I Love Me

Unwanted hair

Stretch marks

Too skinny

Too fat

Broad shoulders

Chicken legs


Bad hair day

These are the things we loathe when we look in the mirror. We look at all of these things and wonder why we don’t look like someone else, how will we ever be Instagram worthy? You’ve thought this and you’ve seen the people in the magazines or on bug screens and you compare yourself to what you’ll never amount to.

We all do it, I’m not sure how we started or if we’ll ever stop.

I am a victim of this myself. My body has changed and I don’t always like what I see. It’s a constant struggle to remind myself that I am worthy of more than self deprecating remarks and constant comparisons. I earned my stretch marks and was gifted beautiful children. My scars tell stories of vulnerability and a mistake (or two) with a quesadilla press. The hair on my body is beyond my control and instead of conforming to a standard of beauty that is damn near unattainable I tell myself it’s okay to go without shaving my legs, do people really have nothing better to do than to look down at me for the hair on my legs?

The clothes I wear and the style I desire do not always go hand in hand but my personality and human nature are far more interesting. I want to talk to people about what matters and not what everyone is else looks like.

We constantly compare ourselves to others, I don’t know how we started or if we’ll ever stop.

I’m learning to love myself and to do so I’ve had to look at the things I don’t like and ask myself why I don’t like them.

Were you teased about it?

Has society deemed in undesirable?

Have you beaten that tiny little part of you to a point where it’s become the enemy?

I’ve done all of these. I’ve done extensive damage to myself by continuously saying I’m not good enough.

Oh but my beautiful friends we are good enough.

We are capable of love

Our laughs carry infections joy

Our body’s comfort others when they are low

Our souls connect with others and they say I love you.

If we can love another we need to make it a point to love ourselves.

These things we have conditioned ourselves to hate likely mean nothing to those around us. These people are happy we are alive, that our paths have crossed. These people are too busy dealing with their own insecurities to be looking down on you.

Tell people how you feel.

Tell them your insecurities.

Tell then how you feel about them.

We do not take enough time in a day to remind people how important they truly are in our lives.

If we make it a priority to have an open conversation with the people we love, we could learn a lot more about others as well as ourselves.

If you’ve gotten this far, thank you for let be vulnerable with you.

Continue working to love yourself, you’ll get there I promise.

Thank you for being in this moment.

Until next time.


Simple Misunderstandings

Understand this and only this.
There is no end to the madness.
Whenever it feels like it may be over
The second you feel like you can breathe
Those are the moments you should fear the most.
No one knows why this is.
And honestly there is no reason to question it.
When you begin to question the things that should remain unknown
You begin to flirt with death.
Situations like that never end well my dear.
I know many things you’ll never care about.
I know many things none of you may never know about.
You notice me when you see me.
But when you notice me it’s only what you can see with those
Shallow eyes.
Never will you see me for what I was intended to be.
Not until I rip this mask from my face, and show you all the demons inside of me.
Even then, when I have everything exposed before you
You still just will not see me.
Instead you’ll take a quick peek into yourself and see all the imperfections
The ones you never quite wanted to believe.
I will ruin you, everything you ever loved about yourself
And what for?
Just so you can hear about my poor lost soul?

A Moment With the Real Me

Usually for the writing done on this blog there is no plan, no outlines, no pre-writing. This is the place where I just write, whatever usually comes into my head, and I never usually share my personal writing because I’m not sure how people would react to it. Some of my more personal work is dark, twisted, morbid, but what the hell, why not.

But please remember, this is all fictional, none of this is real.

She said this time she’s really leaving.

                Sometimes she says that.

                                                                It’s always hard to tell if she’s bluffing.

                She’s got two suitcases packed.

                                                                                                She’s serious.

                                Maybe I should tell her to stay.

                                                                But they said we don’t need her anymore.  

So really she should just go.

                I’m sitting on the floor, I think I can see her crying.

                                And I think she might be yelling.

                                                                                It kind of sounds like she is asking me to try.



But why?


Why would I want to try and make her stay, if we don’t need her anymore?


                                                                                The door slammed.

                                No more sweet Allison at night.

I don’t need her, she was crazy.


                                                                                                                                She will be back soon anyhow.


I get up off the floor, and move to the bathroom.

I taped a blade to the bottom of the bathroom sink a few months ago.

                                I haven’t seen my own blood in weeks.

                                                                I closed my eyes once the cold blade was in my hand.

And I cut.

                                                                                                I cut deep into my arm, and I inhale sharply.

I don’t open my eyes, but I see my blood.

                                It looks like Allison.

And it looks like my brother.

                                                                                It looks like what has been stolen.

                                                                                                                                                And what I’ve lost.

I crawl into the tub and I lay there, letting my arm bleed.

                                They tell me by doing this, I can see. I can see everything they want me to know.

So I take the blade, and cut once more into my thigh.

                                The blood looks like my stolen childhood.

                                                                                                                                It looks like drugs.

Like sex.

                                                My blood looks like everything I have ever done wrong in my life.

Everything that makes me human.

                                They make me feel as though I’m not human.

                                                Like I’m just a host for them to play around in.





                                                                                                                They’ve taken everything from me.

When I was nine, my brother told my mom about Stella.


Now Stella was not the first one that came to me, but she is the one who started this mess.

                                At first, I did not talk to them aloud. Archie, the first one that came to me, told me if I talked to them with my mouth that someone could hear me, and they would not understand.

                I guess I was the only one who could see them.

Tucker, my brother, once heard me fighting with Stella.

                                We did that a lot.

                                                                                Looking back now, Stella had a lot of passion. She was always getting me to try and do things I knew I shouldn’t do.


Like talking to her with my mouth.

Tucker told mom that I was yelling at myself in the bathroom for an hour.

Tucker could tell on me because he was thirteen so he was obviously entitled.

Mom asked me why I was yelling at myself in the bathroom.

                I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Mom asked me if Tucker was being a liar.

                I said this time Tucker kind of is a liar.

Mom asked me what I meant.

                I said I was yelling, but not at myself.

That’s when Stella told me to shut my fucking mouth.

Mom asked me who was in the bathroom with me.

                I said I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Mom said, if you weren’t yelling at yourself, someone had to be in there with you.

                I said she was right.

Stella began screaming so loud in my head.

Mom said something but I couldn’t hear her.

                I think I screamed.

Moms lips moved some more, but she didn’t look scared.

Stella was still screaming.

                I dug my fingers into my face and began to scream.


I have a scar under my left eye from that day.

                                                Weird how that works out.




He was really good at hiding it, we had no idea what was going on until his brother mentioned he was arguing with himself in the bathroom. 

Happy Anniversary!

Three years ago, I wrote silly nonsense. To show you how much I’ve changed as a person, and as a writer I have decided to take something I wrote in a personal journal and change it into something meaningful.

This light was so much brighter, yet it never felt as bright as the others in fact it didn’t feel bright at all. Even though this light was the brightest, it only looked as average as all those other lights which made this light seem like everyone else. This light never realized how special it was, and in the end burned out without knowing what it was like to shine. 

This is one of my favorite little scribbles, ya know, the random ones you find in the top corner of a page in your favorite journal. 

For me, looking back on this means so much to me, and reading it after I wrote this two years ago it means more than it did then. This would be my rendition of the original work.

Every day you see simple things. A light bulb in a pretty lamp, so simple, right? Wrong, that bulb, produces light. Providing something we all take for granted, that light bulb started out as a simple ‘what if’ and became someones success. We are all light bulbs, each of us starts out as a simple ‘what if’, and some of us burn out, some of us shine naturally. But what about the people who don’t feel like anything much? We see so many people who believe they are better than us, then there are the people who are better than us. I feel like just a simple light bulb, one that shines just as bright as everyone else. I walk through this life, doing what I’m told, doing what I need to do, but there is more to me. I am big, I am powerful, I started off as a ‘what if’ and I’ve overcome the odds. I’ve flourished where I could have perished. I shine so bright, yet I feel so simple. I want to know what it feels like to shine so bright, yet instead my glass has been cracked, my wires fried. I live this life, not knowing what it’s like to shine. 


Happy Anniversary, and thank you to everyone who has read my work, and encouraged me as a writer, and a person. 

#Reverb13: Always Thinking About Something.

I’m going to first express how excited I am to be doing Reverb13! Last year was my first time doing anything like it and the whole experience really changed my perspective on my writing, and honestly my life. So, I’m hoping this is exactly what I need to find myself yet again.

Today is an interesting day because it works perfectly with the very first prompt: How do you feel, on this first day, in your mind? In your body? In your heart? In your soul?

The past twenty four hours have been exciting, aggravating, and incredibly stressful (and all done on five hours of sleep). So I’ve been pretty crabby and anti-social all while jonesing for a smoke. At one point today I got really upset and craved for my mom, only to become more upset by not having her. 

Today on this very first day I feel emotional.

Today on this very first day my mind is cluttered.

On this very first day my body hurts from too much work,

My heart hurts without the person I’d never thought I could lose. 

And yet on this very first day,

I feel a lightness in my soul.

As if there’s going to be a little more tomorrow than there was today.

And I felt my soul dance,

When for just one second all of my thoughts stopped.

I let my soul take over me,

For just one second, I wasn’t in pain.

And then my soul did something I won’t ever be able to explain

My soul opened up and I felt happiness.

My soul let me in and she whispered in my ear.

She told me that after all of this there will be something beautiful.