I wonder if no one notices

when I go to my locker, pull out a notebook, wait around a while and eventually put it back in?
I almost hope that someone does, because I'll bet it's pretty ridiculous to observe. Almost as absurd as you trying to not look like you're waiting in the crowded hallway. Turned around, hesitant at first, your words rinsed, chopped, and tossed together. There is no superficial, at least, none that's working. I see you, you see me. We're on the same page. We don't want sunsets or romance or exclusivity. You keep your left socks separate from your right ones; you never pair off. Brilliant. There's nothing striking in your eyes, and there are no sparks from your hands which have rarely touched mine. What is striking is the conversation we create while everyone around is listening in the hall where I pretend to need a notebook.

turquoise striped throne

Haha. :)
I win.

Give, give, give, until there's nothing left.

What did I do to deserve my exceptional parents? :) And my genuine, beautiful siblings? All my understanding friends? I feel happy today knowing that there are such good people in my life. Incredibly lucky. Life is so beautiful! I love my life, most of all: the people in it! I heard this quote recently, "A place is as good as the people in it." I love that because it is so true. Everywhere I've been, it's the people I miss most.

Why me?
Why am I the lucky one?
:)

So he said, What's the problem baby?

I don't know, well maybe I'm in love.

So I said, "I'm a snowball running"
Running down into the spring
That's coming all this love melting under
Blue skies belting out sunlight,
shimmering love.

and how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?

I'm about to say something I've said many times before.
Everyone I talk to says you’re trouble. But none of them have given me a good enough reason to believe it’s true. I’m getting that feeling. That feeling you get as the ride is rolling up, up, up. Anticipation. Excitement. But also fear. The ride is always too short. So you almost don’t want it to start. But of course you would die if it never did. I thought I knew what love was, but now it scares me entirely. I’ve been exposed so utterly ignorant.

Hey, Tori. :)

Is it possible to be that adorable?

What is Poetry?

Words are like peanut butter; without milk they’re too sticky. Poetry is like milk. When your lips are cracking and your mouth is so dry it feels like cotton, that’s poetry. Even though you get a milky coating all in your mouth, it gives you something to think about, something to remember after the actual experience. Leaving you refreshed and nostalgic. Poetry is a whispered pleading to someone who’ll listen, with the hope they won’t fully understand what you’re trying to express. It’s like a fragment of the writer’s soul is in a floating water lily, just out of reach, daring you to lean over and risk falling in the water. Poetry is the soaked feeling of your formal gown against you as you pull up on to the muddy shore with the water lily dangling off of heel of your shoe. Poetry is when words aren’t enough to explain how you feel, but you allow them to try. Poetry is when all things constraining become the tools necessary to rise above.

It's been my experience that

turning in a poetry portfolio is like wrapping your soul in saran wrap and putting it in the microwave for a few seconds and then gingerly handing it to someone you see three times a week with a misshapen bow on top, trusting that they'll take care.