A quick note to the reader

I never meant for this blog to become a poetry blog, I guess I thought I had other ways to express myself. Turns out, I really don't. At least not at this time.




Right now I'm preparing for a big transition. I'm graduating college, I'm going to finally find out what it is other people do with their lives from 9-5 when they don't have school, and as you may have realized I'm FREAKING OUT! Everyone around me seems normal and prepared, yet here I sit the lonely kernel seed among fluffy, buttery goodness. Hello world, this is me, the uncooked, hard to chew food that you'd rather throw away than put in the microwave for a little bit longer. I apologize for being an inconvenience. But hey, on the plus side I've had mad inspiration lately; yay anxious writing.


Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that hopefully someday my blog will look less like the creepy basement corner where the water heater sits waiting to devour your soul and more like the cotton candy, rainbow filled place that the go-kart game is in in Wreck It Ralph.

(This One!)

Tell Us More

Can I admit something? I'm scared.


I'm scared that I'm 22 and still unsure of what I want to be when I grow up.
I'm scared that I'm doing this blog and no one cares - - not even me.
I'm scared that one day, I'll be looking at this diploma I'm about to receive,
the debt I'm ignoring,
and the family I hope to have, and I'll wonder -
was any of it worth it?


Did you know? I'm afraid.


I'm afraid that I will put myself out there a thousand times and be shot down a thousand and one.
I'm afraid that the person I think I am,  the person I think I like, won't be good enough.
I'm afraid that the time I've wasted,
the days I spent in the sun and not in the library,
and the hearts I've broken will accumulate, and me?
I'll be left alone.


And underneath all of that? I'm worried.


I'm worried that like my family before me and theirs before them, I will go crazy.
I'm worried that at some point I will lose myself and become just another number.
I'm worried that eventually the words will leave,
the friendships I've had fall apart,
and the only comfort, the only ground that resembles solid will fall through -
as I slip through the cracks.


Tell us more.
Tell us who you are, help create a picture.


I tell you I'm petrified to grow old.
I tell you I'm off put by the idea of leaving.
But you say it's normal. You say everyone feels like this.
Then why should I tell you more?


What more is there if everyone feels the same?