sometimes i write notes to myself on my phone.
sometimes i know these notes are total crap, some are fucking genius.
these notes are mushy, cynical, profound, misinformed, elitist, and asinine.
some of it is poetry and a lot of it is just fucking bullshit i tell myself thinking i’ve come across something new.

this is my place to post this.
this is me 100% raw.
this is going to be where i don’t care about your opinion because it’s not your life.
it’s mine.
and while i hope some of it does resonate, it doesn’t matter to me.
because this is where i will go, 6 months from now, looking at why i am who i am
and why my life is turning out the way it is.
and i don’t want your opinions, i don’t want your pity.
i want to write. and i want to write without the worry that i will offend
or have to censor myself.

so if you cannot respect that, please remove yourself now.
thank you,


my perfect life isn’t some setup containing perfectly matched white sheets and duvets,
it’s queen bed frames clothed in king sheets sporting mismatched patterns and colors.

my perfect life doesn’t include posts about crushes and dreams
it’s secret cuddles before bedtime and entwined feet while we sleep.

my perfect life is a gallery wall made with all the portraits held by clear thumb tacks,
comprised of the art and life that made us feel deeply and love profoundly.

my perfect life doesn’t beautifully capture the light on the camera,
but it does capture the beauty in smiles and laughter.
it’s messy and moving constantly
going at a rate that always seems to catch me off-guard

my perfect life is all i never dreamed of asking for
because i couldn’t ever quite articulate how wonderful it really is.

at some point, i grew up
and started losing the things i cared for
stopped dreaming my big dreams
and working hard toward fantasies

at some point, i stopped feeling
a compassion for the world
because things started haunting me in my life
taunting me, causing strife

i couldn’t control the frustration inside
that left me feeling unfurled.

we all get jaded, some more quickly than others.

maybe we become jaded to the actions we have
and the things that life taught us
when just living comes with limitations of jealousy, loss, heartbreak, and loneliness.
we find in that jaded state of living, where we ignore the things that molded us into beings and pasts we can’t remember, that we hurt each other and not in ways we’d ever expect.
we push past the faults that we can’t quite plainly see
and realize, more than not, those faults you find in others
are really faults you’ve discovered inward, in your own “me”

you came around when the times were wrong
and brought with you the pain
of rebuilding lives that are broken already
and people you will always try to help in vain

you can’t help but to be true
to the nature you’ve been taught
and reopen the battles of those you love
the battles they’ve already fought.

little girl from oklahoma
you were the tornado that was never asked for
born from true intentions
you reck more havoc than you fix
and everyone said you can’t do anything to help it
because it’s in your mother-nature
engrained in the winds you blow
but you know you could have at least tried to stop yourself
if only you’d pay attention to know


what girl doesn’t wish for a happy family
from which she was born
does everyone have their own experience
of blood only feeling hatred and scorn

i want the times where i am fun and naive
because it’s a harsher thing to accept this truth
than i can ignore
what i believe