Walk With the Sun, Love With the Moon. (11.16.16)

She is a wildflower,
Sprouting where nothing dares to grow.
The sun light flits over her garden,
That grows on the side of highway 66.

Her eyes shimmer like gold dust in a California river,
Given the chance she'd rather be panning for minerals
Then pining over missed chances.

Because to her there is nothing quite like the air,
Mixed with starlit woods.
Something about the dead of night
Makes her feel alive.

What Do You Want? (3.7.16)

Out of all the possibilities I imagined as a sad and scared 10 year old, this was never one of them.
Perhaps dying, brilliantly and tragically, at 16 with so much life ahead of me.
Perhaps living, a young genius, whose mind was unrivaled. Published author at 15.
Perhaps lost, homeless and cold, but free. 17 with nowhere to land.

Now I'm 18, I live in my grandparents house, I struggle to finish a single class, I fight myself constantly.
"You cannot do this, not today, lay back down and sleep." Is what my mind whispers to me, cruel and unrelenting.
My heart screams, "This is just a moment," "This too shall pass," and "You are stronger than this,"
Millions of other platitudes recourse around my grey matter, until I am forced to collapse.

I feel lost, like I'm dying and living all in the same breath. Like tomorrow will be the raindrop that breaks the leavy. It never is.
I spout the same nonsense to anyone who will listen. As if repeating the lie will make it true,
"I'm an adult, I know what I'm doing."
A mantra whispered to a pretty boy with soft eyes and small smile. A war cry screeched at siblings, who are more afraid of their future than I am of mine.

I want the world, I want the stars and the planets and the oceans. I want an open apartment, with large windows that look out into the snow globe world. I want the freedom to pursue flights of fancy, and the security to fall.
I want a place for my marshmallow heart to call home.

I'm a scared and sad 18 year old now, so let us imagine once more.
Perhaps successful, living in a new city where I've carved my own path, 29 with so much still to do.
Perhaps mountainous, 22 with eyes cut from sapphires, glinting with righteous fury and thirsting for blood.
Perhaps found, 25 with a hand to hold, a bed to sleep in, and somewhere to be.

Who I am (Who am I?)

While writing a piece on perceptions of people and how we present ourselves, I encountered a problem. Not the same question I wanted to pose when I set out to write this, but an interesting problem all the same.

Why is it that people who are kind and patient are seen as stupid?

Why is it that while writing this piece, I equated my genuine feelings of kindness and patients as naivety? Throughout the piece, I felt like I painted myself in a negative light. And I did! I called myself stupid and naive multiple times.  Why is it that people who are positive and who want to make people happy, are seen as idiots on a fool's errand? I noticed while thinking back to situations in my life that a lot of people are surprised when I am both kind and intelligent(Like the two are mutually exclusive), even myself! Has the world really been painted as so dark that anyone who believes in light is immediately considered an idiot?
More questions than answers, I'm afraid, but maybe one day we'll all see that kindness is truly the smartest option.
As they say, you catch more flies with honey, than you do with vinegar.