MegsHead

Slytherin: Hufflepuff, that's physically impossible.

Hufflepuff: *cups Slytherin's face* Are you sure?

Tossing and turning with ideas just waiting to be made.

It’s like they’re screaming to be let out 

And tie messy knots in my hair.

I hope I’m not the only one who feels this way. 

Like my ideas are creating a beautiful symphony.

They want out but I want to keep them in.

Because what if I can never execute them as wonderful as they are all thought up.

What if they hate them or worse don’t understand them.

My thoughts are masterpieces 

I just wish I knew how to share them. 

I feel beautiful.

Maybe not in the way he notices.

Or the way the boys talk about me when I’m not there.

But in the way that my brain bleeds color and my mind whispers sweet nothings to help me sleep.

In the way I dance around my room and strum my ukulele perfectly out of tune.

In the way I smile as I read and the way my handwriting fades in between legible and master scribbles.

In the way my lipstick stains my tea cup and my coffee cup stains my essays.

In the way I laugh so hard I cry

Or the way my body doesn’t easily digest dairy.

In the way I cry at movies and songs and books and poems

Because my heart feels more than normal.

In the way my fingers dance across this keyboard not even knowing where the words are coming from.

As if there is another me inside who is that special kind of beautiful.

That kind that makes me desirable, turns heads, and gets me in trouble.

I just wish for once they could see my beautiful.