It’s been a few years too long since my thoughts were recorded. A few too many days that have gone by without any recognition. A few too many questions left unanswered. The girl I was just a few years ago, should’ve known better than to think she knew anything at all. 

 All this time has passed by, so many things have changed. Life is a little less in the moment. Each day I am reminded that life is fragile. And it’s as if I was some kind of bull left to run wild in a china shop. I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in these few, very long, very dramatic years. I would like to believe that I have learned from them. But looking back on things now, it doesn’t seem like I’ve let myself grab on to the possibility of moving forward. 

 The grown up disease I’ve so regrettably caught, is now coursing threw my veins. I’ve tried hard to deny myself entrance into this boring world of debt, labor, and godawful misery. But as it seems, I am just like everyone else. I awake in the morning. I stress over the days good tidings. I kick my shoes off at night, and then I press repeat. 

 It’s okay though. I’m not the only one living in this montserous reality. 



She looked at him and he smiled.

They were young and free

driving on an old country road

with the cool breeze flooding into the windows

The roads were paved with leaves and sticks.

Trees hovered over the roads forming a tunnel of shade,

the sun pushing its way from behind the leaves

of the trees.

No sound. Just peace and innocence.

He wrote something on a piece of paper, folded it up and tucked it away in the palm of her hand.

He softly closed her fingers around the folded up note,

stepped out of the car

turned around

and walked away, never looking back.

She lightly kissed the note in her hand

turned her head

smiled to the sun

and woke up, never looking back.

My Study on Human Happiness

You know that feeling when you’ve been working on something forever, and it just annoys you because it never clicks? Then one day, BAM, its there and this huge weight feels like its been lifted off of your shoulders. It’s like math class when learning algebra. It is a second language at first and then one day it just makes sense.

That feeling of things just finally making sense is what im talking about.

I seemed to have lost that feeling. I don’t know why. But lately nothing makes sense. Maybe it’s a part of that grown up disease. I see myself losing faith in people.

People just do not act like they should anymore. There is no more caring. Like, for instance, when I go somewhere, like a show, or coffee shop, where people around my demographic hang out, I can feel the judgement burning holes in my back like acid rain. Why does it even matter what I look like? Better yet, why do people have to size other people up, and feel angry or envious when they see people who are different, or more attractive?

From the little studying I have done on people’s personalities, I have realized that you most defiantly shouldn’t judge someone for their looks, or first impressions.

It may seem like I do nothing but rant about how much I dislike people, but really I am just stating what I see.

Today I took mental notes during my drive through rush hour:

10 mins out of the city:

low traffic

speed limit 65mph

me 80mph

guy is so close to my back-end I cant even see his lights. has every opportunity to move over. DOESN”T


bumper to bumper

speed limit 55mph

me 15mph

girl literally stops in the middle of the interstate so she could get over, making everyone behind her stop to

10 mins from home:

steady moving traffic

speed limit 65mph

me 50mph

I need to get over, guy lets me over gladly

What I learned:

Every two out of three people are possibly unhappy or stressed. One out of every three people carry an attitude of happiness.

311,591,917 people in the US

103,863,972.333 people are happy in some way shape or form

207,727,944.667 are miserable and have absolutely no clue why

I Hate Fake People

Just one question.

Why must you be so fake?

To what kind of satisfaction does that give you?

A grin from ear to ear,

is a mask in itself.

You’re just a liar in disguise.

You’re just a cheater in life.

Why must you be so fake?

If I am the friendly to your face,

Why do you tarnish my reputation behind my back?

If I do nothing but try to be kind,

Why do you resist my hospitality?

Is it the fact that you hate wonderful things?

You always seem so miserable drowning in self hate.

Why must you hate?

Did I hurt your feelings when I came back at you with the truth?

Do you not deserve the truth?

I did nothing wrong,

Is that why you hate me?

Why must you be so fake?

You must not trust yourself,

So is that why you don’t trust me?

If I were to laugh in your face,

And jump down your throat with ever word you spit,

Would you love me?


Why must you be so fake?

Killing with Karma

Have no fear

For I am here

To make right what was wrong

To bring light to this long-

and grueling complicated reality.

social catastrophe

Molecular anxiety

Society preaches peace and unity

But all we’ve done is built up immunity,

to love.

So let me show you the way

Bring it back-

Around to the imposture of fate

Ending with my blind date,

Of destiny

photo by:

Social Media Mixed Emotions



Beauty is skin deep.

Personality is stereotypical.

Your mind is a battlefield.

Your heart is a goldmine.

Your soul is ungrateful.

Your thoughts are unwilling.

Your tears are plastic.

The steps you took disappear with every step you take.

What you were is not what you are.

Your opinion does not matter.

Who are you?

What makes you special?


Image by *Zara.

Love Everyone for Once in your Miserable Life

The human heart is a wonderful thing. It brings life. It brings love. It pumps the blood to your veins. You need it. You must take good care of it. You must protect it. But you shouldn’t be just worrying about your heart alone. There are a million other hearts out there that need love too.

There are the broken hearts, the wounded, the shallow, the invisible, the cold. Those hearts need the most care, because somebody else didn’t care enough. A heart is always able to change, for the better or for the worse. Its up to you to make sure that your very own heart always stays on the right path, because there will be those people who want to do nothing but make sure that you suffer.

There will be those people out there who want nothing more than to see you fail; fall into oblivion. I do not know why one single person will stop at nothing to hurt another person. I do not have a reason for it other than hate. I do not know why people hate people. I do not understand it.

Why do those people feel the need to hurt someone? What happens after they succeed on making the other person feel miserable? What next? I mean come on.

I used to be an evil little girl. I mean like super evil. I would go out of my way to make sure someone elses life was what I saw as worse than mine. I wanted to see the tears come out of their eyes. Why? I do not know. I was young and I just thought it was the cool thing to do. The sad thing was, it was the cool thing to do.

But I turned my heart around. I am more than happy to talk to someone and to show someone that they are appreciated. Like smiling. Have you ever just smiled at someone? They usually smile back. And if you’re good enough at it, you could have just made their day. Compassion and love my friends.

If you love everyone, let me tell you, the stress will just disappear. Just try it. One day is all I ask.

The love children could’nt beat it into our heads enough.

Love thy neighbor <3

If You’re an Artist

If you’re an artist than you already know exactly what I am going to inform the rest of the world about.

If you’re an artist, you see the world in a completely different way. What’s cool about that is, is art can come in many different forms other than a paper and paintbrush. You see, art can be much more than that. It could be in landscaping, films, music, photography, fashion, food, graffiti, architecture, anything at all creative.

The saying “creativity is key” really does mean just that. A true artist can make the best out of a crazy situation. They can take something that wasn’t and turn it into something that is.

An artist knows the world is beautiful, but not beautiful enough. They want to address the world with this gift, by expressing their inner self. A real artist doesn’t want to be famous, they don’t want the money. They just want to be herd by anybody really. It doesn’t matter who, or how many. It’s sharing their thoughts, dreams, and ideas with other people, and being able to communicate and have them understand. Because let’s face it, sometimes they don’t understand themselves.

An artist does it for the thrill. That adrenalin you get during a dinner rush, or when that painting finally gets finished after three years, or when that shoot went smoothly. You could never imagine. They do it because it’s a passion, it’s a different way of living.

Art can take you places. It’s everywhere. It’s just whether or not you can experience it like a true artist.

The Grown-Up Disease

I am sorry to say, but there just so happens to be a growing epidemic right in your very own town. Have you ever noticed that people are not quite as fun as they used to be? Or the fact that everything that used to entertain you has lost all of its luster?

Well you’re not the only one buddy. We’re all experiencing it here. This terrible fate that has bestowed itself on the human race just happens to be known as the Grown-Up Disease. It is so contagious that it has worked its way into our high schools, and in some cases middle and elementary schools as well.

This amoeba of boring lifelessness effects the mind, body, and sense of style. What was once adorable suddenly turns creepy and odd. Like playing on a jungle gym for instance.

When you’re young, a jungle gym is a colorful Mount Everest on crack. As you get older it turns into a fortress, then an extreme game of tag; soon the monkey bars seem to be the cool new hangout seat, and before you know it, its a rusty old workout that involves a lot of effort and head ducking.

Why has the world failed to inform children what adult life is really like?

When you’re younger you are told you can be anything you want to be. But they fail to tell you that, that dream of yours could potentially cost you your good credit, and maybe even your financial state. What they also fail to explain is that the entire world is nothing but a giant popularity contest, and if you know absolutely nobody important, you have a really low chance of making it somewhere in life.

You see, when you grow up, the color purple turns to violet. Your vocabulary changes, and you suddenly start speaking the language of boring. The word underwear no longer makes you laugh, it just reminds you of the dirty laundry piling in your bathroom, and then that reminds you that all of your work uniforms are dirty.

You hit the point where the presidential election is important to you and you look forward to waking up to a cup of coffee and the morning news. Is this really fun?

Or are we playing along with the stereotype of adult hood?

And It Begins

I never thought to start writing a blog. I never thought to write anything long and grueling at all actually. One does not just simply write unless they are told. But of course there is the occasional odd ball who enjoys the fun and effort of expressing ideas.

Not me. I hate writing. In fact, I didn’t even want to start a blog. But I was convinced. I fell for the pressure of my peers. Maybe it will be fun. Maybe someone will read this blog and think I am absolutely nuts.

I am absolutely nuts.

Worst comes to worst and I will just be writing to myself where it will be me in my own little world expressing my own ideas to myself. That couldn’t be all bad now could it? Ah… who cares. Point and fact is, social media and networking is a part of today’s culture. You must embrace the change just how I am. You can sit there and laugh and think… ah who cares what she has to say.

My importance is irrelevant to this blog, to the world, and especially to you.

Regardless, you have made it to the end of this post laughing hysterically at the useless conversation I might have just had with myself. Not only that…

you have been sucked into my world of unimaginative creative torture that I call writing, and I wish the best of luck to you.