young. You're naïve. You're a child, act like it." I can't just enjoy it. Yes, I'm happy. Yes, I'm young. But if I'm naïve, there shouldn't be so much weight on me. 

I sit alone, in my room, in the dark, on the floor, wondering,

are these really the best years of my life?

Matthew Gray Gubler is one of my favorite people.

My Gubler man. one of the few men I would let have a bite of my spaghetti. He makes me laugh so hard at the most random hours. In fact, I am laughing because of him while I write this essay. He says the most hilarious quotes and keeps genuine human teeth in his house. His energy is a mix of a college student who is very done with everyone and everything, a grandpa, and a small child who has Dr. Pepper being pumped through his veins. He is very goofy and makes me and millions of others chuckle until our sides hurt. 

He is also Simon in Alvin and the Chipmunks. 
 
Thank you 
 

I feel bad for doing this
I can't talk to you anymore
Or even see your face
Hear your name
Without being shoved into 
Thorns of upsetting thoughts
The roses have disappeared
I wonder if they ever bloomed at all
Perhaps to cover the corpse of rotting vines that stand in their place 

Why did they shrivel up? 
Where did they go?
Who ripped the life off of the blooms?
Maybe they were drowned
Could've been 
Could've been

I feel bad for doing this
I hope your roses grow back as daisies 
And mine as irises 

Verse 1
 
You left me so haunted 
You left me so numb
You left me feeling wounded
And now you're on the run
 
(Chorus)
You said that I'm your favorite
Why'd you have to lie
I'd give you 20 reasons
But you'd still say goodbye.
Your scent still haunts my lungs 
I miss holding you close
I thought we were forever
But now you're just a ghost
 
(Verse 2)
You used to wrap me up
In your sweet little lies
Can't fall asleep now 
Without seeing your eyes

(Chorus again) 
 
(Bridge) 
Now it's getting late
You still roam the halls
And once in a while
I want you to call
Now it's getting late
I still wear your clothes
To feel close to you
But now you're just a ghost
 
(Verse 3)
You still haunt my dreams now
I cannot escape
Can't even be alone now 
I gotta medicate

The way I think about you is so
Difficult.
We don't talk 
And I hate that I let you infect my mind
And I hate that you still come into my mind every time I mess up
But I don't hate you. 
I love the people you led me to
I love the friendships I've built 
But I don't love you anymore. 

 

You have a sunflower smile
It radiates positivity from your roots,
Then out into the world
It shines bright, even on the cloudiest of days

You have eyes so green 
The trees and the grass wish they were such a magnificent color
The lakes and the ponds weep at how lovely they are
Your secret tears are blessed to even come from a source so beautiful

I am privileged to call you someone I love

Today
Today was a special day
Today held the first morning
Today
That you were not my initial thought 
Today 

Today was a special day

3 WEEKS, 6 HOURS, 12 MINUTES, 2 SECONDS BEFORE RUNNING, 8 DAYS AFTER THE INVITATION

Finally, it's lunch. The only period I get to see Cecelia at school. We had a few classes together last year, but our classes (even though they are literally the same subject) are spread out time-wise. It sucks. At least I get to see her here. And of course, our other friends except for Astrid and Mark.
We sit down in our usual spot by the windows, but 2 tables away from them diagonally. We're not really by the windows anymore since the school added more seats in the cafeteria. It sure is nicer. Just more crowded.

"Hello my wonderful geeks!" Flinch comes up to us with his cheeky smile. "What is the happening?'

Flinch and Cece have been friends since second grade. He's was very nerdy and out of the ordinary. Now he still is, but runs a talk show podcast thing. He and...

I'm sorry
I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend
I'm sorry I wasn't a better classmate.
I would've listened. 
But you didn't mean to hurt me
Or our friends
I know you didn't because you have one of the sweetest souls
You sat next to me 
And you listened
I'm sorry I couldn't return the favor
I'm sorry I didn't get to hug you one last time
I'm sorry that I never told you how much I appreciate you
I miss you 
Every
Single 
Day

My drawstrings keep me safe 
I have a place to hide
I feel so overwhelmed
And so I crawl inside
In this sweatshirt
I am safe
I don't have to witness
How my whole world breaks 
It crashes and there's shards 
All over the floor 
As soon as I look out
You're already halfway out the door 
I really can't bear having you leave
And I really hate the fact
Without you, I can't breathe
I'll learn to inhale
I will be fine
The hardest part is
Healing takes time

1 MONTH, 8 DAYS, 4 HOURS, 34 MINUTES, 8 SECONDS BEFORE

I get a phone call from my mom. She's probably calling me again for the fifth time this week to tell me about my "responsibilities" and how I'm just so "lazy". 
"Hello? Hello young lady? Why didn't you do the dishes like I asked? You could've at least rinsed your plate after dinner."

"Sorry, Mom. I forgot. I'm on my way home from school right now. I'll do them as soon as I get there."

"Forget it. I already did. I have to work a late shift tonight, so don't forget to feed the dogs and your little siblings. And for God's sake please, please, rinse off your dishes when you're done."

She pretends she's the victim in all this. Ever since Dad left, I have to do everything. "Yeah, yeah. I will." 

"Love you, Cecelia."

She hangs up and now I'm irritated because she always makes me do...

I'm so happy you got out from the landslide that I was. 
Unscathed
Unchanged
Because I
Who once stood tall, 
A proud mountain of beauty and skill and talent
Am now the deepest, most deadly valley you could possibly imagine. 
I've eroded from your acid rain words 
I try to build myself up
But with every drop you still manage to cause my crumbling 
You run away and say you were not the one to scream such sour sobs 
That I had to pretend I was not cracking when your frequencies were so loud. 
You said you knew me
What you knew was not me but a husk that looked like me
That sounded and imitated the perfect little gem you wanted. 
I am not a gem, but a mountain once again. 
A mountain who grew themselves with the help of other occurrences in nature. 
Each person I come across, I have learned, plants a seed
A violet, a hyacinth, a...

Running. That's all I know how to do. I have to keep going. My legs feel fragile; like they could break at any second. The sharp, cold air stings my arms through the holes in my jacket. My head hurts. My heart pounds in my ears so loudly and so quickly it could become a dance beat to a pop song at the mall. I can't think about the mall right now. I need to focus on running. I never knew this day would come. I hoped it never would. 


1 MONTH, 8 DAYS, 26 MINUTES, 4 SECONDS BEFORE

"God," Cecelia sighed. "Why does she assign so much homework? I swear to God, she's setting us up for failure!" 

"Maybe stop staying up so late reading arguments on Reddit." I chuckle.
"Oh shut it, Reese. At least I have a hobby." I could hear her typing and clicking her mouse. "That's some hobby you got. Sounds like everyone's idea of...

Your thoughts are the lavish furniture pieces you have collected over the years
Your mind is that small, crowded room 
I am wandering around in the dark of the house that is your head
No flashlight, no candle
Only silhouettes of furniture that are not what they seem 
I try to see
Try to listen
To feel around
But the furniture is moved around and distorted with every step forward
I take two steps back, I trip
Take a step forward, get shoved into the wall
I am trying to feel and see you not for the sea of furniture
But for your beautiful architecture and your cabinets of gold
"I'm scared"
You say because you fear I won't like the house you call a mess
Trust me, my house is messy too
You cower in disdain for the dust that leaves a blanket over the sills and ceiling fan
My house is nowhere near clean, my dear
We can...

A common question for people to ask others is "what's your favorite song?"

I always have the same answer. I can not possible choose just one. I feel so many different feelings for so many different songs. A song with a beat that fuels my brain and sparks my thoughts could easily rival another that fuels my soul with its lyrics. I believe all songs are good in their own right. I could listen to a song on the radio and not relate to it at all but still enjoy it and think of the song highly. I could also be alone on the floor of my room at two in the morning listening to a song whose lyrics play my heartstrings like a cello and respect it just as much. Why must I be limited to one? To five? Why have a limit at all? There are infinite songs that have yet to be heard. Why limit myself to...

T'was the night before Christmas
All were asleep
Including the mouse
From her there was no peep

She was a small mouse, 
Less than a gram
But she heard a loud noise 
A big one, like BLAM

A big, burly man
In a large red suit
She saw this man's feet
Man, those are big boots

She was very curious,
This little mouse
She'd never seen this big guy
Inside the even bigger house

Oh, but this man
He wasn't bad
He came with a sack
A very large bag

He looked at the tree
Or was it a bush?
But he saw Little mouse 
And gave her a shush

She nodded politely
He nodded back
He offered her something
Oh! It's a snack!

A bit of sugar cookie
It was her favorite
She danced in glee
She knew she must savor it

And so the man left
After leaving some toys
oh how grateful they'll be!
The children, girls,...

A picture is worth a thousand words
But what are a thousand words worth?
I could write a thousand useless, unenthusiastic words
Would they mean a single thing?

I could also write every single word that comes to mind 
It would be worth nothing

I believe a thousand words might not be as valuable as we thought
The words need a melody of feelings, 
A rhythm of emotion,
Chords consisting of memories new and old

A word is worth nothing in itself with nothing to back it

A picture is only worth the value you give it
And the words are only expensive as your thoughts

She always smelt of lilacs
A geyser of fresh air
Purple radiated off of her
Dancing around what I knew her to be

Then the gray came
The smoke filled all of our lungs 
I couldn't breathe
Smoke doesn't care

The fire only spreads and spreads until the
Rain
Or until everything is charcoal 
And there's nothing left except the scars 

She smelt of cinder and soot 
Until she didn't
and that was the last we ever saw of her

We clung to her silhouette 
All the ashes she left us
An ember we will never forget
The orange spark we saw that burned our minds

I'm too old
I'm barely grown

I have infinity
My time is up

My life passed me by
When will this moment stop?

Why do I write? A question I ask myself constantly to feel anything. If I had to give one reason, I probably wouldn't. There are so many words I could piece together to explain why I write, but none of them would quite hit the mark. I write for a billion different reasons that even I, the person bleeding out my soul onto this piece, can and will not comprehend. I guess I write because it's as simple as "it makes me happy". But we all know it will never be that simple. I have so many thoughts that run marathons around the vast yet limited existence that is my mind. Somehow they never get tired. I want the race to stop: I want the sound of pounding, aching, restless feet in my ears to stop. When I write, it slows those runners down. The runners can run onto the page along with my blood, heart, soul, and all I...

I didn't need help counting
But you were my number line
My one, my one hundred, my thousand
My infinity and more

You were my small decimals that I got to appreciate and 
Never
Leave
Until I had to count on my own.

I knew I didn't need help counting 
But it still helps to have a number line
Perhaps in another timeline or 
A completely separate number line

We will meet again

I want to run 
The thoughts always seem to catch up
We aren't racing
The thoughts are malevolent
They have beautifully laced daggers 
Blades of hatred aimed towards myself

When they reach me 
My heart will make the cry of a raven as I fall to the floor
I can't make a sound
The slightest movement will ache and burn as everything I thought I am
Spills onto the floor

Or
My heart will sing the song of a thousand blue birds
My soul will fly free into the air 
And I will let it
Then the thoughts can't capture me unless Thoughts leave too

For now I will keep running
My feet will pound as hard as I can before my soul will fly the nest 
My lungs will expand and they will freeze
I will find routes to run so my thoughts never catch me with their
beautifully
laced
daggers

I want to run 
The thoughts always seem to catch up
We aren't racing
The thoughts are malevolent
They have beautifully laced daggers 
Blades of hatred aimed towards myself

When they reach me 
My heart will make the cry of a raven as I fall to the floor
I can't make a sound
The slightest movement will ache and burn as everything I thought I am
Spills onto the floor

Or
My heart will sing the song of a thousand blue birds
My soul will fly free into the air 
And I will let it
Then the thoughts can't capture me unless Thoughts leave too
 

You were the monster under my bed at night 
And I
Couldn't fall asleep
You were the boogey man hiding in the dark
And I
Tried counting sheep

You convinced me I was safe
You didn't want the glass to break
And now it's all around shattered to pieces

You told me I was never good
You said some things you never should
And now you're on the ground wanting me back

You can't take me back

The blue curtains still sit there in the empty window
They’re soft and pale
They are reminiscent of the way your r
(i)
ch skin glowed
Gentle pricks of purple th
(a)
t lived free in the one
(m)
oment there was
The moon came in gentle; joy soaking in every tiny piece of you
The lights were low, but your gold eyes made
(s)
pirits live high
Your
(o)
nce smooth and wa
(r)
m skin, full of love
Now drenches the cu
(r)
tains in the exhaustion that is defined as Sadness
I smell the sickening sweetness of oranges and dead hope
The walls are a sick, depression colored prison
The window is a slight perk with although the paint is a poor, peeling white
It once lived clean like
 (y)
ou did
What you had was sweet but brought our quiet demise.

For every person, there is a set of undefined numbers. The first, the second, those were the easiest. Then, the world got increasingly difficult in the given blink of an eye. We were all assigned numbers, whether we know it or not. Not a physical number or one we can see. I know it's there. Numbers are our world, even if we are a child refusing a dose of math cough medicine. We get numbers whether we want to or not. You can't choose to accept it. You have to. The amount of inhales and exhales we get, the beats in our hearts, the people we meet. We are given numbers in every given amount of languages. We have given ourselves numbers for how many words we get to string together to say things we want, but even then we are given so little ways to describe ourselves accurately in one fell swoop. Our days seem infinite and they are...

Am I really here? Could I be a figment of an imagination so distant from me that I can't find where to start? Or am I simply here? I may as well just be a speck of dust in the back of someone's multiverses. I could also be my own imagination in a body that forgot about me. I make up stories all the time so why couldn't a bigger, more complex version of me create this life that I live. From every strand of hair to every person I see in the corner of my eye, could it all just be the discarded pieces of my tangents in the bigger "real world"? Or am I just here to serve as a background character who was given too much backstory and half a brain? I lay in my bed and I wonder if I am really here and if maybe for some good reason, I am supposed to be here....

Her eyes shine the way the sun does. They almost hurt to look at. She is painstakingly beautiful. But the sun cannot see herself in the mirror. Her tears are the small pieces of stardust that float about, not caring at all. They shine but they are silent. Her silent pain soaks into the sheets but she must remain silent or she will send meteors to strike planets, causing irreversible damage. If she does, the people will look through their velvet curtains of blue and realize how important the sun is. She provides warmth and makes everything grow. If she remains silent, the moon will rise but the stars will evaporate. The moon will embrace the sun, and everyone will see the moon glowing in happiness. A lunar eclipse will result. Sadly, the fates have cursed my sun and I cannot embrace her until another millennium has passed and only then she will decide if she wants to be embraced...