i am more afraid of living than dying

life makes shit poetry

i have to steal beauty until i can create my own

new york city is where dying people go to be young (thought while lying on the carpet eating donuts)

i write to give myself words i don’t have and the times i’ll never get back

reeling

i want to go somewhere

I might actually be crazy.

Watching copious amounts of Doctor Who

Summer smells

Lying in fields and taking pictures of the sky

Pretending to be a wizard

Ice cream sandwiches

Sunburns

In the woods. Then I was a little girl hiking with her family and their dog. She and her dog got lost and a boy and his dog were chasing us. We ran into an old, abandoned house and he stood in the doorway and trapped us. We escaped and ran up the hill to the parking lot. We couldn’t find it at first but the dog rescued me and we got back to the family. In the end, I was reading something that had been written about it and the little girl wrote that the dog was her new best friend, along with her old best friends, her four fish. I couldn’t read the rest of what was written on the paper.

“I am feeling depressed from being exposed to so many lives, so many of them exciting, new to my realm of experience.” by Sylvia Plath

“Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.” by

Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath writes the things I don’t know how to. I’m just lonely for real people to spend time with and I want to have them understand me. I miss them so much when I’m not with them.

I like days when I look up and am surprised that the sky is an even more perfect color. I wish I could make a blanket out of the sky. It is so beautiful and I hope you see it. I hope it stays this blue for you. I think it is the color of happiness and everything that exists without words. Sometimes I am amazed to look up and see that I still have ten fingers, that you are still beautiful, that you are even more than yesterday or maybe tomorrow. Some people find words inside them, but all I know how to give is the sky. If I become this shade of blue- if I stretch the horizon, can we hang like clouds in the stillness of this almost summer evening?