scraps.

You shed things that remind you of her,
but you gave her your very being.
Does this mean you are no longer
the you I knew?

Walking away from what once were
detaching yourself from those pieces.
Don't you miss the Before times:
before her?

I'm picking up pieces of you
that you left behind.
Who is that fragment of a boy
that I once known?

I'm collecting pieces of you
in hopes of rebuilding what was once there.
Taping these scraps one by one;
fitting them like puzzle pieces.

I'm preserving pieces of you
because with each day you're fading,
discoloring, crumbling with age.
Is there any way for me to keep the past the same?

I'm throwing away pieces of you


Am I the one who changed?

-i found a profile on social media that i never knew you had from three years ago. i never knew that i lost you until i realized how much you have changed. that version of you has lived in my memories since then. i miss you

this art i know.

(february 2017)

i think i have been taught to feel this way

because i see the way my mother clutches your picture

and i see how my grandmother detaches from the world when she thinks of you 

i have learned from the absolute best

i think i know why my knuckles are white

because i can feel you slipping

out of my hands 

down to the ground

where you will run to whoever is near

i think i will crumble 

i wanted to fill the holes in you and

i cannot function without the parts that you took:

the metronome that keeps the beat of my heart in time

and the gears that make everything work

i think i saw your smile today

and it wasnt for me.

its so silly to think that the absence of your smile

is making my world seem dimmer

this art that i have learned-

the art of never letting go

is somehow a cherished skill. 

they dont want you to move on

even if it is to better things.

tethers.

 (October 2015)

I want to take out my scissors

so, I can finally cut my ties with you.

It seems that they're indestructible

but, I know it will only take a minute or two.

I wish I could find my scissors

so, I won't have to feel that tug.

You're beginning to pull too hard;

the strings are snug.

I simply cannot find my scissors

so, I start to use my bare hands.

The heat of it all is burning me

and I can see you as I stand.

You're plucking me like a flower

continuously yanking on my stem.

I found my scissors

they were exactly where I left them.

the threat of failure.

Downtown Annapolis (March 2016)

I started out the month of November with high expectations. This was the month of NaNoWrimo (National Novel Writing Month). A challenge that I have always wanted to participate in. This was finally the month where I would unleash all the stories I've thought of my entire life. Intricate sword fights, deep unconditional love, kingdoms that expand far and wide throughout continents. And when the month began, there was nothing. No story seemed to work. No characters became more than names and traits written on paper. Absolutely nothing. I began to think: "If I can't do this now, how will I ever be able to do this in the future? If I can't even write a story that has filled my mind for years how can I ever write one?" These are the thoughts that kept me from writing. The threat of failure is a dark and serious one; ones that I have been all too familiar with this month. But now it's almost the end, and I can proudly say with no shame that I have failed. I am not a winner of this year's NaNoWrimo and that's okay. I love to write. I love to read other people's accomplishments. I love to talk about literature and the impact it makes on the world and our thoughts everyday. I don't need to wait until next November to write my next great story. I don't need to wait until then to write what I want and to celebrate the written word. Everyday is a day for literature. Everyday is the perfect time to write. 

identity.

Pink Skies Through Blue Eyes.

For a long time I have thought about what it means to be myself. I have thought endlessly about who I am as a person. Am I outgoing? Reserved? Intelligent? Friendly? Yet after 16 long years, I still have no idea. Some days I am all of those traits at once. And others I am no trait at all. Just a skin wearing skeleton. (spoopy!) I am uncertain of my writing style, I am uncertain of my future, I am uncertain of my talents etc etc.The one thing I am sure of is that I lack ambition. It's the trait I hate the most about myself. One of many flaws. An extreme downfall. There are things I want to do in my lifetime, goals I desperately want, but when it comes to working hard towards it -I shut down. It is almost like the idea of hard work and possible failure frightens me so much to the point where I do nothing at all. So, why am I telling you all this? Why am I putting my biggest flaw on the internet? Because I want to make a change. This is me starting to chase after what I want. This is me preparing for the trips, the stumbles, the falls, all in hopes of achieving everything I ever dreamed of. We all get a chance to dream. But why don't we take those dreams and make it a reality?

Girl In Pieces by Kathleen Glasgow

A huge thank you to Random House Kids for sending me a copy of this book!

"I'd never seen a girl with skin like mine"

Every once in a while a book comes along that makes it hard to breathe. It slowly brings up memories of the years you have tried to forget. I was never proud of what I had done in the past. I was never okay with the scars that I gave myself. Yet promptly after closing this book, I took a step back and realize: I am okay and I am not ashamed of myself. Scars connect us to each other and our pasts. Without our pasts, we would not be allowed a better and brighter future for ourselves. 

This book follows a girl named Charlotte (Charlie) Davis and her road to recovery after inflicting endless pain upon herself due to all her losses. The road is rough and long, with stumbling and falling, but she finds a way to survive even with her dark past. 

Kathleen Glasgow's writing is emotional and truthful, never dancing around the painful events that come with life like homelessness, abuse, alcoholism, drug addiction, etc. The connection she builds between characters is a strong and reveals that we are all connected. The characters are all flawed in their own ways, some worse than others, but it reminds me that no one is perfect despite how much they seem to be.

I was at first hesitant to read this book. The amount of cliche mental health books out there is overwhelming, but GIRL IN PIECES is nothing like that. The main love interest, Riley, for the most part is awful towards Charlie due to alcoholism and his drug addiction. The cliche plot of the boy "saving" the girl or vice versa is out of question. It doesn't end entirely happy yet, but I am certain that there is a happy ending for everyone. No matter how messed up they seem to be.