I Shouldn't But I Do

I'm kind of in a bind,

Stuck at home watching my phone,

Waiting for you to call,

Wishing you would pick up the phone,

Please pick up the phone,

To text me, joke with me,

Flirt with me?

Are you flirting,

Or am I just a diversion from the

Mundanity of the day when you get home from work.

When you get home from work, do you smile?

Are you happy, are you tired, are you depressed?

Are you mild?

Are you something more than just

What I see when you walk by

Doing your job, but sending me smiles?

When you get home, am I

On your mind

The way you're always on mine?

Don't you think you'd need a break

After all the time you spend

Haunting my every thought and every daydream?

Do you even know

That you're the very definition of

Everything I should I avoid?

Do you even know

That I am spending

My spare time wishing

That you would make your move?

You're older and wiser

More experienced than me the way everyone is.

What would you expect from me,

And yet I'd like to know.

I don't think I'd live up to your ideals,

But I'd like to try and show you how much fun

Depression can be.

And I shouldn't,

Oh my goodness I shouldn't,

But I do. And I want to.

Oh my goodness do I want to.

I want nothing more than to,

I want to, I want to, I want to. You're so

Well you're nothing I'd usually go for.

You're nothing I would usually want

But I'm empowered.

I'm brave, and sure, and I am entirely myself.

And I shouldn't,

Oh my goodness I shouldn't,

But I do. Oh my god I do.

He Doesn't Like Me (and Other Things I'm Trying Not to Think About)

I promise I'm not bragging when I tell you the following: I've never had an unrequited crush in which I legitimately caught feelings for someone. Until now, that is, as far as I know, because I don't know he doesn't like me. In fact, I have every reason to believe he DOES except that he a) hasn't texted me; b) acted weird last time we talked; and c) is way older than me, way older than me, way older than me, except that I don't actually know how old he is. What I do know is what we've said to each other and the brief hints he's given to my friends. But how substantial can an assumption-- well, hope, really, if we're being honest here. Because I shouldn't get butterflies when he texts me, I shouldn't hope he will, because the thing is I don't even really know him.
But I want to. He talks differently to me; softer, and he leans in, and the clearness of his eyes, with their gentle buzz and their secrecy and the interest they hold when he talks to me, one on one...

But I'm trying not to think about it, because let's be honest it's a night and  day kind of thing. I've been writing slam poetry lately and naturally I wrote one about him; I'm thinking of writing a song about it tonight... Because I am everything I would have thought he would never want. I wore a Cinderella costume to school today, for Queen's sake; and it wasn't even an adult costume like come on. I mix patterns, I laugh loudly, and I write strange songs and serenade somewhat strangers because my friend had a bad day and it would make her happy.

I'm older now; I know better than to try to orchestrate some kind of romance; the cutesy ploys that casually happen in books are creepy when carefully executed in real life. It's something you can only learn from experience. It's weird to think I'm basically an adult; people come to me for advice because I'm older and wiser; I'm that senior people look up to in band because I started where they are now and look how far I've gotten. So I know better than to make decisions based on whether or not I'm going to see him because I don't need him and I don't even know him, and my happiness is not worth a sacrifice for others; I wear what I want and do what I want because I have a reason and if that reason's good enough than it's good enough.

But he texts me and boom-- actual legitimate butterflies, that make me wonder if I ever actually had that before. And this is of course the worst possible time with the worst possible person, because he terrifies me and the idea of him is exciting and new. But that's all I have; an idea of him, of who I think he is and who I expect him to be. But I don't know him and I don't pretend to, and I don't know how long these butterflies will last.

There was one guy I dated who worked at a place I frequented; when I made faces at him, he'd ignore them. Maybe he thought they were childish, or foolish, or just a silly little high school girl giving him a fun time who he can dump as soon as the honeymoon phase ends. And this boy and I are barely acquaintances, and yet here I am daydreaming about him, writing about him... Because he makes faces at me first when we catch each other looking at each other.

What scares me about this is that for the first time I am completely myself and I don't want to be thinking about this. Because I feel completely myself and he seems interested. And I know better now than to compromise who I am for someone-- especially a boy.

But a mutual person in our lives-- she's seen me be torn up by his predecessor, and she and I aren't friends, and she claims no judgement but how stupid would I be to step up, go after another mutual person, and end up broken in the same way. Because she was so incredibly sweet, and I don't want her to... No, she won't judge. And even if she does...

I don't know; I guess it's always complicated... but come on, come on, come. On. We're barely acquaintances, but he makes me feel...

Hmm.

xo
R
forever and always

Prospects

It's no secret that I go to Starbucks regularly, that I know the people who work there and have a regular order, and people know where they can find me. I'm there enough there are people I've just met through there.

I'm single now, so let's talk prospects. Let's go through a single visit to Starbucks.

1.

I drive a bug, which I think is really indicative of my character. People who drive bugs are little old ladies, secure young men, and teenage girls with free smiles. Driving a bug, a bug that is bright blue, a bug in a color that isn't common, means people know me when I'm driving. (Side note: in addition to the situation I'm about to describe, this also means that people know when I do stupid things driving, and thus it keeps me accountable.) Which is unfortunate when I do stupid things, like try to go at a stop sign out of turn. Which is what happened that day, but the other driver waved me on and instantly I knew who it was; we'll call him Cullen (a kind of inside joke). Cullen, who I went to a school dance with, Cullen who I hear the girls gossiping about; it was just one of many situations in which I got the guy that everyone wanted, promptly lost him, and never knew why I had him. I mouthed a thank you, shot him my best attempt at a dazzling smile. He gave me an "okay" with his fingers, looking straight ahead with a lopsided smile, and I laughed a little.

I really did have my chance, but it was the usual high school situation; you're cute, borrow his coat, ask him to the dance, force him to define you as friends or more, take a turn about the floor (complete with slow song), then watch it crash and burn very promptly. Or rather, sizzle out in silence until one of us braved up enough to call it what it was: absolutely nothing.

I resigned myself to that when it happened. But saying he's not ridiculously cute would be a lie, so there it is, out there and clear. God save me if he finds this at all.

2.

I stepped out of my car-- I like to pretend when I'm getting out of the car that I'm someone like Taylor Swift; that the wind is blowing through my hair and someone's watching my glamorous life. Not so much because I'm dreaming, but more because the daydream is fun. It's not that I don't like life in the suburbs, because I do; just today as I drove to the chiropractor I was struck with just how ordinary my life is, how normal I am; wearing cheap leggings, a Victoria's Secret tee shirt I bought on deal for 5 bucks and (because I'm just that "basic") wear religiously. I smile at children jumping into their parents' minivans, at the little boy in his karate uniform, at the women and their dogs, merrily padding along beside their owners. But that was today, and today was different.

The second Prospect- we'll call him Topper (because I would die if he found this and read it and yes that's an over exaggeration, but, you know, it's funny). I get out of my car and my hair is catching the wind, I look over in that dramatic way, which should not be a mark of how fabulous I am but rather my unwitting luck that day. Luck I would have loved, if I weren't, again, newly single and still hung up on it. 

So Topper's leaving Starbucks, he steps out of the store and for a second he's headed to his left. But he catches my eye, and he moves to the crosswalk I'm about to cross. He waits on his side, and I wait on mine, knowing we'll cross in the middle and hoping I can get through it without giving him the wrong impression. Because we've talked before, for hours, and I'm sure somewhere in those minutes there was some semblance of flirting, no doubt accidental on my part, with questionable intentions on his.

As we cross he says something to me, something joking and so casual I can't remember it so few days later. He elbowed me, and the driver of the car waiting for us to clear the cross walk smirked a bit. It wasn't surprising for him to joke with me, but, I mean, he changed his path. Some kind of friendship, eh?

3.

In my day I have flirted with so many more people who work at Starbucks than I really care to admit, not because I have a type or because I am like gravitated towards them, but because I'm apparently (and unwittingly) a natural flirt; I can't try to flirt but it turns out I'm really good at it.

So he works behind the counter, as most of the Starbucks workers I've flirted with do. We'll call him Gideon. I don't think he's particularly that cute, but that may be a lie I'm telling myself because I'm not allowed to flirt with him because a really nice girl I hope to stay friends with (it's a tentative acquaintanceship) called dibs on him.

And he's a flirt; he's a frat boy and it comes with the territory. Sure, it's one of the dorkier frats on his own account, but still. He's a flirt, and I'm not actually all that interested, and my friend called dibs.

So you have the first prospect, Cullen, who I can't see because a) been there, done that, failed; and 2) I am his superior in band and I don't want to go there. And then there's Topper, who I'm a) not interested in; 2) so much younger than; and 3) who I don't particularly like. Boys who befriend you in Starbucks not also the most harmless. And then there's Gideon, who I a) am not attracted to; and b) am not allowed to be with.

Throw in King George (obviously not his real name), the only boy I want and the one I really, really cannot have, and throw in myself, the one person I need to love unconditionally,  and I'm in a bit of a messy place right now.

And for the first time in a long time, I don't want to date. Maybe it's because the only person I want to date right now is even further than the miles between us. He's absolutely gone. And that part of me is too, I guess, so. You know, there's that. But that part of me is just the part that loved him, and yeah, it's still "leaving the building" so to say, but at least it was just that part.

I want the dates and the romance without the heartbreak, without the pain, without the ending. I want the first date butterflies, the stolen first kiss and the sweet words. But I don't need that; I don't need any of that. I am strong enough on my own. I am good enough on my own.

Maybe this is what being a woman is supposed to be like. Maybe this is adulthood.

xoxo

R

An Open Note To Our Rivals

Tonight is senior night for the marching band, for our cheerleaders, for our color guard, and for our pommers. Tonight is our last regularly scheduled home game, and it is also our game against our rivals.

Historically, our rival hood hasn't always been a healthy one. In a regular environment, a rival hood is good. Gets the school spirit up, gets people excited for the games, gives us something to talk about. But ours isn't good; you spray painted our buildings, egged our students, chant insulting things at our games during recognition ceremonies. Sure, we're not innocent in it either, but here's the thing: this isn't okay. This is childish and rude and so ridiculous; we're high schoolers, not immature idiots.

Tonight I will walk across the field with my parents by my side, after four years of dedication and hard work, after four years of spending 17 hours days at school making it easier for everyone in marching band. After two years of standing in front of the band, leading and conducting and fixing problems. Two years of going home from practices either unbelievably happy or reduced to tears from the frustration and the mean words; either way, absolutely exhausted. Two years of spending practices and games running and conducting until I couldn't raise my arms. Two years of holding hands, wiping tears, giving advice, and solving conflicts.

Tonight I will walk across the field; tonight is the night I've been looking forward to, working towards for four years. Today is the day I've been dreaming of, what I've thought will be one of the highlights of my senior year, and I'm worried that the student section of our rivals won't respect our senior night. And I can honestly say that I will be devastated if they don't. Maybe it would be different if I didn't work so hard, sacrifice so much, for four years. Maybe it would be different if I wasn't so dedicated to marching band. I will be devastated because I, and everyone else walking tonight, deserve respect. We deserve respect not even because of our achievements but because we're human beings.

Please... please please please be respectful tonight. Be respectful of every senior who has spent four years dedicated to our school, the way you respect your seniors.

Please.

R

Where I'm At (And How I Got Here)

Hey there, hotstuff.

Let's have a bit of chat, just like old times. We'll start with today and work our way back. Sound good?

So I woke up today. Surprise beginning, huh? Anyways, it's one of those days today. One of those days when you everyone seems to have conspired together to be stupid and block the streets (I'm talking to you, group of five freshmen boys on bikes who stopped in the middle of the freaking street and didn't move no matter how long I waited there with my car), or be selfish sons of bitches (no it wasn't your turn to turn... maybe I could have forgiven you if you'd used a turn signal you freaking... ugh), or just be general assholes (yes, I'm talking to you, abnormally tall grown-ass man who couldn't stop talking on the phone long enough to be a decent person to the person taking your Starbucks order). I'm having an amazing hair day, which is great, and I just got a piano (more on that later), and my Fourth of July kicked star-spangled ass (what up!), but right now, let's talk about where I am and how I got here.

It was another one of those days.

I've been having a lot of those these last few weeks, days when everyone around me seems to have gotten a memo to screw us over. But when people try your patience, they also build it. So when I went to drum major camp and learned about the importance of attitude, I really changed. That week really changed me, and that isn't an understatement. I love my family, I really do. However, they are constantly testing my patience. I absolutely love my mom but she asks me so many questions, and I love my sister but she crowds me, and I love my dad but... I'm sure there's something he does that drives me insane but I can't think of it now. Now that I'm this version of me, however, I can maintain my cool now. Because my mom's questions are well-meaning and my sister just loves me, and whatever my dad does that bothers me is probably unintentionally annoying.

So I got here going through middle school feeling alone and ignored, and I went through my last few years of high school trying to find my place in the marching band. It's already not considered cool (generally speaking) to be in marching band. But add on top of that the fact that I'm absolutely dedicated to it, and I'm basically the queen of the band nerds. The problem here is everyone in band telling me that I'm either a really important member of band, or a bitch.

And what I just now realized is that I'll never have any other high school experience. I'll only have the one that I do have, full of shakos and unattractive jumpsuits, and Portillos runs after games. I spend so much time at band, I give up so much of myself for it.

So I've gotten here, to the summer before my last school of high school, facing so much pressure about where I'm going when how I got here was pretty rough, and I'm only just now starting to be really proud of who I am. So I got here, and here I am, and this is who I am, and I'm so happy. I'm happy, but those days keep coming.

That's how I got here.

Now the question is, where am I going?

xoxo
R

Paper Dolls

He came into her life like a whirlwind storm,

Leaving all of her inhibitions torn.

Curtains open, let's set the scene

Her eyes fell on fair Persephone.

With eyes like other-world stars

And his heart still stained with underworld scars.

So bright they hurt his darkened eyes,

Black with years of terrible lives.

For every soul that he had seen

Every soiled and horrid, terrible being

Crawling before him, red letter scorned,

Begging of him as he sat on that throne.

That throne cast of fury and might

Of loves labors lost that he neglected to fight.

He's a judge of sorts, the dealer of cards

And what he has in his hand-- he's worked so hard,

An King and a Queen and an ace up his sleeve,

But those eyes make quick work of their thievery.

Like descending winding stairs,

Down and down, more than her share,

Stealing his heart and his eyes and his smile

And getting away with it for a while.

But what he can't know is his eyes do the same,

Their sooty footprints dirty her frame.

And she smirks as she feels herself let him in,

Opens the door built just for him.

Alls theres a smokescreen, a pretty facade

Built out of cardboard and torn paper dolls--

The ghosts of her childhood, her loves, and her laughs,

And he ate them up, thinking them glass.

But then there's a flicker, and she sees in his eyes,

He's burning the paper, and he sees the lies

What's behind them is beautiful, but tragically so

He whispers a please, to see what she'll show.

Revealing herself to dark company,

Was never her intention, or his, but finally...

He begs her for answers and begs her for truth

And she stares at him as he reads her truth.

They haven't met, but before they did

She watched unfold the secrets she hid.

Deep in her heart, a treasure chest

Bound with chains again and again

Again and again and again and again

Until she thought she was less than a friend.

More like an enemy with the way he played,

Lobbying serving and-- a crying shame.

And he says hello, and asks her name.

i mean this in the nicest way (Champaigne)

So now let's toast champaigne

To what we both know is true

The past is buried now and gone

I really don't hate you.

I wish you knew what I never said

That I knew was to blame.

I wish you knew that I still care

I still care the same.

So now let's toast champaigne

To misunderstandings and harsh words

Because I didn't mean

Any of this hurt

So here's a toast to apologies

For anything you read

Between the lines of poems I wrotw

It's not what I said.

It's not fair to expect me to

Have had a clear mind

When I watched you just decide

To never again be mine.

I'm sorry that I spoke the truth,

And you know now that truth has changed

And I'm sorry if I hurt you...

Now I know you felt the same.

A Songwriter's Plight

Hey lovely! Sorry that this is (obviously) late, and not on a Friday, and I know... I'm a terrible person. My bad, brah. Maybe you'll forgive me?

ANYWAYS :) A Songwriter's Plight:

When the majority of people hear a hit song on the radio, they consider the lyrics. They consider, who  sings the song, they consider what the song is about, and in cases like Taylor Swifts, they worry more about who the song is about than who actually, you know, wrote it.
And that's the dangerous, treacherous, petrifying plight of the songwriter.
It's enough to make me want to lock my three (yes... three) books of lyrics in a cellar, along with every recording of my songs ever, and swear everyone who's ever heard one to secrecy, and make sure no one ever knows who any of them were about. It's enough to make me consider limiting my audience to the four walls of my bedroom, my parents (because it's inevitable that when I sing into a microphone anywhere in my house that they will hear whatever angst-filled piece I've written most recently), and my best friend, Lizmilton. It's enough to stomp out the daydreams I have of performing on stages across the world, and make me stop trying to make those a reality.
But the thing about songwriting is it's addicting, and I know that I cannot stop.
I write songs the way that a writer journals- constantly, daily, and never without a personal aspect. I tried to keep a diary for years, but what I've found works better is setting my life to music. This confines me to a three-and-a-half-to-five minute space in which I can detail what's going on. Thus I am forced to express the main ideas in broader terms, and I have to make every line, every word count. Songwriters are meticulous and deliberate in the words that they choose-- each approaches a song differently, each edits a song differently, and each has their own Dictionary of Denotation. It's in whether or not a writer uses "house" or "home,"what rhyme scheme they choose, and what approach they take. Phrasing lyrically, with breathing, and with melody: the song I write about love isn't the song Taylor Swift would write, even if the lyrics nearly matched. It's the reason some songs have a weak line or two in my mind. I would change a part here or there, however what I know is that even if I think my changes would improve the song, the words the artist chose are the ones that he or she meant. And I have to respect that.
One of my counselors at camp brought up something very interesting. He told me that he doesn't care what the song says, or what the words try to build up-- what he's concerned with is how it makes him feel (i.e. he would listen to (gulp) Blurred Lines, because it makes him feel something, but he doesn't agree with what the lyrics say). I understand, however, I don't agree. What the lyrics say are what the audience remembers, and writes on their arms, and tattoos on various body parts. It's how you SAY the emotion the song makes the listener FEEL.
That being said, the songs I write are so specific and are intensely emotional. I have never written a song I am not 100% into, 100% abut myself, 100% about what I've been through. And so it's hard to premier songs to my friends that are about people they know, knowing full well that they might figure out who it is about. And because I write about strong emotions, those songs are really telling as to what what happened. Keeping in mind that I don't scream my personal life through the halls, there are events, shall we say, in my life that my friends don't know about.
I used to be afraid of this and fearful of this, however at this point I just find it so hard to give a shit like at all. I want to keep these secrets to myself. However, what I do know is what I have to say relates to other people, and that's my goal, after all.
I work so hard on all of these songs, and I wish that I could be playing them everywhere all the time everyday. If only! SO the plight of a songwriter is that each song is the most personal thing ever. And no one cares about WHO wrote it, it's who it's ABOUT.
Everyone in my life is fair game, good or bad. And no one really knows who the song is about unless I tell them. SO moral of the story: your speculation is just that-- speculation.

Girls Chase Boys Chase Girls

I don't chase.
I can run in heels, so you know.
I just don't have to chase you.
You don't have to chase me.
Be upfront.
Why play cat and mouse.

Adventures in Being Single 4: Confessions of a Single Girl

Hey lovelies. Hope you're doing excellent. I have now recovered from my mini cold, and am back up and running. I know I don't usually post on Wednesdays, but I hope soon to be updating more regularly! Look forward to the next post I plan to write this coming Friday called "A Songwriter's Plight" :)

NOW! Onto the post.

Yes, I know that I've been kind of obsessive about being single and keeping you updated, but that's because I'm feeling pretty amazing about it. I know now what I haven't known since I had my first boyfriend: I am strong, and I am independent, and I am complete without anyone. All my life love has been defined to me as finding someone who completes me, who I can't live without because they make me whole. This arcane kind of love is completely and totally plebeian. Because yes, that's fine for a while, but what about when you start fighting, or your relationship ends... I never want to come out of a relationship unable to stand on my own.

Saying goodbye is hard, and only made harder when the person is so without a doubt important to you that you cannot possible handle letting go of them. But I know now that strength isn't suffering in silence, but rather is having the courage to demand the respect I deserve. And I know that I shouldn't have to forget about wrong doings time and time again, and forgive the millions of insensitive things people say because I'm worried to speak up. No, I'm done, throwing myself under the bridge because I think that the crash will be worse. I've found however that I'd rather burn out in a spectacular supernova of stellar, white-hot fire. Having the air squeezed out me by water pressure, choking on the river... That's no way to go, even if it means martyrdom. That's over rated. I won't risk my life for the weak, but I will for those who really just can't help themselves.

Being single isn't the absence of a boyfriend. No, it's having the ability to stand up for yourself when there's no one telling you to. I don't need a boy to tell me that I'm pretty because I know that I'm beautiful just the way I am, no matter what other people think. I don't particularly care if boys like me, or if anyone finds me attractive, because I don't have to live with their opinions for the rest of my life. No, I don't. So whatever others think, it doesn't matter to me.

EXCEPTION: people who I really care about.

EXAMPLE: I've begun giving people cards. Like, I'll have a conversation with someone and if it's something that really means something to them, I'll find a quote I think that they'll really enjoy I give it to them on a card to cheer them up, or make them think. I made one for someone over the weekend, but I'm not sure if he'll appreciate it, or if he'll think that it's weird or creepy. I want to give it to him, but I go back and forth every time I almost do. I don't want to scare him off, because I want to be cost to him, I want to be his friend. I want to support him.

No, being single isn't the absence of a boyfriend. My hiatus from the hell that is high school dating isn't equivalent to me crying over ice cream on Friday nights, lonely because I don't have anyone to go on a date with. Dates? So overrated. Best friends? So UNDERrated. I never want people to think that I am running around dating like crazy. I don't mind people asking me if I'm dating so and so, or if me and such and such are a thing, because all that means is that they've noticed me getting close to someone. Which in mind isn't a bad thing. It's when people tell me I've had too many boyfriends... Uhm, no, I haven't had too many boyfriends. In fact I highly doubt that you even know how many people I've ACTUALLY been with. There are 5 people I've actually been with. 2 that I may or may not have been out with. And let me tell you, one of those relationships was 15 months, another was 8 months, one was two weeks, one was one week, and one was in middle school. Does that even freaking count? No. And I don't have to defend myself against anyone, because these are my decisions, they're what I did with my life, and I don't regret them or think that anyone can judge me for them. I decided to explain to you because I want you to know my basis here. I'm not ashamed at all. You're not me, so you don't know what these were, and you're not my best friend, so you don't know what it looked like, and you don't know the boys, you don't know at all.

I'm not in the habit, either, of chasing boys. Because if they're worthy of me, then I won't have to hook them. I don't want a boy to like me because I flirt with him, or make any advance. I want someone who likes me for me first, and I want the choice to be mine. I want it to be a mutual conversation, not a game of cat and mouse. I want that reality. And where life stands thus far, I want dating, and flirting, and smiling. I want small moments, and light smiles, and cheek kisses. I want memories, not a heavy, down hill risk. I want to take chances without risking my heart, but instead making it happier.

I want to be happy. Foolishly, completely, 100 percent happy. And I don't want it to be because of a boy. I want it to be because of me. And I want my friends to enhance it, I want boys to enhance it, and my family to enhance it. I will not cry over a boy who I mean nothing to. I will walk away if it's poisonous, I will tiptoe if it's treacherous, and I will walk with baited breath if it seems to easy. 

Thanks for listening :)

love, forever and always

R

Quotes

Every idea's been expressed in every way. Why reword it when someone's said it better?
And who ever said it before you probably had better credentials.
I've fallen in love with quotes because a quote can communicate everything I can, but better, and can communicate more. Who is it from, how did you write it, why did you choose it. Anyone can write a letter, but tracking down a quote is more personal. You put thought into it, and it shows.
Actions speak louder than words. Even just taking the time to write something for someone shows you care. But taking the time to select a quote? That means even more.
Your own words and a quote together? Now that's dynamite.

Adventures in Being Single Round 3: This Is Freedom

What good's an introduction? Let's just go ahead and jump in!

Lessons In Being Single in August and (Thus Far) in September:

Lesson 1: I've Had More Boyfriends than Taylor Swift (Depending on Who You Ask)

Depending on how you qualify dating, I've dated between 2 and 7 people. Definitely 2, as we were together first for 8 months, and my second boyfriend and I were together for 17 months. When I was in seventh grade, I went on my first date. So that's one. And this summer I had a quasi-boyfriend, and went on two dates ACCIDENTALLY. (Yes that's possible, no I'm not proud, yes it's a problem.) And there was this week-long fling in the spring, although of course I regret that so incredibly much. 

But the amount of people that I've heard I've dated/am dating? That's ridiculous.

Yesterday a girl in band asked me who I've been dating recently. Because she heard I've been dating someone. Yeah, uh, NOPE. #singlelife and loving it. (Don't tell anyone but I do wish to possibly go to homecoming with this boy).

But I've decided that I wish to be single still for a while.

Lesson 2: Single and Ready to Mingle

Yes. I used that phrase. It's accurate.

I don't want to get tied down. I don't want to end up in a heavy, all-bets-are-off, touch and go, hundred-mile-hour-downhill-no-brakes relationship, wishing to be back here in freedom. I want the ability to hold a boy's hand because mine is freezing and not be thinking about someone else that I'm not even going out with because I feel a bit like I cheated.

You can't cheat on someone you're not going out with, Rex. It doesn't work like that.

And I don't want to feel like this because I was freezing. And I don't want to feel bad about chatting with him the entire movie, because I want to be his friend. I do. I don't know his last name... It's terrible...

Lesson 3: Freedom

I can wear what I want, do what I want, and say what I want. I can be myself without having to sacrifice anything for anyone. I can focus on whatever I want to. I don't have to explain myself if I disappear for an hour because I'm practicing piano or guitar, nor do I have to explain why I don't want to talk to people sometimes. I don't have to pretend to be something I'm not. I'm free.

Lesson 4: Dancing

I missed dancing. Because all my past boyfriends were too shy to dance at homecoming or any other dance/party. I can go crazy because I don't have to worry about what other people think of me at all. I don't usually anyways, but I suck at dancing.

LOVE YA'LL And WISH ME LUCK

R

forever and always

Unrequited and Casual

I don't care if you don't like me.
At least that's what I'll say.
And I don't care if you joke around
With other girls all day.
I'll just hide my jealousy,
And admire you from afar.
And you'll mock and kid with me,
And I'll dream of what we aren't.
I'll pretend to laugh when you joke,
About my looks and stature...
I'll laugh and smile and look away.
Pretend to look demure.
It's not that I'm self-conscious,
Or care if what you say's true...
I just don't want boys thinking that...
Specifically? Not you.
Not you, the boy I wish were mine,
Who I dream of every night.
Whose name I know from it's deep echo,
In darkness and in light.
And reality serves to tell you that
I'm exaggerating the truth,
Romanticizing what this feels like...
Because that's what I do.
And I guess that I should let you know,
That I'm thinking about you.
But you're a bit of a flirt,
No... You don't like me too.
I wish you did I know you don't
This is just how you act.
I wish you did, I know you won't...
A cruel, heartbreaking fact.
I want to tell you what I feel,
but I know you don't feel the same...
I blush, and it's just all so real
And you call me by my name.
If I'm right and you don't like me,
And I know that I'm not wrong.
I'm not asking much of you,
Please follow along:
Don't flirt and wink, bump my hip
Call me gorgeous, or make eyes at me.
I don't care how casual this is...
You toying with me.
My heart flutters, and I stutter,
I forget what I meant to say...
I make a joke of no consequence
And quickly walk away.
Today I hugged you tightly,
My head over your heart
I felt it skip a beat
Well, mine didn't restart.
A few seconds after that,
It beat and beat again
Hitting twice as fast
The fastest it's ever been.
My goodness I hope you like me
But I know just as well
There's no way that you do...
My own personal hell.
There's nothing worse in my mind
Than unrequited love
Than this, this casual questioning
I've only heard of.
Every time you hug me, or hold me close,
Or you glance down at my lips
I'll die a little more inside
But it'd hurt more to lose this.

Label

What if we all wore our secrets like badges on our shirts?
What if we wrote them on our foreheads,
Screamed them on the streets?
What if we could just talk about them,
Without fearing judgment or that they would change everything?
What if... what if... what if my past didn't matter?
If people cared, but it didn't change anything.
If people actually empathized, but didn't let it fester.
Why can't I tell everyone what my story is?
Why is this part of me so huge, and so hugely judged?
This is a huge part of me.
For goodness sakes, it's my story, my song.
I want to sing it, write it, read it, tell it.
Of course I know I need to keep something close to my heart.
I know this should be it.
But this is such a huge, huge, huge part of me.
What if we could just wear them like name tags.
"Hello, my name is R, and I have PTSD."
"Hello, my name is ___ and I'm depressed."
"Hello, my name is ___ and I beat depression."
I am more than who I am now. I am less than that if you make me less.
I am me, and entirely myself, and I don't like hiding it.
I will share my story, for now, with those who need it.
With those people who can help me.
With those who I know won't let it change anything.

But if I could wear it as a label...

Midnight

It's the harsh line drawn between yesterday and today.
you're like a perpetual midnight,
without the finality, without the hope of a new day.
You're like the clock freezing as it changed, until suddenly it was 12:01,
You aren't here, and I'm alone.
And I stand here, smiling and moving on, because no one Here knows you.
You're a perpetual ghost.
And it's stupid. I keep reaching for your hand.
Like you would be there the way you were for those two weeks.
Until what was like two years in two weeks ended, and you went home.
Like you would be there for me still.
Two weeks we met, two weeks we talked, two weeks we didn't...
And now you can ignore me, like I ignored the clock skip.
And the power goes out, the clock resets, until someone gets around to fixing it.
And you can skip that minute, and I'll let that go, but in that minute I realize it:
You didn't say goodbye. Not now, not before when you left.
And you leave me again, in this horrible metaphorical sense.
You leave me again, the physical distance to your advantage.
You leave me again, like they always seem to.
Skip the minute like you skipped the goodbye... Coward.
And the power goes out, and it's dark for a minute.
The world is dark, and my heart freezes, and my fingertips go numb.
Hours, and hours, one for every day it took for you to forget me-- a number I'll never know.
And then it's back, so very behind...
And it'll be days until I forget you, because being forgotten is a worse pain...
Being forgotten is the worst heartbreak, because there's no goodbye.
No finality.
An open-ended, never ending blinking clock.
An infinite midnight...
In whose time zone, well... that's up to you, I suppose.

Strength and Happiness

It's not something a lot of people consciously consider. It's in the way you walk down the hallway, and how you approach not only school but also people in general. It's in the way you handle the stress people put you in, and how you influence people. It's what comes naturally to people. It's how you naturally act, how you naturally handle the day, how you handle yourself, how you interact with others. This is subconscious. This is natural. This is just you.

However, I am in the public eye constantly, as a drum major in my high school's marching band. How I handle myself with poise and confidence even in the relative privacy of the school hallways, because I recognize, accept, and welcome being a leader and being a role model for those who I am in charge of in band. When I am on the podium conducting, I have to be calm, confident, and in charge. I have to be responsible and dependable, accountable for my actions, all while being approachable and helpful. These attributes all pile up to paint the picture of the young lady I have to be, and welcome being. I try my hardest to embody all of these qualities, and I try to maintain these qualities because they are all qualities I wish to see in myself. I try as hard as I can to amplify these qualities, and lessen the appearance of those such features which would hinder my ability to lead effectively. Things like my issues with time management, and my ongoing struggle with positivity.

Most people walk down the highway at school in a daze, lost in their thoughts or their music, caught up in their own world. Most people walk between classes worrying about how they're going to complete the algebra assignment they neglected to do before ninth period rolls around. Most people get to walk down the hallway, concerned only with how their day is going to go.

I'm not most people.

Most people walk down the highway at school in a daze, lost in their thoughts or their music, caught up in their own world. I walk down the hallway, mind clear, smiling at everyone I know and making an effort to wave and call them by name. I try to greet people with as big a smile as I can, and double the size for those I know don't expect it, or who are having a hard time. Because I know from experience that sometimes a friendly face in the hallway, a friendly greeting, even just knowing someone else knows your name, recognizes you, cares about you... That can change a day.

 Most people walk between classes worrying about how they're going to complete the algebra assignment they neglected to do before ninth period rolls around. I walk down the hallway thinking about what I need to do in my next class to be successful, and what I need to do in my day to help out. I can't bank on study hall, saving my assignments for my second period and trusting I'll get them done, because I might be needed in marching band on any day.

Most people get to walk down the hallway, concerned only with how their day is going to go. I walk down the hallways concerned with how my freshmen's days are going. I worry about how I can help improve those days, and I worry about how I'm going to help the trumpet I see falling behind. I worry about how I'm going to help the flute who doesn't quite fit in.

I'm not most people. By choice.

It's not easy, really, being there for everyone. I see people in the hallway all during the day that I recognize, and who expect me to acknowledge. I'm expected to have all the answers in band, and I'm expected to be on top of my classwork so that I can focus on band. I'm expected to be okay all of the time. What I know is that every time I'm not alright... that's okay too. I just can't let it affect others.

I choose to be a positive person daily, because a positive attitude gets me through the day. More importantly, however, it helps those around me to see hope. I choose to be a leader because I know that what I can share is worth it, and that I can lead affectively. I choose to be accountable, because I know how frustrating it is to see people shifting blame. I choose to be dependable, because I know that that's what people need.

What I love about being so in charge is the opportunity I have to share my positivity, and influence others. Today a freshman told me that I was a good influence, which is what I aim to be. I want to be able to share not only a love of music, and possibly marching band, but also share a stronger, more positive outlook, and try to show people that what we are is what we choose to be.

I'm considering talking to my band and revealing my past, and why I had such a hard time in my life, at the end of next year, to try and give them hope. I want to do everything I can for them, because I owe them my happiness.

Adventures In Being Single Round Two: LDRs and DTRs and Whoa

Long time no talkski! I know, I suck, yada yada, but contrary to popular belief... I actually have a life. I know! Surprising! But I do have a life, and I was a bit too preoccupied with living it to post recently; in fact, I was too busy for four weeks out of this summer to text even my parents. Yes, I am an absolutely terrible daughter and friend, however I was busy with camps and such. Anyhow... on to the actual post.

Lessons Learned in the Month Of June As A Single Girl:

1) If you're single, and a boy is single, even if you see him entirely platonically, if you kiss his cheek you will wonder if he thinks that you are into him and you can't quite ask him if he likes you sometimes because sometimes he, you know, lives in Scotland. Whoops.

Note To Self: Stop kissing literally everyone's cheek when you are saying goodbye. (I even kiss girl's cheeks). (I literally only meant one in the last six months... He knows who it is.)

2) Stop worrying so much about whether or not other people are judging me, and stop avoiding holding hands in public or cuddling (not a lot, obviously), and just let what is going to happen, because I'm only 16, and I can get away with it now and I won't be able to later.

3) DTR. And like, do it now. And keep the open and honest conversation going.

4) LDR in a nutshell is like throwing yourself under a bus while life drives it over you.

5) I miss him.

6) I'm kind of single you know? But like kind of?


Okay. Love y'all.

Peace out girl scouts

Rex

Forever and Always

The First Violinist: Up and Down

The little patterns of his finger's movements, dancing deftly down the nape of her neck, entrance and enchant me, the way the music does.

His fingers move and he holds her there, the muscles in his arm, defined I shamefully recognize, tense. And in his fingers the ligaments move over muscle and bone, the sinew's friction like strings on resin on strings.

Amongst the chaos of the carousel of bows moving up and down, like the horses on the ride at the fair, his face is still, calm, and concentrated, like the sea, and I watch contentedly, hearing his voice among the crashing waves, the way I know I'm not supposed to.

The purity, the un-contained perfection of his pitch, and how he makes her sing with skill and precision and simple movements; I'm enraptured.

And the horses move up and down, and, like a child's laugh over the music of the ride, his voice surpasses the rest.

And the music swells,

And they spin faster and faster and faster and ever faster.

Up and down, and up and down,

Until the orchestral merry-go-round slows to a sentimental pause.

Piano, and pianissimo,

And the ride slows, until...

The conductor lowers his arms,

But the boy-- my boy, my voice,

My angel,

Pauses, letting the moment linger.

The music isn't over for him quite yet, until he is forced to leave the ride.

The ride that I replay in my head

Until I fall asleep, dreaming

Of angels and fair-ground horses.

The Summer I Never Grew Up

So Repeat After Me,

I accept the promise of Sunscreen, and therefore vow,
As I have many times before,
To find adventures outside of air conditioning.

I accept the promise of Sand and Towels, 

To remember the beach as the

Very epitome of every everlasting

Best dream or memory of summer.

I accept the promise of the Diving Board, and its dare to ignore insecurity.
Because who needs shyness

with a blue sky and blue water?

I accept the promise of Rebellion, no matter how small,
Because (as a kid) I can get away with it.
And because if I don't break some rules, this freedom becomes school.

I accept the promise of Street Lights, a new rule with old roots,
From back when they were my curfew,
Before in summers of bare feet and graveyard ghosts.

I accept the promise of No Regrets, not the next day, not ever,
Because this is the time to make memorable mistakes.
Because this time is one of a kind.

I accept the challenge the adults present,
To do something with my summer,
But I see it and raise it a life time of memories.

Like back when I was young, running barefoot in my yard,
The emerald grass tickling my feet as a light mist dampens my hair,
Running from a daddy long legs in an Elementary School Summer.

Like back when I was an older young, and didn't quite fit into my neighborhood, but played dodge ball every night in that backyard,
No invitation, no set time, we all just... knew.

Like back when I was a tween, and I spent my summer
At bonfires in backyards, parents never more than a sliding screen door away,
And me dealing with petty arguments with friends I didn't feel close to, over soured smores and damp bathing suits.

And now, last year, a Freedom given to interrupted romance,
And given to weeks that dragged on, because I was drowning,
And months I don't even remember of what was supposed to be the Best Time.

So I accept the challenge of my past as I didn't before,
To spend my summer Doing, not Hiding,
With people I know will still play wih me at recess next year.

I accept the challenge to go through sunscreen like popsicles,
To act like a kid, even though I can drive,
And, above all else, to be young while I'm still too young to vote.

And I accept, above all else, the promise of the Summer.
The promise that, whatever happens, I can always dream of
The Summer I Never Grew Up.

At least until Junior year starts,
I'm still a child.
And I intend to be one to the fullest.

At least until the college search starts...
And the moving out thoughts...
And the being an adult part....

Popsicles, and banana splits,
And no-good boys, and bonfires,
And sneaking out, and pool-side gossip.

Dodgeball, and daddy long legs,
And that reading challenge at the library
That I've done every year since I was old enough to read.

And lemonade stands for the humane society.
And, well, just being a kid,
Because that's one thing I'll always be.

This is my last chance to act like one--
Well, at least until next summer.
And there's no way I'm giving that up.

Storm

Something's wrong, we can all tell.
They say they scream they beg they plead.
And I'll open my eyes but they just let out rain.
And they'll open their ears but all they hear is thunder.
And I open my mouth but all I release is wind,
Carrying empty words on my breath
And full clouds before inhale, to fuel my storm.
Please, R, please, just tell us, just tell us.
And I'll breathe in the atmosphere,
from the ground where I've been pushed down.
And I'll open my mouth again.
And the leaves rustle, it whistles past their ears,
Placating them while I catch my breath.
The clouds roll in behind my eyes,
My mind commandeered by dark grey mixed with despair,
and I can no longer see the people in front of me,
But instead I see the people behind me, and their shadows.
The shadows that they once attached to me.
The shadows they sewed to my heels,
Then ripped them, leaving behind a small trace.
I know now that every time that shadow rips,
He gets shorter and shorter,
And because I give so much more of me,
I lose so much more of Her.
And something's wrong, R, we can all tell.
You never talk to me anymore,
You never smile at me in the halls anymore,
We never hang out anymore.
The harshest contradiction:
You're not alright, here's why I care:
You're not the same, and that affects me.
And your storm is narcissism, and ignorance,
And that storm hangs over my head.
And her storm is hesitation and a fear of confrontation.
And that's fine, but one day you'll realize,
We all have to stand up for ourselves.
There won't always be someone there to protect you.
And his storm is his mislead self-impression.
He swears he's an honest guy,
And he swears he never meant this,
And never again, and oh we'll be fine and,
You see, I feel like we just need to talk,
But I feel like we need to just shut up,
At least until you learn how to listen.
And my storm should be like yours,
My storm should be like everyone our age's:
My storm should be drama, and young adult worries.
But I was a young adult when those around me were
Chasing boys in the lunch line, and in the halls before
Going into town with the big groups,
For frapuccinos and gossip.
I was a tween when everyone around me
Was just worrying about fifth grade graduation.
I grew up in Elementary School.
And so it's Something's Wrong,
Something's Wrong,
and in middle school I breathe out my storm,
And one person withstands it,
And then he spreads it,
Changing my storm.
Until his words are the lightning, and I'm different forever.
And Something's Wrong.
Just tell me,
And I'll open my mouth to do just that,
But all that comes out is the storm.
Because revealing what's behind the hurricane,
Means welcoming in new fronts and new weather.
Withstand my winds until they stop.
Maybe then the calm can set in.