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XOXO Author Girl
I've done it. I have finally done it. I faced my fears and I said what had been hanging over my head like a raining cloud for the last half a year. I dared to say what I thought for once instead of what everyone wanted to hear. I had the courage to say everything that didn't want to be heard, but needed to be said. And now, now I don't have to carry that weight with me, dragging me down with every step I take. Now I can feel free to stand at my fullest height and be alive.
If you want something, you have to work. You have to push until you can't push any further, and then keep going. You have to sweat a sea of effort before you can even begin to say that you did your best. It's not easy, but when you want something, and I mean really want something, you acknowledge those pros and cons, and you let the positives outweigh all of the negatives. You remind yourself just how much you really love it, and then all those small little details that seem to pester you day and night, dissolve into extinction.
Sleep. It's such a strange thing. When we're kids we want to stay up late and have fun and never go to bed, yet when we wake up in the morning the last thing we want is to leave the warm and comfortable cocoon that we have wrapped ourselves in. As teenagers we say that you can't get enough of it, that all we want is sleep, yet we still avoid it. Staying up late playing games, talking to friends. It's almost as if we want it, but are scared of it. How can we fear something we yearn for?
Feet roll up as muscles strain.
The weight of the world balancing on a few tiny bones.
Press down into the floor, and pull up to the sky.
Body feels light, even weightless.
Arms outstretch as if reaching for the unknown.
Fingertips brush what is out of reach.
Tulle flows and spins.
Spandex tight to the waist.
Eyelids flutter closed in the moment.
Mind soars to new and exciting places.
The feel is ineffable.
The beauty of dance.
I never knew just how much work this would take. I've done it before but not this intense.
Heels higher up.
Balance more centered.
Toes pointed more.
Bring your heel forwards.
Pinkies pointed downward.
Theory of this and that.
Hips down and forward.
Clench your abs.
Flex your bottom.
Brush the floor quickly.
Drag your foot up.
So many new and different, and extremely difficult things to think about. How in the world am I supposed to think of all of these things and move too?
The winds push against the windows and doors, trying to get in, trying to penetrate the warmth that is hidden inside. It swirls through the old snow creating the illusion of fresh precipitation falling. The cold bites at every square inch of skin that it can possibly find. It is so determined that it tries to slip through the minuscule cracks the doors and windows leave, seeping through the foundations and freezing every surface it can find. You know its been there by the spreading icy frost left behind on everything it touches. Leaving behind the slightest trace of existence.
Things are not always as they seem. The adorable guy who seems to be the nicest guy in the world, ends up being extremely rude. Your super amazing best friends who can do no wrong, but has been lying to you this whole time. The friend you thought forgot about you way back when, has really been missing you all along. People always have this secret side to them they seem scared to let show. Maybe its because they aren't sure if that's really who they are, or maybe they're scared of the harsh judgements this world has to offer.
I don't know what it is about public speaking but for some reason it always gets the butterflies in my stomach to flutter. I have no nerves about going in front of a huge crowd and dancing, group or solo. I don't feel a thing when I go on stage to sing. But for some reason the second I know I'm about to go in front of a class and give a speech my stomach explodes with the flapping of wings. My hands start to shake and I start to sweat. So how is speaking so much scarier than performing?
How on earth did I end up signed up for a food class? Foundations of Food. Yeah that sounds like a great idea. The girl who makes a gigantic mess every time she attempts to cook, is going to be in a graded cooking class. I'm excited to cook, because how else do you get food? But at the same time, this could end great, or terribly. And right now, I'm not sure which is more likely. But hey, if I'm looking on the bright side of things, which was a resolution of mine, I at least get to eat.
What is it about you? Why is it that no matter how hard I try to forget, there's always some little thing that makes that so impossible. Why can't I go through my everyday life without that failure being rubbed in my face? Why is it so hard for me to just move on with my life? Why is it that no matter what I try, nothing seems to work? Wasn't it hard enough initially, and now I have to relive it almost every day? Why am I letting all of this get to me? Why do i still care?
Stretch the pantyhose up my legs, creating a black tint to my tan skin.
Slip the soft silk over my head and smooth out the fabric.
Push my feet into false leather flats and cringe at the pain.
Spread the foundation over my face, covering all my imperfections.
Brush my lashes, so they are black and long.
I look nothing like I did when my eyes first opened.
I've created this outward lie of who I am.
I don't even recognize the person I once was.
Where have I gone to?
It seems as if all I do anymore is sleep. I calculate what time I need to be asleep by in order to have my eight hours of sleep, and make sure that no matter what I am asleep by then. On unscheduled weekends I go to bed late, just to wake up the next day wondering where the day has gone, wondering how on earth I am going to be able to get back to sleep in a mere hours. I've gotten to the point where I have finally realized that I am sleeping away thousands of missed opportunities.
I will always be right here.
But what when you disappear?
What then will I hear?
Who will calm my every fear?
Will anything ever be clear?
Who will wipe away the tear?
Who will clean behind my ear?
Will you ever again be near?
Will there then be no cheer?
Will I always live in low gear?
Who could wipe away the smear?
Will you still love me my dear?
Will you always be here?
The reason writing is so appealing is because, in truth you can never be wrong. You can write about any, and every emotion. Happiness. Sadness. Anger. Fear. Confusion. All of it. And as if that's not enough you can write about any THING. Tornadoes. Television. Apples. Whatever crosses your mind has the opportunity to be documented in words. And you can write in whatever style you want. Poetry. Paragraphs. Lyrics. It's almost impossible to be wrong in writing because there are no right and wrong answers. There's only the thoughts and feeling racing through your mind, put into your words.
I will never let them see me cry.
I will never show my pain.
It is nothing about being shy,
They wouldn't understand my brain.
I will never let them see the torment.
I will never show my tears.
They will never receive my consent,
To be witness to all my fears.
I must always be strong.
I can never let it show.
Some may think it wrong,
But only I will ever know.
This is me.
Now you see.
I am free.
I don't know what it is about some people who I can't help but just loose my temper with. I always try to keep it under control, and rarely does my anger ever pour out of my mouth, but for some reason there are a select few people who barely have to look at me for my blood to boil over. And what can I do to stop it? I've tried. It never ends well. So instead I let it all come out and I say some things that I can honestly say I regret, so how do I stop?
Kids always talk about what they want to be "when I grow up" but do we ever really grow up? When I was a girl I wanted to be a teacher. Now here I am getting ready for college, and the only thing I have wanted to be, I don't know about. I know nothing about what I want to do. And it seems like an awfully difficult decision to decide what I want to study and do for the rest of my life. Can't I just "go with the flow" and do whatever life decides to throw at me?
It seems all I want to do today is sit down. Even if its only for twenty minutes. I have danced all day. I have changed my clothing at least five times now. I have done crew things: carried things, set props. And now the only thing I want to do is give my muscles a break and just sit down and be able to think about absolutely nothing. I want to give my body and my mind a break and no longer have to think about what's coming next, let everything in my head fade to nothing at all.
I've developed an obsession with The Phantom of the Opera. Somewhere along the way I heard the song "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" and I related to the song on such an intimate level that simply hearing if a few times I have most of it memorized, and it has become somewhat of a comforting song when all I want to do is wish the he was somehow here again. I've become attached to the song and can't help but hum it as I go, can't help but listen to it over and over again and feel its meaning.
It's funny how much of an affect something like words can have on us. We always used to say "sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me" but I can't help but to find that ridiculously untrue. Words have a way of cutting us where physical objects never could. They leave scratches and holes in our souls and float around in our minds flowing in front of our eyes, bringing back all of the pain over and over again. Every time you remember it, it hits you and brings back all the pain over again.
I'm getting really sick of UPS. Why can't they just deliver when they say that they are going to? Or they could not tell me that they are going to deliver it until the day they actually are... Twice now I have checked on the day it was said to arrive, only to find that its supposedly going to be delivered the next day. Its the next day. And still UPS has yet to come. This is why I ship through FedEx. Ugh. How many more days am I going to look at my front door and find only disappointment?
"You never know what you have until it is gone"
has never been more real for me. Me and my sister never got along, we were always at each others throats. It was rare when we weren't trying to kill each other. But now that she has gone and moved away I've realized that I don't have her here to talk to everyday. Sure, she texts me once in a while, but it's not quite the same. It seems that now that we are farther away in distance, we've become so much closer in our relationship.
It seems to me that live isn't just flowing by, it's rushing. One minute I'm 16, the next I'm 21, the next I'm over the hill. I don't know what it is, but looking towards the future scares me. Maybe it's all the change that I know is coming, maybe I'm not ready, maybe the unknown of it all is just too much to handle. I don't want to look back on the past, I don't want to worry about the future, but that's awfully hard when the present reminds me of the past, and alerts me of the future.
It's finally Friday. Thank God. I am ready for this week to be over, and the weekend to start. I'm ready to sit around and relax and not have to stress over all of the things that I do during the week. I'm ready to leave all of my cares behind and just relax for a few days. Catch up on some sleep, read some of my book, watch a movie. I'm ready for all of this stress thats pulling me down to just melt away into nothing. I'm ready to be weightless, even if it's just a few days.
Early mornings really aren't my thing. If the sun hasn't risen yet, then neither should I. But sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the things we love, and the people we care about. So yes, it may be before six o'clock in the morning, and yes, the sun may still be sleeping, and yet here I am, starting up my car so I can drive fifteen minutes to get on a bus to ride for an hour to go to a competition. I may be tired, but hey, once in a while the early mornings are actually worth it.
The harsh white snow blankets the ground in layers piling higher with each storm.
The blistering wind blows the snow into mountainous drifts.
The clear ice covers concrete surfaces making every step cautious and slippery.
Temperatures slowly drop lower and lower causing an arctic feeling to consume and fill the air.
Diaphanous frost covers windows and doors drawing pictures of wintery wonderlands.
Skin turns red and cold when it comes into contact with the blistering outdoors.
Layers upon layers are placed on in attempts to protect us from the ever potent cold of winter.
My beautiful kitten is the sweetest thing to ever walk this earth. Sure she has her moments, but somehow she always pulls through in the end. When voices are raised, she comes to see what the problem is. When I am feeling lost and alone, she comes to my side to keep me company and comfort me with her wordless love. And when I go to sleep, she comes into my room to purr softly to lull me into a dream filled sleep. I may never know how she knows what helps me, but somehow she does and she's there.
It's funny, a human's lust for companionship and comfort. Why is it that no matter how hard we try to be solitary and independent creatures, we still need the company of other people or animals? Why is it that even when we tell ourselves that we are fine, we still feel lonely? And what is lonely? Is it not feeling another's presence with our own? Is it not having contact with others? Or is it simply something that our mind is telling us, is it saying that even if we don't want to, we need the other people around us?
No matter what language, that number is still cursed. That number marks the worst day of my life, the day it all fell through. That number reminds me of the feeling of my heart shattering into thousands of tiny pieces, each one splintering a different piece of me. It's an evil number. It brings nothing good with it. Only the horrors and hauntings of my nightmares. It means the end. Not just of a life, but of the hopes and dreams of a little girl.
Ugh. If there's such thing as hating writing, it for silly things like essays for an English class. Especially when you have no connection to the topic. It's awfully hard to get excited and have much of an opinion on something that doesn't really affect, or interest you. I don't see why we can pick topics that are interesting to us and actually have an effect on our lives. But hey, whatever. I'm not an English teacher so maybe there's some secret reason behind all of the weird stuff they make us do that we don't know yet. Who knows?
The last day. Another month has come to another end. A lot of things have happened this month, all of those things behind me now. And I can't really say that I'm sad to see them go. The past is the past they say, but how can the past be the past when it's such a big part of your future? Sure we want to move on, or some of us want to keep focusing on what has happened, but isn't the best way to move forward to look back at you past and accept it for what it is?
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