you played guitar well,

but you were even better

at playing me.

i sang today.

and guess what?

i’m not a “singer”.

i don’t have a naturally gorgeous voice, though i wish i did.

but last year i realized

that if i only sing when i’m confident in my singing

then i’ll never sing

if i only write when i’m confident in my writing

i’ll never be real

if i only do things when it’s polished and perfected

then i’ll never be human again

and please,

don’t let your

paranoid search

for the wolves

distract from

the beauty

of the forest

you’ve always

loved.

so let’s take it slow each morning

a point for you + a pancake for me

let’s leave the white sheets unmade

and swim till we’re burned

–

let’s laugh til we cry

and cry til we laugh

let’s drink fake champagne in a blanket fort

and slow dance in our jeans

–

let’s make cookies at midnight

wearing oversized t shirts

we won’t let the dough get to the oven

but the time won’t be wasted

–

let’s paint the whole house yellow

even if more paint ends up on us than the wall.

let’s be poor and live off ramen and love

and play tag at the grocery store

–

let’s disagree and debate

let’s learn our weaknesses & love each other anyways

let’s fight and make up and make up what we lost

–

let’s water the plants

and plant the flowers

let’s leave the windows open

so every room smells like the ocean

–

let’s sing our hearts out in the car

and talk our hearts out on the couch

let’s hold hands and hold hearts

and hold onto our love

–

a brick wall built of my sorry sides

i was a petty friend

and a crappy daughter

two bricks for row three

i’m sorry i was irresponsible

that’s worth 4 bricks because at my age, i should’ve learned.

i hurt the ones that i loved

and i loved the ones that hurt me

both worth 3 bricks because of the weight each one actually holds

two rows down

it’s starting to look like the brick wall i needed

not sure if it’s meant to block out the bad

or just block out everything

but it’s starting to grow;

the brick wall built of my sorry sides.

i used to wear hats-

i got to hide from the world.

now i am hat free.

and the most frustrating thing of all

is that i can’t

figure out why it hurts

this bad.

i’ve started writing this 7 times.

i literally googled a list of “things” to write about because i couldn’t think of ONE

–

at least, couldn’t think of one that i wanted to write about. or had a reason to.

–

i’m mostly feeling frustrated. stuck. trapped. annoyed.

–

how am i supposed to write about only one thing?

or better yet,

why do i get frustrated every time i try?

–

i just scribbled a hole in my paper with a pen. it felt good.

–

i think the main reason why this is so hard for me, is that most things are connected. how does one write about one thing, when that one thing is connected to one hundred other things?

ugh.

why can’t i just pick one? flowers? christmas? pictures?

WHY AM I SO FRUSTRATED

i kind of want to scream. not sure why.

–

i’m overthinking this. for sure. it’s not even a big deal. i could slap some words on this post about tomatoes and love and packaging tape, and somewhere out there, somebody would probably “vibe” with it. how does that work?! I WASNT TALKING ABOUT YOUR EX WHEN I TALKED ABOUT PACKAGING TAPE, I WAS JUST TALKING ABOUT PACKAGING TAPE, SORRY.

i guess i don’t want this to come across as what i’m not. not everything i write can be deep or sad. most of the time, i’m happy and perfectly content to see the world as it is.

i’m exhausted trying to make everything i write meaningful

but i also don’t want it to be me prattling on about tape.

–

and i guess i don’t want people looking into something that wasn’t intended to be looked into.

oh gosh. does that even make sense??

holy cow do i sound like a total jerkyface mcMeaniePants?

sorry if i do.

–

this has nothing to do with what this started out as

–

see what i mean?

all connected.

ugh.

–

this is the most angsty typical teenager post. it’s about everything, not one thing. it’s like a total “you can’t make me”-stomp up-the-stairs-and-slam-the-door classic teenage rebellion.

and there isn’t even a good deep reason why.

–

i guess today,

my one thing is just that

i don’t want my writing,

or me,

to be seen as the one thing we’re not.

–

(maybe next time we’ll be less angsty and more compassionate. less “ugh”s next time for sure.)

-Amelia

most of them are wearing tennis shoes. a couple of the men are wearing dress shoes, and i’m seeing a lot of boots.

there’s a few that are wearing stilettos. (there always is.)

there is an older man in a red vest reading the history of surfing. i wonder why he chose to read that. he doesn’t exactly look like a surfer these days, but maybe he was an avid surfer back in the day.

or maybe he’s just reading it because his wife is in the bathroom and he’s bored out of his mind.

just like me. well, was. i was bored out of mind. then i started watching. there was much to be noticed.

most people are on their phones. a few are on calls, but from what i could see of screens, most are just fiddling with their phone settings so they can seem busy.

there’s a little girl in a rainbow jacket who has opted to put her doll in the stroller instead of sitting there herself. her mom’s holding her hand and her dad’s pushing the doll filled stroller. he seems like a good dad.

there’s an anxious guy over there with a backpack, prattling on to the poor delta worker about flights and delays and how frustrating they are and what delta should do to fix them.

down the row from me, there’s a little boy making his mcdonald’s drink last a lot longer than it should, while also staring into space. he’s making my smile to myself. he’s probably sleepy.

he’s also curious. now he’s asking his mom how mcdonald’s hamburgers are made. his grandpa laughed saying “we don’t quite know”

touché grandpa, touché.

there’s a girl in a plaid shirt i’ve seen a few times while being here. i like her hair color. i should tell her that, but instead i’m opting to hide behind this screen, like everyone else here.

i think she’s here with friends. they just left the restaurant.

a three year old just grabbed a book from the book stand and booked it. his mom is now explaining to him why he can’t do that, after she caught him. it made me chuckle to myself. i hope he keeps that curiosity throughout life.

i wonder what’s going through all of their minds. are they watching me just as i’m watching them?

•

“we’re all people watching- i’m just you, you’re just me” -JJ

i was 15.

that’s fairly old when you look at the timeline of our present life.

i was 15.

i had every hope in every thing in this beautiful world. i knew that every person had good in them and that love was stronger than anything. i believed this world was unequivocally good, that there wasn’t much bad.

i was 15.

the news played. and for the first time in my life, i felt hopeless. discouraged. distressed.

my friend and i went on a drive that night and i cried. hot angry tears dedicated to the people that could no longer cry, and those whose tears were not found.

she asked what was wrong and i spat out

“this world has so much bad in it. ”

and i wasn’t myself for a week.

i kept thinking. about the fire. about that missing girl. about that familial violence. all emotionlessly reported by some shoulder length hair, nordstrom dress, “now back to you tom” lady.

did it not wreck them?

did it not wreck anyone?

shouldn’t it??

i walked through school and through walmart and wanted to scream

SHES MISSING!!

THEY LOST THEIR HOUSE!!

THOSE KIDS WONT SEE THEIR MOM AGAIN!!

but the due dates and grocery lists persisted

and so did my restlessness

this world was bad, i’d convinced myself.

i’d deceived myself for so long, and i was broken

my whole reality had been shifted

and i was terrified that maybe the world wasn’t so good

and wasn’t so beautiful

and wasn’t so hopeful

after all.

but isn’t it interesting

that now i think of the world as good and beautiful and hopeful

isn’t it interesting that that girl was never found

that the house was never rebuilt from the caustic flames

that the children would have to visit their father in jail

isn’t it interesting that there’s a news report of a different girl, found and returned to her family

isn’t it interesting that my brother didn’t lose his house in the fire

and that those kids can grow up strong

isn’t it interesting

that the world was only hopeless

when

i was.