Sometimes I want to feel pretty

Sometimes I just want to feel pretty. You know the feeling. When I feel pretty I feel more. I feel deeper. I feel truer. When I feel pretty there is even more power in my words and more conviction driving my actions. Its great to do something great...but isn't it better to do it pretty? No, no no. Do not misunderstand. I do NOT mean 'pretty' pretty. I mean pretty. I don't mean how you look. I mean the feeling. The feeling of pretty.

Feeling pretty.

When a boy looks in your eyes and you know he sees past your outside pretty to your inside pretty.

Feeling pretty.

When a boy kisses you not because you are pretty, but because he wants you to feel pretty.

Feeling pretty.

When your world is falling apart and you still find the pretty.

Feeling pretty.

When you've conquered a fear and you look at yourself and see your new set of smiles because of the conquered fear.

Feeling pretty.

Being looked into. Not at.
Feeling pretty.

Waking up with the sun melting over your face.
I want to feel pretty.

this shall NOT pass

I have never really liked when people say, "this too shall pass." Not only is it a massive blanket statement that people seem to utter when they just can't think of something a little more empathetic to say, but I actually find the phrase ironic.

Things don't pass.

We never really leave people, or experiences...totally behind us.

We collect them. And we carry them. They become a part of who we are. Experiences, good or bad might fade in the distance, but they will always touch us, shape us, color us...and we carry those colors through life.

I have this theory that we are all colored by our past. This is not a negative thing. How else do we grow in life? How else do we find strength, faith, and kindness toward others?

Life can be hard. Some of the colors can be dark and muddy, but they are OUR colors.

I proudly wear the colors of my past. They make me who I am today.

If I could walk on the moon

If I could walk on the moon, maybe I'd have the perfect view
Of everything around me, the stuff and people that surround me
I could see the tears between the smiles
And I could feel the breaths between the tears
If I could walk on the moon, maybe I'd have the perfect view
I'd be far enough away, I wouldn't feel pain
But I could maybe see it, and then I could avoid it

Maybe I would see the truth.
Maybe I could see You.
You the way you really are, if only I could get that far
Away from you to see

But I'm trapped in gravity

I wish I could float through space
And I could see the world that way
I wish I could walk on the moon
Because then I could really see you

With all your shades of yellow and white
And all the real, the wrong, the right
And it wouldn't matter what I see
Or what I know, or if my heart was worn and used
Because I'd be safe and on my moon

face suck in the hospital parking lot. a whole lotta yuck

So yesterday I took my dear sister Rachel to the hospital. She has been deathly ill (for those who didn't know) and had a whole buncha scares yesterday. She was told possible kidney failure, blood clots, you name it...she could have it. Anyways, I went with her to the labs to set up an appointment for her blood transfusion.

All went surprisingly well. We kept our spirits up and as we were walking back to her car I spied a couple eating each others faces in the parking lot. Hardcore making out. The hospital parking lot. If hospitals don't make me sick enough, I had to witness a young angsty couple trying to procreate RIGHT before my eyes.

Rachel turned to me, and in usual Rachel fashion said, "Unless one of them was dying and just found out they are not any more, that is sick."

yes. plain sick.

Maybe they did belong at the hospital.