part II: stories untold

he asked me what was wrong,

he said he was my friend.

but i sat there wondering,

what kind of friend

would do this to a friend?

// Lies People Tell //


saying goodbye is hard for me

because I watched the ones I loved,


without saying a word.

// wordless //


we’re talking

and fighting

and screaming

and crying

; pretending that we’re listening to each other’s hearts,

when we’re only really interested in our own

// we aren’t listening //


everyones laughing drunkenly outside the window at the memories they won’t be able to remember tomorrow

I wonder what is so appealing about the idea of forgettable nights and engaging with strangers who won’t exist by tomorrow morning

then I remember,

that forgetting those moments

allows us to re-live them over and over again

sometimes not remembering tells us

those moments were worth forgetting

because if we did remember what happened,

we may just decide to not live,

or at least live the way we did,

that night,

and on all the other nights we chose to forget

// Is this living? // 

you looked at my bones like gold,

and pushed my skin down

to imagine a finer distinction



and thinner

than my own


you showed me what you wanted

and what I was at that moment,

was not enough.

// Bones like Gold // 

80… 90….100 

miles per hour we go

you sped down the road

hands smashing onto the dashboard

with my screams turning into tears

as I gripped the side of my seat

accepting the fact that this car ride may never end,

and this seatbelt may never come off

unless I jump out the door

// Safety First // 


“pretty, pretty please Nan,

can I come back really, really soon?”

she said to me.

with tears in my eyes,

I couldn’t find the words to respond.

it had been a decade since I wished to stay somewhere

so strongly that I begged

I realized at that moment,

that I would never experience that longing again

childhood was the only time that a feeling like that existed

// Longing //


I look at her and wonder where the world went wrong

if everyone were to have the soul of a 3-year-old girl,

things may go differently

as I ponder,

she turns to me out of the blue and asks,

“Are you okay?”


I want to scream no and tell her that she’ll only be able to wonder how others feel for so long until she learns the truth,

that no one’s okay.

everyone’s pretending.

and that someday she’ll stop asking

because she’ll know the answer is a lie,

or at least not the full truth


the people who embrace her kindness and shield her youth today

are bound to be overpowered tomorrow

by the corruption

and anger

and guilt

and pain

that could overflow oceans

and hearts

and minds


during this,

all I want to do is look at her and say

“are you okay?”

because I know there will only be so many more times that

she will say yes

and really mean it without hesitation


but instead I tell her that I’m okay

because I need her to believe this half-truth

she has yet to unmask


and secretly I hope that someday

she may grow older

and still believe it

without hesitation

as I used to


I think that if we all chose

to protect the hearts of 3-year-old girls,

and allowed them to bask in oblivion for just a bit longer

without exposing them to what our modern-day truth looks like

that maybe someday,


a little girl will create her own


and although she may have never known our version,

we gave her the chance

we hadn’t been given:

to form her own truth

without it being decided for her.


// you decide // 







Room 402

Tonight is my last sleepover with my roommate in Wilkins Hall, Room 402. We have spent the last 9-months eating together, sleeping across from each other, studying together, and so much more. I am trying so hard to not start crying writing this because I am so not ready to say goodbye to this place or the memories we made here.

You always hear roommate horror stories that terrify you in advance of leaving for college. It’s true, you cannot truly know someone by reading their Facebook bio and creeping on all of their Facebook photos. You really can’t know anyone until you meet them, and even then, you don’t know someone with complete certainty. Even people I thought I knew best ended up becoming someone entirely different.

This year has taught me one important thing: you don’t know anyone until you live beside them. I have only ever been used to living with my family, and my roommate is the first person I have lived with outside of them. This was the first time I ever lived without my family, and the first time I moved into a “new home” in 18-years.

Much like my own family, my roommate knows me best. I didn’t think that anyone could know me as closely as my own mother; I was wrong. I didn’t think that you could find your forever best friend in 9-months. Once again, I was wrong. This place, as much as I’ll miss it, means nothing without the person I shared it with.

My roommate was what made this place home. It wasn’t the decorations or the fact that we paid to live there; it was that SHE was always here. When she wasn’t, I didn’t want to be there. It’s sad that this summer I’m moving back “home” but missing the newest addition.


Although I will miss many parts of 402: the overwhelming heat, our couch, and the bathtub…

I will miss you more.

I’ll miss binge watching Blacklist, Bates Hotel, and Friends with you. I will miss our Monday and Tuesday designated Voice nights. I somehow will miss your spontaneous organization of the bathroom, and how you never tell me where you put my hairbrush. I will miss your sometimes obnoxious heavy breathing while you sleep. I’ll miss listening to some of your less than intelligent questions, and answers like Canada being a continent. I might even miss your stupid protein shakes and when you refuse to eat pizza with me. I’ll even miss the stupid elliptical you moved into our apartment and when you exercise as I binge eat dove chocolates.

I didn’t know that going into this that I’d find my partial twin, and future best friend. Thank you for responding to my Facebook chat, and believing in my fake bio claiming I was moderately clean. Thank you for being your emotional self and crying when hearing any sad story. Thank you for not being a complete hugger, and for sharing my same semi non-girly attitude. Thank you for telling me to not send that text.

Thank you for being sometimes too chill, and allowing me to mom you when you aren’t getting your shit together. Thank you for laughing at everything I say even though I’m not that funny. Thank you for bringing me home from the bars (most nights) and not killing me. Thank you for not getting mad at me after losing my key twice, and having to get the locks changed.. twice. Thank you for almost calling UMPD for me when you couldn’t find me. Thank you for throwing crackers back in my face when you’re under the influence and I try to feed you. Thank you for cleaning my dishes when I’m too lazy to get up and do it myself. Thank you for dealing with all of my relationships; literally all.

Thank you for basically being the best roommate a girl could ask for, and thank you for becoming a part of the place I call “home.” I know we are living together next year too, and probably the year after that, but I will always remember this year the most. You will always be my home away from home and I’m counting down the months until we share an actual home again.

Basically, I love you woman. Thank you for walking into my life; I promise, I’m never letting you walk out.

Here’s to room 402 and the best friendship its made. Room 608, here we come.


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a detour

I know I said that this was the beginning of finding myself and all, but really I feel like college has actually taken me in the opposite direction. It isn’t its fault or anything, it’s honestly my own. I think that once you come here as a freshman it’s hard to grasp right from wrong and how to say no in general. A time of such instability and change has created even more anxiousness and misunderstanding than when I was in high school. Who would’ve known?

I thought when I left that I could find a fresh start and potentially become someone else. I realize now that I am the only one blocking my transition. It’s hard not knowing anyone and honestly not even knowing yourself. You can feel yourself drift, but for some reason there’s always something pulling you back to where you used to be. The comparison happens to be even worse, and the self deprecation only increases within your first weeks of rushing. It’s crazy how confident you can feel with yourself, and without even knowing it, completely forget all of the great things you loved. It’s even harder not being surrounded by the people who kept tabs on you for 4-years and constantly reminded you of your goodness.

College is basically like remaking yourself, but somehow I managed to remake me into a worse version. A lot of the things I loved in high school and never felt the need to take part in feel almost essential now in order to fit in. I used to not even care about fitting in, but at least in high school people noticed. It feels like you could disappear amongst a crowd here without a soul knowing, maybe besides my roommate. A lot of the qualities I had feel as if they’re irrelevant now; it seems like everyone’s wanting something different.

This probably sounds like a total bummer post and is long overdue to be honest, but I promise it’s gonna get better. That is the one thing I could never guarantee myself in high school.  It just feels like sometimes I’ve lost sight of what I came here for in the first place,  but maybe I’m just looking at it the wrong way.

It’s crazy how many things change throughout your first 6-months of college, and even crazier to see how much independence you develop. I think I was well prepared for this and I haven’t had that hard of a time adjusting. I will say that sometimes (well, oftentimes) I desire the comfort of my own bed and my picture scattered wall. I spent a lot of time in my room throughout high school, the good times and bad. Although I call this place home now, it doesn’t really feel like mine. It’s hard to sit here and think the way I used to, but I guess thats just growing up. It’s also important for me to remember that sometimes letting go of old memories is the only way to move forward. I keep waiting to relive the past and by now,  I should know better than this.

If I could go back and tell myself anything at the beginning of my senior year I’d say: “choose yourself.” I think that’s something I always thought I was good at, but honestly was horrible at. The slightly older I get, the more I realize how much I wish I would’ve prioritized my growth over others. I feel like if I would’ve loved myself a little bit more, I would be in a way better spot than I am at this moment. It’s too easy to repeat old habits and comparison games when you lose comfort in who you are. It’s hard to let other people love you when you find every reason to not love yourself. Cliché, but somehow this always manages to be my worst living nightmare.

As much as I understand this fault, I have repeatedly chosen to not do anything about it. It’s sad to say it isn’t oblivion anymore, it’s just fear. It’s also sad that I used to not be this person, and I’m not totally sure when I lost her. I don’t think it was ever relying on others that initiated my problem, I think it was just avoiding it as a whole. I wish I could understand how to fill my empty voids. Somehow I just end up using control methods as a way to fill them, whether it be my weight or perfecting some other element of my appearance, I always seek gratification in the unattainable. One pound feels great, how about 6 more? That’s my problem: it’s never enough.

Basically, I’m hoping that by understanding this I can stop fulfilling other people, and choose myself for once. I keep doing things and acting in the same patterns knowing they’re destructive, but somehow deciding to not stop them. It’s honestly like sometimes I enjoy making myself fall down. Pretty screwed up. I don’t know where I got it from, but I do know I need to change it.

Maybe small steps aren’t my answer anymore, and drastic measures are necessary in order to make a change. It’s time for me to choose me.

Okay, sorry for the babble.