The Little House

I remember that little red and white playhouse

the one with the window boxes.

The one with the porch I’ve always wanted

The one my sister would force me to clean

the moment that the weather turned nice.

The one where my brother broke the no boys rule

more times than one.

The little house where nobody kissed me.

The little house I slept in for my 14 birthday,

the last birthday I really cared about.

And we said goodbye

and drank 48 glass cokes,

and messed up hobo dinners

and filled up on chips.

The last time any of us were friends

before we all changed.

I remember biking to that Walgreens

that wasn’t far away.

Eating crappy junk food

renting movies.

Where it didn’t matter if we couldn’t drive

because you could go everywhere on bikes.

I remember that park

where we would eat pizza

where we played baseball

and soccer,

and that one snow day we pretended the light post

was a stripper pole

only it was cold, so nobody’s clothes got taken off

where we got caught in the rain

the last time any of us were friends

before we all changed.

I remember saying goodbye

and how happy I was

and how sad I was

I remember thinking of a new beginning

and being selfish

I shouldn’t have been excited to leave you

but I carved my initials

and the date

into the little house,

with the porch I’d always wanted

and said goodbye

when we were still friends

the last time any of us were friends

before we all changed. 

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What does sexuality mean to me?

Nothing. Not one flipping thing. Unless I am interested in having sex with you then it is absolutely nothing. And by sex I mean pursuing a relationship but I’m using sex as a form of an empirical formula because not everyone is pursued for a relationship. I don’t understand this whole drama around sexuality. Calling one another gay, caring what sexuality everyone is. It’s really not your business. I really just hate this whole taboo on sexuality. Especially since most kids my age are not entirely sure of there’s. So why is this such a big deal, judging someone who is seemingly homosexual. You don’t really know that, sexuality isn’t a height or a weight. You can’t immediately know for sure what a person is. And that is what’s so magical about. Sexuality isn’t who you like or what you like it’s how you explore yourself and your own body image, this includes your preferred gender but it is more than that. It isn’t something you control or choose just like I didn’t choose how tall I was going to be (short) or my own race (Hispanic) I also don’t allow those things to define me. Just like you shouldn’t use sexuality to define someone else. Sexuality means nothing in day to day life with day to day people, sexuality is like underwear. It only matters to the people who really are going to see it.

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Daily Prompt: A Source of Anxiety

Well look here, I knew just knew there was going to be a day where the daily prompt actually fit 100% in my life, which is sad because well it’s this one.

I have really really awful anxiety. Which is funny because well, I don’t know. Anyways, my source of anxiety must be……everything.

Now I’m not one of those girls who thinks they are too fat or too ugly or whatever. I realized that I look in the mirror like twice a day and one is so that I know where to put my face lotion on and I don’t have my glasses on for that. So it’s not that I think I’m ugly, and it’s not that I think I’m fat (although my love of full coverage swimsuits might make people think otherwise, but really the top looks like a shirt how cool is that). My anxiety is caused by the notion that I, might not be normal enough. Well you are thinking, a teenage girl who wears glasses is under 5 foot tall and blogs is totally normal. But I’m not. That was sarcasm.

I also get anxiety from bowling, and doctors, and when people make loud noises in my ears, and I hyperventilate when I’m in the dark for too long. But that feeds to thinking I am not normal enough. Sometimes I need to sit down and realize what a waste of a perfectly good human to sit and think we are not NORMAL enough. I think focusing too much on clothes, and loving shopping or perfume or  pink or Justin Bieber isn’t normal.  But apparently it is. I realized maybe I’m not blonde tall and skinny, I don’t fill a room up with confidence, I don’t have an overwhelming talent. Nobody made or asked me to be their teacher. I am ME. The only thing I can do is realize that I am not normal, and that is perfectly normal. Sure I like guitar and Freelance Whales and band is my shit. I am just the way I am. I don’t care if you think I’m a freak because that makes you a freak and you can take your lightened thin hair to the bank. I can make friends because I’m different, I can make people happy because I’m strange and sure is my anxiety really going to get better? Probably not but realizing that I am my own person and I am my own being means that I can live my life the way I want to and not care what you think. Panic attacks included

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My Friend Ting

Yeah Ting is a pretty cool gal, I was just thinking about her today because she lives life like she’s a character in a book and that is just really awesome. While I’m wearing the same pair of jeans I wear everyday because like a cartoon character I have multiples of the same exact pair of pants, she’s being some sort of bright and colorful person. I wish I could do that. I also call her Jenny like they do in Forrest Gump. Both of these things are not her name. 

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Inspirational Speaking

What I would love to be, my career of choice I mean, would to be an inspirational speaker. Don’t ask me why, but I feel like I would love to do that. Would I be good at it? Probably not, I have little to no experience extemporaneously speaking (is that a word? Did I make that up?) I could barely encourage myself to not eat two ice cream sandwiches at lunch instead of you know real food (heads up I didn’t actually do a very good job at that) . I guess why I would want to be an inspirational speaker is because I’d love to use words to help and inspire people, well obviously. I guess because in real life I’m kinda quiet, and I don’t really talk too much and when I do it isn’t meaningful. When people write, or well when most people do, they get the time to think that spoken words won’t let them, I sure as heck can’t draw but I know I can write. So then why inspirational speaker, I really have no idea. Maybe self help books aren’t in my future and maybe talking in front of people without thinking might be a little well, messy, but I’m sure there is something I can do that can use words to help people. An inspirational kind of journalist I guess, who knows? Does anyone else feel like this? I’d like to know. 

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What Economics has taught me…

If you are an Econ teacher you and are halfway cool, you are going to tell stories using vocab from the unit, and I will still be very, very VERY, confused

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Dear Michael Buckley,

You have saved me. I find you such an inspiring person. I’ve been watching your youtube channel since I was young. Probably too young to be watching you. I just wanted to let you know that I have been struggling with emotions since I was in 7th grade and you honestly have helped so much with that. Watching your youtube channel made me so happy and I have learned so much from you. I haven’t watched you as much now but I’ll randomly click on a video and get a rush of joy from watching you talk and the way you are as a person. I just wanted to  say thanks because you brighten my day and you have been for quite a few years.



P.S. I love Darren Criss too!

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Wake Up Happy

I always try to wake up happy, even when I wake up with a headache. Because I have one of the cutest dogs on the face of the planet, (my opinion only) It’s easy because she is so sweet and excitable when she see’s you. As a gift to all my followers. Bella is wishing you good morning too. ImageImageImage

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I’ve been told by teachers that I am a writer and I have been told that I am not one. When I was little I would fill notebooks with stories. I found my first story, and it was pretty darn terrible. But some of the things I wrote impressed me for a fifth and sixth grader. I think I’ve lost some of this talent as I’ve gotten older and have learned to “write for the test”. In my head I have movies and scenarios and fanfictions but I haven’t ever dared put it on paper. I’m scared to. Maybe I am not a writer and maybe I am but writing has been an important part of my life. I can’t draw and I am hardly musically inclined. I don’t have time to dance anymore but writing is important to me. I can’t write deep extraordinary stories or poems but I can write something that’ll make you smile. That’s what I want to do is just to make someone happy. It could be one person or thousands. I know that I can use words to achieve that. 

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You (a poem)

I was supposed to write a poem centered around the word you basically. So I wrote one about my partner to prove that hey I can be romantic and admit I have emotions. I chickened out. So to broadcast that I am not a chicken, possibly just a rooster, here it goes. 

You are an everyday


Far from extraordinary 




Frumpy, sad

Making pouty faces when you’re mad 

You aren’t perfect


And you might know this

Love of my dreams 

Strange as it seems

I love you




Quite unfixable

My everyday


The everyday


You’re my extraordinary 


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