You See Me Differently


You say I’m crazy, untrustworthy, and sensitive.

You say I have too many trust issues, low-self esteem, and bad judgement.

I wish you were wrong, but you’re right…I’m all of those things.

Do you know how many people I’ve let in? Not many. This girl without makeup, that tries not to cry because she’s lonely and trying to not give into the anger that swells inside her soul.

You don’t see the same girl I see in the mirror. You hold my hand, and don’t look at my wrist slashed with scars. You hold me, and don’t see me shudder because intimacy scares me. Your naivety reminds me of the girl I used to be. Before, I remembered things and I let my past hold me down.

Yet–your naiviety frustrates me. You expect too much of me. I try to explain it to you, and you don’t grasp the concept.

Somehow, I’ll get over it, I promise myself on some abandoned road and you’re a thousand miles not even thinking about me.

But, your eyes are the only thing that are constantly are on my mind.




Dear Someone VIII

Dear Someone,

Let’s be honest.


When was the last time one of us looked into the mirror and didn’t point out a flaw?

When was the last time you walked alone and didn’t glance nervously behind you?

When was the last time you weren’t harrassed?

Girls, what happened to us?

We grew up. We filled the voids with boys and makeup, and it screwed us up. We tried to make a statement, and the world shot us down.

We are like pliable clay, and society isn’t even pulling us apart or flattening us. No, they’re rolling us so thin; we’re breaking slowly but surely.

And why don’t we stand together? How can we fight the world if we can’t even stop making fun of each other. Stop calling her a ‘slut,’ and give her a hug.  Stop calling them ‘anorexic’ or ‘fat’ and tell them they are beautiful the way they are. Stop calling her ‘goth,’ and show her the cuts on your arms.

After we can unite, then we can take on the society that was made us turn on each other.

That’s all.









Dear Someone I

Dear Someone,

Life is weird. The people I thought were there for me are gone. The people who I never fathomed being my friends are, and I love them.

Sometimes, I listen to a song, and I’m the girl in the song. I want to imagine I am the girl in the Bon Jovi, Can’t Stop Believing. Yet–I don’t live in a small town and I don’t love anyone from Detroit. (If I do love someone, well, it’s complicated.) Most of the time, I’m the girl in a The 1975 or The Chain-smokers song.

I’m realizing people are not who they say are. We all have secrets. We all have struggles. I’m tired of hiding mine.

You see, the last half of the year was hell. I’m not a terrible person, but I FEEL like one. The saying ignorance is bliss, isn’t wrong. I lost my ignorance on many issues this past year, and I can’t handle it. I could go into detail…eh maybe another time.

I feel like I’m always going to vomit. I am in this mentality where the world is so ridiculous, I roll my eyes at everyone who states ‘they make me feel so happy.’ or ‘isn’t life wonderful.’ God, stop being a Hallmark card greeting. One day he’s going to make you feel miserable, people have a way of doing that.  Life isn’t always wonderful, no it’s sickening and sometimes unbearable.

Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t want to be negative. I just am. I’m trying to figure out how I can see beyond people’s facades and how I hurt for all of them. I’m trying to figure out where I went wrong, and if normalcy is just a lie. I’m trying to find out why I lost all my drive, and why the words are all the same anymore. I’m trying to figure out why when I go to church, I feel more lost than before.

I needed someone besides my therapist to talk to. She’s nice, but we all need a someone. Someone who doesn’t care about who you are, who doesn’t know you or about your family, but is still willing to hear you out.

Love (because I can’t sign off anyway and I probably would love all of you if I knew you personally),




I put your name first
colored us on a white sheet
and hung it on my fridge
you can’t erase crayons
frail stick figures
that held hands
we had a small house
with smoke
billowing out the chimney.

My magnets weren’t sticking
I made more pictures
add my family,
my father glares at you
add my friends,
I dance from page to page
they seemed to stay,
but our picture slid farther away.

You set our house our fire
the wax shimmered and melted
more smoke fumes
I couldn’t even breathe
you gripped my wrist
so hard I snapped
I ran away to another page
and I was forced to throw you away.

You never stuck to the magnets,
because I drew the picture,
you never helped.
You let me draw and dream
though your heart never was in it.
There is a new picture
on my fridge now
it’s of a girl standing surrounded by other people
who cared enough to help draw.