Writing this, I am overcome by a million emotions and I wish I could say it’s because of something as simple as PMS. I’m sitting downstairs on the couch of the living room I have lived in the last 20-years and my parents just told me goodnight. When they said happy birthday for the final time, I started to cry and they responded with confusion. “There’s so much to come,” my dad reasons with me. “Do you think everything changes just because you aren’t 19 anymore, but 20?” If I was thinking logically, the answer would be no. I’m thinking with my heart, I want to scream, “YES!”

Normally, a birthday marks just another year that passes by in what feels like my never ending youth. I can think back to 10-years ago on my 10th birthday, which was also my ‘golden.’ Celebrated at The Waterpark of America, I invited all of my friends with GOLDEN tickets. Clever, right? Vividly, I can remember my childhood friend, Gracie, left bottomless after a surf board wipeout. What I can’t vividly remember is the time that passed between then and now, and how it possibly could’ve gone by so fast.

Every birthday I’ve had until now is one that I wished for sooner. Each year brought me closer to something I thought I didn’t have the luxury of having. They brought an excitement, knowing they were just one step closer to the destination I’d always planned on arriving to. I guess what I’m saying is, the idea of adulthood once seemed so far away, but now it’s not far at all. Actually, it feels as if it just knocked on my door. Or maybe it pounded?

My entire life up until now was spent waiting for a day like today where I’d be bigger and better than ever before. I might be bigger, but am I better? The birthday I once wished for now happens to be the birthday that I wish I could postpone. I wish it could be a year from now, or maybe two. Who knows? I sure as hell don’t.

The expectation that my life would be running smoothly by 20-years-old was a short-lived dream. In fact, I woke up from it this morning. I’ve wanted to fall back asleep ever since.

The truth is, it’s easier to still feel like a kid at 19 than it is to at 20. Things that used to not matter, do. Things that once mattered, don’t. It was easier to dream of the opportunities I’d once have, not actually face them.

Today, I’m 20. I’m not a kid and officially am no longer a teen. Today, I’m 20 and…. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I AM. It doesn’t feel right calling myself an adult, mostly because I’m terrified of becoming one. So what am I? A girl having a pre-adulthood crisis? A girl with no idea as to who the hell she is because all she ever thought about was who she would be?

Today, I’m the same 8-year-old girl crying outside the bus to church camp hiding inside of a 20-year-old woman’s body. I feel as terrified as I did on that day, and all I want is to do is cling to the safety of the things I already know.

Today, I am at the age I once dreamed of, but nothing is as it once seemed. I made it, but parts of me burn to rewind time and put the puzzle pieces back together. I made it, but the reality is that my pieces are scattered across the floor, nicked and wary from 20-years of hopeless expectation and experience. I long for the days that being where I am today was a wish, not a reality.

Today, a little part of me broke into pieces realizing that not all dreams come true, especially by the age of 20. Today, a part of me realized that the period of naive time where expectations exist is over. Today, reality was unmasked and my 20-year-old eyes were forced to see it.

when my heart is hurting

My heart is hurting today. 

It hurt yesterday too.

but it hurts for a person

whose no longer you.

the person I loved,

the heart that I had,

aren’t the same anymore

they’re just things of the past.

// Not Lost // 



she told me to write it on paper

so I could maybe find the words

to say what I was thinking and feeling at that moment in time


but the thing was,

whether those words were said or written,

it didn’t matter.

I’d told you once,

I’d told you before, once too.

my words meant absolutely nothing to you.


you didn’t care the day I told you,

and you won’t care tomorrow.

your time is something

that can never be borrowed




there is no difference.

you hit me where it hurt,

you really let me go

you showed me you never loved me

how couldn’t I have known?


I don’t know what I did

or what you think I did

to make you do that


but now that you did,

there’s no turning back.


//my mistake// 


of all people.


I ask.


“it isn’t serious,”

you say.

“it’s nothing.”

Then why is it that we’re talking about something?


it seems that we talk about nothing a lot,

it seems that you forgot what nothing is not.


of all the nothings there are,

why her?

why now?


losing your something,

made you go back to “nothing”

; that in reality was never nothing at all,

just a something you called nothing

to keep in your pocket.


it’s too bad that the one who stood holding your alternate hand,

never knew the secret you held in the other;

that, that something she is,

is just one of the others.


I hope you learn to distinguish nothing from not,

because I sure as hell

am not something to be forgot.


“something” I am

in fact,

I am “something” you lost.


now your pockets are empty

there really is nothing

I hope it was worth it,

you won.

you lost your something.


// something or nothing //


when people used to say that their heart hurt,

I never believed it was literal.

it was until mine broke inside of me,

but kept beating

that I could see that living

was now much different


in every literal sense,

a heart can hurt

like a disease

it isn’t like a broken bone,

there’s no timeline of when it’ll heal

it’s all dependent on how you make yourself feel


I wonder how many times a heart can break until it becomes broken

how many pieces are there to break

and why did no one find out the number?


Maybe if someone would’ve told me,

I would’ve protected mine a little bit longer.

Given it a break every time or two;

like some time off,

instead of more with you.


maybe if I would’ve known how many more times my heart could break

I would’ve considered how much was at stake.


it takes 364 licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop,

how many breaks can my heart take

until its had enough?







Hell, what happens when I’ve had more than enough?

I wish someone would have told me

how many times my heart could break

but I guess it wouldn’t even matter

when all that’s left is faith


so really the question is how much faith can be lost

until I throw in the towel,

and love is the cost?


// what faith? // 



























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 // 

part I: someone loves me

I kissed his neck and said stop talking.

thinking my mouths touch could express

every word he wished I would say

I woke up the next morning

unknowing to the damage I’d done

to his body and heart. 

/empty expressions/ 

hands that were once so loving became cold,

words that were once so kind became cruel.

is all of you a lie?


I looked at you and lied,

knowing that any truth I spoke

would only do you harm.

but for my own selfish reasons,

I couldn’t let you go.


I wanted to call you and tell you about all the things that have changed,

then I remembered you were just another one of them.


imagining me & you was easy

it was as if we never fell apart.

/we did/

you made me see love

and in the process,

realize I’d never been in it.

//until now//

while a part of me wishes to kiss you,

another screams to run away.

knowing that I,

am not the only one,

to feel your abundance of love.

/always running/ 

“It makes me mad because I know I could make you so freaking happy.”

It makes me mad too.


He asked me what was wrong with me when I acted like myself.

I didn’t know how to reply.


I regret letting you pressure me into believing

that love was expressed through touch.

there are different forms of affection

that don’t require taking my clothes off.


Do you love me?

Are you in love with me?

At all?

Or do you only desire the idea of me?

I’m starting to feel like a project

/a work in progress/ 

an open apology to myself 


I am sorry for the times I doubted and ignored you. I’m sorry for damaging you for what I thought was eternal. I’m sorry for allowing others to, too. I’m sorry for overworking you until you felt empty. I’m sorry for not letting you make me happy, I know you tried. I’m sorry for redirecting your thoughts and changing your views. I’m sorry for not listening and not acting upon every instruction you rightfully gave me. I’m sorry for losing you when I needed you the most.


I’m sorry for making you feel weak when all you wanted to be was strong. I’m sorry for letting others tug on your strings whenever they pleased. I’m sorry for not guarding you with my entire being. I should’ve. I’m sorry for letting you go, only to call back for you, again and again. I’m sorry for letting you break. I’m sorry for not realizing how much love you held until I took it all away.


I’m sorry for letting you become weary and dry. I’m sorry for the rivers you’ve cried and the sorrow, only you, have seen. I’m sorry for the things you saw; the things you shouldn’t have. I’m sorry for not turning away. I’m sorry that you couldn’t speak the emotions your pupils conveyed. I’m sorry you had to sit there, watching, defenseless. I, at times, feel the same.


I’m sorry for the things I did and didn’t put inside of you. I’m sorry for neglecting you on the days you watered pining for nourishment and love. I’m sorry for letting mouths of those who mean nothing to me force themselves upon you. I’m sorry for their brittle touch and for the way it made you quiver. I’m sorry for the times you wished to scream, but said nothing at all. I couldn’t bare your sound. I’m sorry for the times you spoke too loudly and abruptly, creating no influence at all. I know you thought it would help. I’m sorry for not loving you the way you should be loved, I’m sorry for not letting others.


I’m sorry for the way your ribs peak out when you breathe. I’m sorry for not providing adequate warmth. I’m sorry for trying to make you looking like something that’s photoshopped onto billboards; I’m sorry for only loving you when I felt that you did. I’m sorry for letting others look at you like something that’s already theirs. I’m sorry for letting you feel like instantly acquired property rather than a hidden buried treasure. I’m sorry for the hands that touched you in your coldest moments. I’m sorry that I believed that they could provide you warmth.

I’m sorry for the times that I couldn’t avoid others’ grasps. I’m sorry for the way they gripped you; ways you shouldn’t ever be gripped. I’m sorry for not pushing back hard enough, for not defending you enough. I’m sorry that people feel entitled to your embrace. I’m sorry that they think you’re an open invitation. I wish that no meant no. Some tend to believe that no means yes, or at least that’s what they said. They thought you wanted their touch. Maybe they knew you didn’t, but didn’t care at all. I’m sorry for not loving you for what you precisely are. I wish I never expected more of you. I’m sorry for letting society conform you into a mold of something other than yourself. You are perfect, I hope it isn’t too late for you to see it.


I’m sorry for not allowing you to be your true self. I’m sorry for seeing you worst qualities rather than your best. I’m sorry for thinking that critiquing  was the only path to bettering yourself. I’m sorry for truly believing that you weren’t ever enough for yourself, or much less the world. I’m sorry for not telling you your own worth, every morning and evening, of every day. I’m sorry for not cherishing you the way you should be cherished. I’m sorry for thinking that others could fulfill your needs. I’m sorry for seeing you as one human of the billions, rather than one of a kind.

You are perfect and you are mine.“”

city streets & quiet bedrooms


Hearts fluttering in the winds of city streets and quiet bedrooms

Eyes glowing seeing the beauty in another’s eyes

Glasses cheering on the ends of nearby bar tables

Couples exiting, leaving doors clanging behind them

laughing while turning down icy street corners

voices shaking when reaching their destination

Faces blushing in the cold of her front door

One body leans as the other freezes

Moving closer, eyes meet once more

lips locking slowly, but surely

coming together as one.

Seeing that love does…




One year later,

The two meet at the bar,

Not far from the icy corner of Barrows Street.

Sitting at the same stool,

Clanking a different glass.

Reminiscing the same day,

One year ago,

where they first met.

Laughing at life,

And the stories they began with,

before creating one of their own.

Leaving the door clanging,

they walk out the door.

Walking the same streets,

they did once before.

Seeing that love does…




It’s been awhile. I don’t have much good to say lately, but I have a sad story. I can’t tell you the story because it makes me sad. That counts for something right? People say that hardships come and go, that life goes on. I do believe them. I really do. But the hard part is, they just keep coming at me. Right when I think it’s finally over, with every door I open, someone stabs me in the back.

While I don’t want to tell you the story, it’s far too sad, I would like to cover the premise of it to hopefully save some of you the pain. I’ve met a lot of harsh people. I’ve shed many tears, but they’re trivial compared to my most recent ones. But what I didn’t know was, it isn’t just the harsh people that create them. It can be the ones who love(d) you the most, or so you thought.

Love is tricky, but in my mind there was something so constant about it. In my mind, I knew that I could never hurt someone I sincerely loved. I knew I could never intentionally tear their heart into millions of little pieces. I could never sit in another room and leave them sobbing, hovering over the floor. I just couldn’t. My heart was too big for that. My heart was so big that I believed the ones’ I loved had to have a bigger one than my own. That’s the only reason I could be attracted to them, right?

Wrong. The thing about big hearts is their filled with expectations. You don’t just want people to be the best version of themselves, you KNOW they will. And when they let you down, you refuse to believe that just maybe that person isn’t who you thought they were. It’s disappointing. The amount of times my heart has shattered for those who did nothing to save themselves are too many to count. It’s hard to have a big heart, but I never found a good enough reason to abandon it.

That was until now. One’s heart can only be so big, so innocent, so loving, so courageous for so long. One can only take so much of the world coming down on them. There’s only so many cracks to be made until the bowl shatters. It’s horrible. It’s horrible that this damage is allowed to be inflicted upon someone.

So the premise of my story is this: if you love someone, don’t hurt them. Don’t put them in harms way, guard them. Save them. Be there for them. Be the best version of you when you’re in love, because if you aren’t, it isn’t the right love. Or maybe you just took advantage of what you didn’t know you had.

Don’t cheat. Don’t lie. Don’t steal. By don’t steal,  I don’t meaning belongings. I mean the innermost, beautiful qualities in a person. Don’t tarnish those. You can ruin yourself, but don’t take down others with you. Don’t steal the things that make a person whole. Don’t dip into them and take the things that made you love them in the first place. That big heart you fell in love with? Don’t ever think of forgetting it. Because once you do, everything is ruined.

The things I had spent so long building. My reputation, my character, my heart. They were so strong for so long. People who don’t love you doing things to hurt you, normal. The ones who love you most? Not. Once this occurs, everything you once knew isn’t a fact anymore. Everything you once trusted becomes a lie. People become blurs of to you. Your heart becomes an angered time bomb just waiting for someone to click the button. Anxiously, I wait for someone to click me once more; to tell me one more thing that’s wrong with me and my life.

Love was a 4 letter word. Love is what I wrote about for years. Love was my idea of a life. Love was my world. Love was what I felt for myself. Love is what I felt for others. Once someone abuses that word, what does it become now?


So, for God’s sake, and someone else’s, don’t use it lightly. Don’t abuse it. The pain feels like forever. Some day it won’t, but as of now, it dwells. It reoccurs in my head every morning and every time I try to fall asleep. It ruined my head. It ruined my heart. It ruined my love for people. It ruined my security. It ruined my confidence. It ruined me.

Don’t ruin anyone. It’s no one’s job but your own.



you weren’t the answer

What I didn’t know was, you weren’t the answer. You never were.

And when I met someone else, I realized it; no one else is, or ever would be the answer to my problems.

The hollowness of my heart was my own problem, and no one else’s.

When I learned that, everything became fuller. More lively. More happy.

A relationship isn’t meant to fulfill you, it’s meant to be the cherry on top of it all.

Once your flaws and perfections are learned to be embraced rather than withheld, that’s when you’re ready.

You’re ready to be more. Not just yours, but someone else’s.

And when you do this, and it’s the right relationship, you shouldn’t feel like you’re someone else. You should feel exactly yourself, and maybe even learn a little more about yourself in the process.

A relationship isn’t meant to tear you down. A relationship isn’t meant to make you second guess your decisions. It should give you a level of certainty and comfort you may’ve never attained once before.

A relationship shouldn’t consume you, it should be just a little extra to you. It’s a tie, but it shouldn’t take over your entire life. It should just be another single part of it.

A relationship should push you to be better and feel better about all aspects of life. If your relationship isn’t doing that, it isn’t a relationship.

Why being a “hopeless romantic”, isn’t so hopeless at all.

I have always been the one who takes relationships too seriously.  The one who can’t do short term.

The truth is, that isn’t the truth at all.

I know what I want, and I don’t want to settle with any less. What’s wrong with not wanting to invest my heart into something thats bound to end?

Unfortunately, I have grown up in a hook up culture. People start, and even end what they call a “relationship” by partaking in this. Not that I judge those who do it at all, because I don’t. Being young gives you the right to enjoy all of your features, abilities, etc. It’s only normal for your hormones to be let out someway or another.

But for me, relationships have always just meant something more. Maybe it was the way I was raised, or maybe something I just evolved into believing. I think the body, and heart is something to be protected.

This tends to lead me towards the opposite of what I am looking for surprisingly 90% of the time. I have an idea of what I want, but in the end, it ends up not being what I wanted at all.

And usually since I have a big heart, I will keep chasing this idea of what I call “love.” And at some point, I’ll realize it isn’t it.

After those experiences, I say screw it. Screw love.

The truth is, I don’t mean one single word that I just said above.

So I keep searching, and I will probably always be searching until I find exactly what I want.

Eventually, i’ll stop searching and find it right in front of me.

….or at least that’s the hope.

Although being a hopeless romantic ends with disappointment, I wouldn’t want it any other way. I know that when I do settle for less, I will always realize there’s more.

From “falling” so many times, I have learned exactly what I want in a person.

Now I know that my excessive pickiness, and strongly based values actually do matter. So, I will always keep hoping for that relationship that I have wanted.

The idea of hook ups being morally correct and even encouraged, is just not my thing. I love the innocence that I hold, as little, or as much as it may be. I way rather wait to spend it on someone who actually matters to me.

Some may not agree, but numbers add up. There’s a point when there’s so many on someone’s list that you wouldn’t dare to be put on next.

Although it gets exhausting waiting for someone to finally see things the way I see them, I know it will happen.

I know that at some point, whether it’s in high school (extremely unlikely), or college, or maybe a time extremely far from now, someone will sweep me off my feet. I may watch a few too many romantic comedies, but I love the idea of them. I love the idea of someone standing outside my window holding the boombox. I love the idea of being written countless love letters. I love the idea of someone screaming “I love you” to me in the most public place. I love the idea of an actual love.

A love that doesn’t need to be proven through actions, but words. A love that I won’t need to feel like I need to sacrifice who I am for.

It makes me sad that people seem to have stopped wanting this. A short term commitment has become so appealing to most, and I am always on the opposite side. I know relationships don’t last forever, but I don’t want a 45 minute hook up either. Love has become a chore, rather than a privilege. Lust has simply overpowered it.

Love is such a big word, and I have never been one to take it lightly.

Nor should you.

The bottom line is, being a “hopeless romantic” and falling hard for even what you shouldn’t, will always bring you somewhere.

I rather love my heart out, and get broken one hundred times than to give myself to someone who’s name i’ll forget in a year.

So, maybe after all, the “hopeless romantic”, actually has more hope than any other. We just take a longer time finding what we want compared to others.