This is also my introduction to what I'm trying to make my most poetic post, chock-full of metaphors and imagery. This next section isn't exciting. You can skip over it.
[The start of senior year is the most boring thing ever and I'm definitely ready to get out of Estes Park. The only thing exciting anymore is my Anatomy & Physiology class, and that's saying something. I've already applied to schools and I'm basically certain of where I'm going next year. I also know that as soon as I'm out I'll miss this place, so I'm trying to be happy -sort of a melancholy happy, which I really adore.
I also really feel complete by myself and it feels really refreshing. I don't know if you'll know what that means and that's okay.
I'm feeling inspired, or feeling even more like I want to be an inspiration. I don't know if I am, or not, but as long as I can let my light help someone's else's dark times, then I'll be happy.
I also know I'm probably intimidating, because my sister said she smiles at me in the hallways, and I'm stoic. It's really super funny, because in my mind I'm expressive. Lol, my life is awkward.
I'm not void of emotions, I promise. Guys, I cried during The Oh Hello's concert. I have emotions, I promise!]
Okay, so overall, I've also been writing poetry, getting free songs on iTunes, living with no WiFi in my house, watching my sister draw magnificent drawings, wearing the same clothes every other day (#HighSchoolsBlows), running in the morning every other day, probably buying too many pairs of jeans, wasting my money away on chai and dystopian movies (money is green paper to me, anyways) (I'm never going to be an accountant), listening to a bunch of acoustic music, and getting ready for my favorite month of the year!!!! October is the best. Oh my gosh.
My Feelings (aka My Poetry)
By Hannah Baker (I'll change my name if I become famous. Hannah Baker=so generic. #Disgusting)
I think there comes a moment
Where rocky cliffs feel like nothing
And the sky opens up with little sun particles
And we realize it's only dust
And we try to glue together our heart strings
With buttons, but we crumble, and
I think I'm at this moment and all I
Can think of are blue eyes, and
Where are they?
And here I am-
The slow deterioration of age eating at my insides
As I realize these sticky letters I'm writing to you
Mean nothing, because all they'll ever be is
Empty sounding poetic voices on notebook paper.
There's a fire and that fire is bleeding supernatural blue,
Until it ignites. We drive and run and force our way into
Coughing up ashes and our feet are bleeding from the bark
On the ground. There's beauty in the pain.
My mind is eating itself, my heart strings are bleeding
Blue, then vibrant red, shredding itself, tearing itself. In a hurry, I write down on
Those notebook paper anthemic letters I am writing to you
(You'll never read them.) that we can look for the good.
"Finding good doesn't mean pursuing happiness."- ink
Letters and chipped teeth.
Those dust particles retrace back to the sun and
Those paper cuts on our fingers retrace back to our hearts and
Those blue eyes retrace back to you
And I see that beauty.
