The First Draft

"Write drunk; edit sober."

It’s exhausting.

The way I have to get up every day and carry on with life. The simple act of going through the motions, and sometimes I can’t even do that.

Each emotion overwhelming and each action draining.

No, it’s not always hard. Some days are really good. So good in fact that you forget there ever were bad days.

But some days you lay down at lunch time to gather yourself for the second half of the day, and it takes everything you have to roll yourself out of bed to keep going.

All you can do is walk through the day with a bitch face and pray no one tries to talk to you. You don’t want to be rude but you sure as hell aren’t in the mood to chat.

And yet the world doesn’t stop for you.

I suppose it never will.


The Paradox of Halves

I’ve heard two things about relationships:

  1. The love of your life will be your other half.
  2. You don’t need a man to feel complete.

And I suppose both are true.

You can be your own self and still be only half of a beautiful whole.

Try telling a runner that the half marathon they just ran wasn’t a full race.

The same goes for relationships.

It’s hard to love someone without first loving yourself. The first relationship you should invest in is yourself.

You are beautiful and smart and worth the world. How can you allow someone else to see you that way if you don’t see yourself that way?

I learned this my first semester of college. I was finding myself. I was away from my parents and close friends. Completely on my own.

I found what I liked. Made new friends. Fell in love with my major.

I fell in love with myself.

I saw my future ahead of me: a bright and relatively straight path. But someone was standing in my way.

This is when I fell in love again. This time with the other half my world.

When we came together, the world got even clearer.

It’s like when you get glasses for the first time. You never realized how blurry your vision was before it was corrected.

The arms of the one I call home

At the end of the day, all I want is you.

Your touch. Your smile. Your gaze.

All I want is to be in the arms of the one I call home. 

Pride five miles long

Today I took the time to do something that I haven’t done in a very long time.

I took the time to be proud of myself.

So often we get caught up in the hardships in life and forget that each trial we overcome deserves a celebration of it’s own.

All I did was go out for a run.

After putting it off all morning (It was pouring.) and deciding not to go to the gym (It’s far. Cut me some slack.), I decided that I didn’t want to sit on my butt any longer. I had to get out of the house. I had to DO something.

Only three miles, I told myself. Three miles and you can go home and take a hot shower. 

I ran cross country and track in high school, and since I’ve been away at college you could say that I’ve been slacking in the running department.

I made a mental goal a couple of months ago to run a half marathon with my dad in November, and seeing as it is rapidly approaching, I really need to start upping my mileage.

I’ve always had trouble breaking the three mile mark. I don’t have what you would call a typical runner’s body. I don’t see myself in any way as overweight, but I definitely don’t have twigs for arms and legs.

Three miles tends to be the distance where I usually get stuck. It’s a struggle to do four. Heck, it’s a struggle to do three and a half.

But I decided to go out for a run today anyway. It was 65 degrees with small, consistent rain showers.

Now, this doesn’t sound like ideal running conditions. But if you’ve ever ran, you know that you feel twenty degrees warmer once you start running. So that fact that it was raining a little bit made me rejoice as soon as I started to get my heart rate up.

Surprisingly, I felt great. And I haven’t felt great on a run since I’ve started to run again in the past couple months.

I got through one mile. Then two. Then when I reached my two-and-a-half-mile turnaround, I decided to keep going.

I ended up running five miles today. Without stopping. Usually, I stop and stretch halfway through. I tell myself it’s to stretch, but really I feel like I’m dying and would use anything as an excuse to stop.

As I turned onto my street and clicked stop on my Garmin, I couldn’t help but smile. If anyone would have seen me, they would have thought I was crazy.

I felt a sense of pride wash over me. Did I really just do that? Yes. How did I do that? I have no idea.

But I realized that I never take the time to actually let myself be proud of myself. Yes, my small accomplishment is worth the pride I feel.

I’m going to allow myself to feel that more often.

And now that I got my run in and feel productive, I might continue the trend and get some other crap done while I’m at it.

Until you’re mine

How many long walks in the woods,

Take-out dinner dates,

Knowing glances,

Soft, sweet kisses,

Movies and cuddles,

Hands brushing together

Until you’re mine forever?


I feel stuck.

Stuck in faith.

In life.

I feel as though I’m a minor character in my own story book. 

I’m stuck from making a move.

All I can do is stand in the corner and hope I’m called on.

Otherwise I’ll never speak up.

A poem about poetry

How humorous it is to hear the opinions of those who find poetry to be “too moody.”

As if poetry only exists for love and flowers and rainbows and smiles.

It is open to that.

But it also serves as a medium for suffering and pain. Heartache. Depression. Addiction.

It the lowest point you can go, as well as the highest.

It doesn’t discriminate. It welcomes with open arms and provides comfort in all forms.

My reaction after reading an online review for a poetry book that deemed it “too moody.”

Don’t look back 

You can’t stop the world from spinning, love.

One day you’re here, broken down and beaten, and the next you’re across the world thriving.

And nothing seems to have changed, except everything is different.

Time may feel like it’s stopped now. But one by one those minutes turn into years.

And those years don’t look back at the moments in which everything felt like it was crumbling.

There are more important moments ahead.

Broken Escalator

Lately I’ve been feeling as though I’m stuck on a escalator, trying to go up while it’s moving down.

My dad told me once, “You know what, kid? You can’t catch a break. You’re always going to have to work twice as hard as everyone else to get what you want.”

I’m afraid he’s right.

I plan the future ahead of me, and everything seems in reach. Everything seems right in front of me. I just have to take that escalator ride to the next level.

I hop on and start my journey to the next floor. Occasionally, it slows down. Stops even. But at some point it started moving backward.

I, refusing to go back to square one, push on. I begin walking up the escalator that I’m supposed to be cruising up.

I can watch as those around me enjoy their rides. Sipping their coffees or checking phone messages to pass the time.

Meanwhile, I’m getting frustrated.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from this, it’s to always have a Plan B.

I’ve applied to a dozen other summer jobs in case that first one doesn’t work out. I added a second major to assure I’ll be able to get a job once I graduate.

Nothing ever comes easy, but that doesn’t mean I’m not willing to try.

So from now on when the escalator tries to pull me back, I’ll take two steps up at a time. And when it pulls back harder, I’ll run.

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