Spend Some Time

The hill is alive as your toes barely touch the surface, sending sparks of life from your tough calloused feet into the dry parched ground. You skip down the rocky slope, and the hill comes alive beneath you.

The hill heaves to one side and surges to the other, but you keep your balance. It is effortless, as this time you send your foot crashing down. This is not a mere tap, this is not a soft scuttle, this is a stomp, and the ground simply roars.

It crashes upwards like a wave hitting a cliff and you let out a fierce cackle. You fly along with it as it moves along the earth, tearing apart the earth around it.

You’re moving now, and you curse every damn moment in your past when you held this back. This movement. This power. Fog sweeps along the sides of you, through your hair and and down the sides of this hill as it moans and rumbles along.

You push your feet harder into the earth and swing your hands into the sky, sending the hill rolling faster and faster north.

To your destination.

The wind whips across your face, forcing tears to your eyes and you squint hard, trying to block them all out. The tears don’t stop, and it might not be only because of the wind.

You can already hear the screams of terror that will sound as soon as the others see you. Their pointed fingers and spat curses are inevitable, so you feel the blows before they land.

They’ve never understood this power that you hold, that you keep deep inside of you, and they honestly never will.

You stretch out, with your hands towards the clouds, standing as tall as you can and the ground mimics. It climbs over itself until it forms a point with you at the very top of it.

You look out onto the horizon.

People hate what they don’t understand.

You’re not like other girls.

You’re different.

You’re special.

You don’t like girly things like makeup and doing nails and shopping and lipstickboystaylorswiftpinkbrastamponsshoes

I’m just so impressed with your ability to not fall into the exact same catagory as every single other girl on this goddamn planet.

YOU’RE NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS.

And I don’t understand why you’re getting upset that I just lumped all of your sisters, mothers, friends, all into ONE SINGLE GROUP THAT YOU YOURSELF ARE SEPARATE FROM.

So please be flattered, please be charmed, by the idea that you are separate from this toxic entity called girlhood.

Now please become a member of Misogynists Monthly (TM), and walk around with your head head high, proudly stating that you are not like other girls. Because all girls are alike. And you stand out.

Because you don’t fit the stereotype. You are not like other girls.

And if I shut my mouth for one second, and actually talked to one single fucking female,

Another overused metaphor to describe the idea that sometimes life just sucks, and sometimes it could be better, and sometimes its just fan-freaking-tastic. 

Sometimes you get a Royal Flush.

Sometimes God deals you two pair, twos and threes. 

But life isn’t always just about what’s ON the cards.

Sometimes I feel like I’m being shuffled, by a hand that’s done this many times before. I’m chaotic, in motion, and without a doubt disorientated but I know that when the wind stops, I’ll be where I need to be. I’ll deal with what I’m dealt later.

Sometimes I feel like I’m playing the game of war. Tedious, one foot in front of the other, the game goes back and forth and no real winner emerges. 

Jack beats 9.

4 loses to 7.

Queen ties with Queen. One-two-three FLIP. My 6 against your 8. I lose, but I have 3 Aces still in my deck. I’m going to be alright.

Sometimes I feel like I’m playing Solitaire. Of course I’m having fun, why are you asking? No, I don’t want in on your game of poker. I’m...content? 

Sometimes I feel like a 4-year old has gotten a hold of the deck. It’s chaotic but fun, and I’m not sure if I’ll find all of the cards later. Maybe that’s why people say I’m a few cards short of a full deck.

Sometimes I feel like a group of 8-year olds have decided to teach themselves how to throw playing cards. I’m thrown in good faith. Where I land is questionable to say the least.

Sometimes I feel like a brand new set of cards, with the wrapper still surrounding me. I’ve got potential. I just need someone to play. 

Sometimes I feel like an old set of cards, with the edges frayed and the color faded. I’m still useful. I promise. 

Life is not static. you are not a box of chocolates. You are not a hand full of cards. You are a deck of cards. You are in motion. 

Me too, Godzilla

Godzilla is a bro yeah

Illuminati 

Seeing ghosts isn’t half as terrifying as you would think it might be.

You get used to it.

The mere-exposure effect is a psychological phenomenon by which people tend to develop a preference for things merely because they are familiar with them. In social psychology, this effect is sometimes called the familiarity principle.

You see ghosts every time you listen to a song that you haven’t listened to in ages, and you’re struck with the memory of time spent under the covers, daydreaming about the one you love. Or loved. Depending on how things work out. 

The ghost of exes past. 

Charles Dickens, eat your heart out.

There are ghosts wearing every single piece of clothing in your closet right now. 

When you put on an old hat and remember the game you won in it three years ago? That’s a ghost being pushed out of the hat it was curled up in. It can hardly fit with your big head in the way. And the head is swelling as you remember the winning touchdown/home-run/goal. That you made. 

big·headˈbiɡˌhed/

noun

a conceited or arrogant person.

It’s okay. The ghost will allow this arrogance just this once. It’s grown rather fond of you.

Ghosts don’t just hide in hats. They are in every single stain, tear or scuff in your clothing. 

They hide under your bed, where you used to hide if there was a thunderstorm.

They hide in the wall that you stubbed your toe on last week, in the book that your cried over last year, and in the dent on your mom’s SUV that you may or may not have told her about. It’s a small one. She’ll hardly notice. 

Sometimes ghosts hide in your nightmares. Moments in your life that you rather not consciously go over. Ghosts don’t like to be ignored. 

Ghosts hide in every scar on your body. A lesson learned, a heart broken, physical and mental scars are nothing more than a marker for a ghost, much like humans put a flag on their front porch. 

Ghosts don’t let you forget. They’ll let you heal. They might even let you move on for a time, but they never let you forget. 

Reminder 

re·mind·errəˈmīndər/

noun

A thing that causes someone to remember something.

"The watchtower is a reminder of the days when an enemy might appear at any moment.”

Synonyms:prompt, prompting, aide-mémoire, mental note, mnemonic 

"When the clock chimes, that'll be my reminder to get the mail."

Befriend your ghosts. They’re here to stay. 

You might become used to seeing dead people too. 

I don’t seem like the type of person to be stressed. I’m not terribly bright but I’ve got good grades. I’ve got a good family, and a safe environment to live in.

Besides all that, most people don’t peg me as a ‘stressed out’ person. I’m almost always laughing, I’m down for almost anything and I take life as it comes.

I am stressed out LITERALLY all the time. I spend hours curled up in a ball on my bed just worrying. About everything.

About once a month I have breakdowns, where I just collapse, sobbing on the ground because I’m stressed about school, my family, friends, life. The future.

Do you know how much the future scares me?

I’m so freaking scared. 

My family has become used to these sort of breakdowns. They think I’m just overreacting. 

They’re probably right. 

I wish that I could be like the cool kids, ‘cause all the cool kids? They seem to fit in. - Cool Kids, Echosmith

Lord, take me downtown, I'm just lookin' for some tush. - Tush, ZZ Top

So this is me swallowing my pride, -December, Taylor Swift

Since the return from her stay on the moon, she listens like spring and she talks like June, -Drops of Jupiter, Train

Ohhhhh sometiiimes, i get a good feeling. yeah. Good Feeling - Avicii

With my head trapped, permanently tilted in the space between the straight ahead and the straight down, I walked along the street. Walking block after block after block. Nowhere to go. No job, with no schooling underneath my belt. It didn’t seem important where I ended up.

I passed some kids in a coffee shop. Their squabbling and laughter while they studied whatever was in their textbook floated across the empty street to me. They didn’t look up as I passed them, but I sure as hell looked at them.  I wish that I could be like the cool kids, ‘cause all the cool kids? They seem to fit in, I never really fit in anywhere.

Didn’t seem to matter. I kept walking. 

I passed a couple of girls working the corner. Their high heels wobbled as they strutted what they had, teasing the scarce amount of cars that passed them by. A car slowed down and a couple of grown men were inside. One of them asked why they were stopping.  Lord, take me downtown, I'm just lookin' for some tush, the other laughed. The other man didn’t think it so funny.

I watched as a girl no more than 16 got into the car. A better man would have called the police. But stuff like this happens all over the world.

Didn’t seem to matter. I kept walking.

I walked to the nearest seven-eleven and bought a bag of Doritos. It rang up at 1.03. When I reached into my pocket and felt the singular dollar bill, my face heated up. I asked the clerk if it she had any spare change.  So this is me swallowing my pride. Pride tastes like Doritos. Not that bad. 

Didn’t seem to matter. I kept walking.

I sat down on the curb to eat. It was a brisk afternoon, and the fall winds were tearing leaves off of the trees. There was a homeless woman under one of them. Didn’t know her name, but I’ve seen her around before. I hauled my ass up off the curb to go sit near her. I wordlessly offered her the bag of chips, but she didn’t even notice. Must be coming down from a high.  Since the return from her stay on the moon, she listens like spring and she talks like June.

Didn’t seem to matter.

I leave the rest of the chips at her side, and get up. Brushing the dirt from my pants, I take off down the street. The sun is coming up. 

I hate life, but oh, sometimes, I get a good feeling. 

Nothing matters. 

"Sweetheart, what did you bury in the garden?"

“Nothing.”

“There’s a pile of dirt where my tomato plant once was, I know you buried something.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh. What’s under there?”

“I told you, nothing.”

“Is it a Barbie Car again?”

“No.”

“I can see the pink antennae.”

“No you can’t.”

“Sweetheart.”

“She’s EXPLORING.”

“Can she explore somewhere that is not my garden?”

“No, she’s fighting the root monsters.”

“You destroyed the roots of my tomato plant?!”

“No.”

“You just said-”

“Barbie did.”

“Barbie had some help, I think.”

“Maybe.”

“Get your car out of the garden. And mind the green onions!”

“Those are the green monsters!”

“Where are my green onions?”

“Barbie has had a busy day.”

“Sweetheart.”

“Barbie is sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is Barbie fighting now?”

“In the not-garden.”

“But where?”

“Probably the sandbox.”

“Against the rock-monsters?”

“Yeah.”

“Does Barbie need help?”

“No.”

“Will she let me play anyway?”

“The word selfie is in the dictionary??? Oh my god, this generation!!!”

“Everyone in this generation gets a trophy!!! When you get into the real world there are winners and losers!!!!!”

“Everyone in this generation has a cellphone or tablet or computer hand-held whatever!!! Back in my day, we had rocks and sticks and FAITH to keep us going??? So spoiled.”

“HAHAHAHAH I’ll bet this generation has never heard of the BEATLES or ROLLING STONES or KISS you guys only know the stuff that’s on the radio now like KATY MINAJ and ROTFLMFAO and LADY ONE DIRECTION that stuff is CRAP how DARE you know the stuff that’s on the radio, obviously the only real music is the stuff that was on the radio when I was a kid SO UNCULTURED.”

“This generation is so lazy!!! If you guys don’t know something you can pull out your apple samsung tablet and look it up????? Back in my day we just accepted our ignorance and moved on.”

“This generation is so dangerous!!!! Rioting when things are not done the way you like?? So self-centered and violent. How dare you make a scene when unarmed black kids are shot. That’s dangerous. You could hurt THE POLICE OFFICER.”

“I can’t stand this generation with its feminism and gay-rights and its general understanding that racism has not been solved and its desire to get involved in that sort of thing. Hello??? You’re causing problems.”

“YOU ARE ALL SO DEPENDENT ON TECHNOLOGY??? HOW DO YOU LIVE IN THE REAL WORLD???? THIS GENERATION IS SO SAD. HOW DO I SEND AN EMAIL?”

I would be swinging my legs back and forth, but my legs are much too long. I haven’t been able to do that in years. Being in eighth grade and being five foot, ten inches had its ups and downs. One of the downs being ‘no swinging your feet in the car’. Another one was not being able to play with monkey bars. They’re no fun when your feet hit the ground. 

Funny thing is, I had been this tall for about sixth grade. Hadn't grown in years either.

Back in the car. We pass miles and miles of farmland and abandoned houses. Our destination was my great-grandmother’s house. Grandma Kitty. 

Kitty H was 95 years old at the time. She was one of the matriarchs of the H family, along with my other great-grandmother, Grandma Tommy. She had given birth to all five of her children at home, with nothing but a family midwife at her side. Her husband died at an early age, so she raised the kids on her own. She known to take no shit from anyone. 

And she was dying.

Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t completely broken up about it. I could count on two hands the number of times I had seen her, and she was 95 years old. That was an amazing life. 

We were visiting more to pay our respects to the woman who founded our line. 

We were traveling from my grandmother’s house. Grandma L. Can’t say I ever liked her. She doesn’t like my mom because she’s brown and has a different religion. She masks her bigotry well enough, but even at that age I knew what was up. 

But Grandma Kitty was my grandfather’s mother, so maybe she would be different. 

Maybe not.

Grandma L told us that she had fallen a week ago and hurt her hip. She refused to be put in a home. Had a few choice words for anyone who said anything otherwise. 

As we pulled in her driveway, Dad told us to be careful when hugging her. She was old and fragile, and we didn't want to cause her anymore pain now did we?

My father rang the doorbell, and almost immediately, the door swung open. A hunched over woman with a walker screamed in her crackling voice.

“Well oh my lord, would you look who it is!!!! A!!! And- oh my lord you brought the family, come in, come in!!!”

While she had a walker, I noticed quickly that she didn’t put much weight on it. She pushed it around, much like one would a shopping cart. She had a wrinkly face, but laughing eyes. Her hair was short and white and very curly. 

She hobbled over to me first.

“Ana! Look at you, look at how big you have gotten!!” She reached in for a hug, and I braced myself, ready to be very careful. 

I needn't have worried.

She squeezed me as hard as she could, and patted me on the back. Well, I say ‘patted’. She slammed her hand on my back is more accurate. 

“Hi, Grandma Kitty,” I laughed into her shoulder.

After she finished greeting me, she turned to my brother and mother. 

“Look at you two! So brown and beautiful, oh, R I love your skin! Come here you two!” She greeted them with a slap on the back, much like she did me.

She led us to her parlor, where she invited us to sit down. Her house was covered in collectible spoons, and she soon launched into several anecdotes on where she had gotten some of them. She had prepared a snack for my brother and I, and listened to all of our stories about school. 

She complained about her walker, smacking at it with a firm hand with every insult she delivered. She didn't believe she needed the thing but her children said she did. 

She winked at me and with a chuckle said, “I’m humoring them”. 

Her laugh was loud and unapologetic. She took up an entire room, just by walking through the door. 

She didn’t look like she was dying to me. Grandma Kitty was beautifully alive. 

At the end of the day, I gave her a hug, and told her I would see her again soon. She planted a kiss on the top of my head (I had to bend down), and agreed. 

She died two years later, at the age of 97. 

Her funeral was open casket, and I hated it. She looked so small, and that was not how I remembered her. 

I hope nobody remembers her like that.

Her name is Grandma Kitty.

Once there was a dragon.

At this point in the story, you might be expecting something along the lines of ‘Oh, but this was no ordinary dragon! They had no desire to kidnap princesses or set fire to unsuspecting cities. In fact they had the unique talent of *insert something quirky, charming but ultimately useless*’

However, that was not the case. This dragon was terribly stereotypical. It ravaged cities, was the reason young maidens had nightmares, and had a horrendous temper.

He, (of course it was a he, haven’t you read a fairy-tale before?) even looked like the stereotypical dragon. He was a massive creature, with metallic red scales that covered his entirety. With a long neck and tail, and claws that could scare even the toughest of men, he was a formidable creature. 

He laid siege to my city one day. It was bound to happen eventually. I sat beneath the last tree left standing and watched as he picked off the stragglers. This had happened to almost all cities around us, and everyone knew that there was nothing to be done. No sword or arrow could pierce him. There was no brave hero just around the corner, ready to save the day.

It was over. 

He was terribly stereotypical. In every single sort of way. 

I’m aggressively positive.

Those two words seem to contradict each other a little bit don’t they? Is it possible for one to be aggressive and positive at the same time? 

Let me explain. 

I used to be aggressively negative. I saw the bad in everything, and hated it. I hated my school, I hated my body, I hated every single thing that was possible to hate. I loved to hate, and hated the way it made me feel.

I was rude to myself, aggressively so. Constantly criticizing every single thing I did. And this went on for a long time.

But I fought to get to where I am today.

It started with the little things, like not cursing out my alarm clock first thing in the morning. That is not the type of attitude you should wake up with. I forced, and I mean forced, myself to see the positive side of things in day to day life. I fought and scratched and climbed my way up. 

After a while, it became natural. 

And I see the good in every single thing around me. I love my school, I love my body, and I love as much as I possibly can. 

I love the way it makes me feel.

But I went through hell to get here. 

I am aggressively positive, because I’m afraid of going back to the way I was. 

I do not tolerate the use of self-depreciation by anyone around me because damnit I went down that road a while ago, let me tell you why it’s horrid. And that sort of negative attitude brings you and everyone around you down.

So help me God, you better knock it off, or I’m gonna get aggressively positive. 

I love the idea of taking something that grows naturally in this spinning ball of dirt that we call home, and declaring it worthy of royalty. 

I especially love when the crown is made of common flowers such as dandelions or daisies. They grow everywhere, and yet they are still beautiful. 

In the world we live in, often it is the rare things that are declared beautiful, gorgeous, worth having. It is nice to see that some people still appreciate the common things. 

Like dandelions. 

To see a common person in a crown made of common flowers is breathtaking. They looked around, saw the jewels that this earth created and declared themselves worthy of wearing them. Nobody crowned them, or told them that they deserve to be wearing a crown. 

That type of stuff is reserved for crowns of gold and silver.

A flower crown is a self-affirmation. 

If every time I looked down at a math assignment and died a little bit inside, a dollar flew out of the pit that was in my stomach because shit I have a test on this tomorrow, I could probably pay a collage tuition. 

If every time I raised my hand in class and then completely forgot what I was going to say, and yet still kept talking because I’m an idiot??????, a dollar appeared in my wildly gesturing hands, I might be able to afford a car. 

If every time I put my foot in my mouth in public because someone said something sexist/racist/homophobic/generally ignorant/insensitive and I could NOT keep my mouth shut and now I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to get out of this one, a dollar was tucked into my sneakers that are backing away, I could quite possibly afford to eat out more than I do.

If every time I listened to a lecture in AP Biology and when the teacher asked if there were any questions and I didn't raise my hand because I don’t even know what I don’t know, a dollar poofed into the pocket of my messy binder, I could pay for that entire class’s college tuition. 

dIm not going to edit any of this. Im going to hit the keyes  with my eyes closed and hope that it makes sense at the end.

I dont like how that last sentance sounded but im to scared to see if i can find the backspace jey

my eyes still ahvenmt openeed. 

Frthermore, i habe “Pricetag” bu Jessie Jay blasting in my ear right now and its kind of distracting me. However, I am affraid that if i take my fingers aoff of the keys i wont be able to dinf it again

the shong has changed and now its some really crappy sexist country song.

“Backwoods are it dont take no shit, chuw tobacco chew tobacco chew tobacco spit.”

What does that mean??

:Girls are here all deserve a whistl:??? no

no they dont thats gross. catcalling is never okay and you should never do that

“do you wanna get down with a redneck??:”

no no i dont

i have no idea if my fingers are still on the keys this journal might just be a bynch of words that are actually not reak??? again that sentance doesnt make sense but i dont want to find the bacjsolace jey

Kgirl oyou gotta get down with a redneck: nO MP O DPMT THATS TERROFUONMG

ai i know that word didnt come out right

terrifying

terrifying 

thats waht i was trying to say 

so oin conclusion this was an experience and you should probably not attempt this

paper stretched to its limit, stretched until it resembles a ball and wire forged from the earth keeps it in its shape

   but not

                            snapping

a lesson to be learned im sure 

                                                                            i never was a good listener

some of them are gorgeous

they light inside

                               lighting the way along a porch that no one is walking on

some of the lights have dimmed on its chain but the others take no note

assholes

cant they see whats going on around them

near them?

                                                           next to them???

its kind of a warning 

their brothers and sisters are not immune so give me one good reason why they pretend that they are

                              they must not be good listeners either

                                                                             i feel that

so they keep shining while the others fade away

they take no notice