The Wanderings of a "Creative" Mind

You will NEVER
be able to be
happy
(like- TRULY happy)
until you stop caring
about what other people
think of you.
BE ORIGINAL.
be you.
Whatever that
leads you to,
you will end up
feeling successful
and happy.
And doesn't
that
seem worth it?

Not By The Stars

I am worth
STARS.

And I don't mean
the sparkly
little
specks
that we see
when we look
at the sky.
I am talking
about the
celestial
flaming
orbs of light
that become
SUNS.

I am talking
the centers of
galaxies.
These beautiful
Heavenly
masses
that we just can't
see clearly
(not nearly enough)
from here on earth.
But if we could fly,
as we'd get closer,
worlds would appear.
Each with their own people
languages
governments
societies
religions
laws
lives.
And suns.
Which we call
stars.

I am worth
stars,
not a few.
My own glory,
when I am not
personally smothering it,
shines twice as
brightly as any
star's light.

Let it shine!
"This is mine!"
Own it.
Be proud.
Love the life
you're given,
and never
ever
forget
what you're worth.
Not by the stars.

Where Answers Are Found

When I was in Elementary School,

We used to go on walks,

as a class,

whole laps of the school,

just learning how to walk

in the hall.

The result?

An entire generation of students

who know

how to, successfully,

walk down a hallway.

Congratulations, school system.

What an accomplishment.

Now if you could only

teach us the things

that matter.

Like how to be a better student.

How to succeed in academics.

How to make friends

your first semester of college.

How to mend your own broken heart

when it's been smashed

into seven billion pieces,

and no one else

quite understands.

How to know when

you've been forgiven.

How to fall in love without getting hurt.

How to fall in love,

and stay in love,

and not run away, screaming,

once you realize

that you've fallen

"too far."

Why can't there be a class

on how to forgive others?

Or how to prepare

for the greatest trials

of your life.

How to deal with the presence of death,

an abundance of tears,

and hope so scarce

it may as well

not even exist

at all.

Why isn't there a How-To manual

called, "Regaining Strength When Your Best Friend Disappears Forever"?

Or how about, "Being Flexible in the Most Stressful Days of Your Lives, Because That's When Flexibility is Most Crucial"?

I've been looking for one.

Seriously, honestly,

I have SEARCHED

the available media

for some miraculous

piece of text that would

provide all of the answers.

And at the end of the day,

I came home empty-handed.

And depressed.

I collapsed on my bed,

exhausted and spent,

and I opened the literature

that I have "studied" all my life.

And then I understood.

God loves me.

He put the How-To manual in my hands.

I've had it all along,

the secret to staying strong.

And now,

I know where to look.
And, "Thank you," is
simply
never enough
thanks.

The Best Is Yet To Be

Isn't this the loss

of a dear, dear friend?

It is a sad thing.

A truly tragic passing.

This thing once loved,

now dead.

But do I mourn?

Oh, no!

I glide quickly forward,

with high hopes,

my eyes ever upward.

And I know.

I know it was your time to go.

I'm not sad to watch you leave.

You've left all your youth with me,

and you have made me strong.

You brought me heartache and discomfort,

unhappiness and pain,

and I didn't realize how good I had it.

How easy you made life.

Now you're gone.

Memory lingers on....

And sweet nostalgia

lightens my everyday.

But haven't you gone away?

And where you've gone,

you have to stay.

And I'm proud to say I won't miss you.

I'm ready for you to go.

I'm ready to be on my own,

because now I know I won't be alone.

So I keep watching you.

Intrigued by the sight

of your fading light.

And while I will miss the ease,

I will not miss that life.

I'm ready to move on.

Wiz Quiz

(A college english assignment that I quite enjoyed writing.)

“Alright, class. Clear your desks, except for a pencil. We’re going to have a pop quiz!” said Mrs. Gaylord, whose unfortunate name suited her perfectly. She was a frumpy, unpleasant sort of middle-aged woman, and it was very apparent that teaching had not been her ‘plan A’. Needless to say she barely held the attention of about half of the class on a good day.

Today was Friday, and the last period of the day. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a seventh grader to sit still and actually care about what anyone’s saying when the weekend is just 45 minutes away?

So, when Mrs. Gaylord’s announcement went completely ignored by the general population of the classroom, she was not surprised.

She simply repeated herself: “Alright, I won’t say it again. Ladies and gentlemen, pencils out, all else away.” Her voice seemed to be just white noise in the background of McKenna’s thoughts. McKenna was a typical seventh grade girl. The things she cared about were pretty much limited to friends, boys, and who hated whom. Math class was not at the top of her list of priorities. She had a party at Chelsea Wall’s house that night, and Christian Holden was going to be there. He was much more interesting than whatever Mrs. Gaylord was droning on about.

“Kenna, pop quiz.” Annie Smith awakened McKenna from her daze.

“Huh?” came her intelligent response.

“We’re having a quiz! She’s passing it out right now. Get a pencil. Put your bag away.” McKenna couldn’t help but think how lucky she was to have such an understanding friend as Annie.

“Oh. Right. Thanks dude.”

“Anytime.”

“McKenna, where would you be without good friends like Annie to guide you?” Jennessa Van Buren said, on McKenna’s other side.

“I was just thinking that same thing.” McKenna chuckled.

“Girls in the corner! Enough chatter!! Some students have already started their quiz!” Mrs. Gaylord snapped. McKenna’s response to this was a silent imitation of an angry cat. Her neighbors let out brief, hushed giggles as they stuffed their things under their desks.

Mrs. Gaylord approached their desks with purple half-sheets of paper. When McKenna received hers, she felt a wave of relief wash over her. It was about things they’d learned in class that very day, and for once she’d understood the lesson perfectly. She set to work, factoring and foiling the five problems on the page. She finished quickly, and looked up to find that she was one of only three students done with their quiz.

‘Now, how did I manage this?’ she wondered to herself. She instantly began checking her answers, for two reasons. The first reason being that she wanted to look like she was still working; she didn’t want to look like a nerd. The second being that she was genuinely concerned about the accuracy of her answers; if she’d finished so quickly it had to have been because she’d missed something, right?

But all of these thoughts turned out to be inconsequential. She hadn’t even double checked the first problem when she realized a suddenly critical sensation, entirely separate from finishing a quiz, and she needed relief IMMEDIATELY. She had to pee. And she had to pee NOW. She quickly, quietly, set her pencil down and approached her teacher’s desk in the front of the room.

“Um. Mrs. Gaylord, ma’am?” she spoke softly, timidly. This woman terrified her.

“Yes, Ms. Austin?” came Mrs. Gaylord’s abrupt reply.

“Um. Well, ma’am, I was- uh- wondering if… I could, um…” McKenna stammered.

“Yes, Ms. Austin?” Mrs. Gaylord repeated, impatiently.

“Oh. Um, sorry. I just need to go use the restroom. Would that be alright?”

“No. Go sit down.”

“Okay…” McKenna started walking back to her seat, but her body very quickly reminded her of how urgent this situation was. She felt the bottom of the barrel give out. Her lower abdomen pulsed. She needed to see a toilet. NOW. She instantly turned around and reengaged Mrs. Gaylord. “I’m really sorry, ma’am. But it’s sort of an emergency.”

“Well, Ms. Austin. I’m very sorry, but we’re in the middle of a quiz. You’ll just have to wait.”

McKenna’s stomach churned. The words spilling from her lips became rushed and hasty.

“Well yeah, ya see, that’s the thing, I don’t think I can.” She felt her back muscles tighten.

“Ms. Austin, you are being very disruptive of the other students. Now, return to your desk and finish your quiz.” Mrs. Gaylord seemed to intentionally slow her speech to counter McKenna. She squirmed, and crossed her legs.

“No, ma’am, I’ve already finished my quiz. And the bathroom’s right across the hall. Just let me hop over real quick, and-”

“No, Ms. Austin. This conversation is finished. Return to your desk. Now.”

“Alright. I really don’t think you understand the urgency of this situation…” Every muscle in her body was now flexed and rigid, all of her concentration was focused on keeping the fluids secured inside.

“Ms. Austin. You are being very disrespectful to me and everyone else in the room. Now, find your seat or I will be forced to call Mrs. Ungerman.” Upon mention of the Principal’s name, McKenna recoiled. She was the only person on the planet that McKenna hated more than Mrs. Gaylord.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m very sorry.” She turned to walk toward her desk, and as she moved, she felt her body relax just the slightest bit. Her abs unflexed. Her legs moved apart. And then, she couldn’t control it any longer. The flood gate released. And soon, McKenna was standing, mortified, in a puddle of yellow in front of a classroom full of her peers.

“Oh my gosh…” She heard someone whisper.

Then she turned and ran from the room, crying all the way down the hallway. She didn’t stop running until she reached the front steps of the school, where she collapsed. She just crumpled and cried. The cell phone in her pocket wandered its way into her remembrance, and she pulled it out. She dialed home, and after three rings, her mom picked up.

“Hello?” Mom’s voice sounded on the other end.

“Mom? I need you to come pick me up,” she sobbed.

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” Her mother inquired. McKenna gasped, and sobbed. Finally, she managed to choke out a response.

“I’ll explain when you get here.”

And she did explain to her mother just exactly what had occurred. And her mom reacted, as any sensible mother would, with complete and utter, mind-numbing rage. She gave Mrs. Gaylord a call on the phone and told the woman exactly how she felt about her character and the way that she taught (in less-than-lady-like terms).

For a day, McKenna was furious with Mrs. Gaylord. She was embarrassed past the point of tears. She never wanted to go back to school again. She was certain that everyone knew by now, and she didn’t want to face their scoffs and snickers. Even worse than teasing, she couldn’t bear their pity. She wouldn’t know how to react to the condescending tone that would surely come from those who felt inclined to comfort. She was terrified of her peers’ reaction, but upon returning to school the next day, she discovered that she needn’t be. The whole school, it seemed, had heard her tale, and was on her side. No one laughed or made rude comments. No one asked her if she was okay. Everyone was either defending her case or was completely apathetic to the situation. Her friends stuck up for her, and she never forgot their loyalty. A true friend held so much more value to her than it ever had before. In addition, her friend circle multiplied and increased (which was entirely opposite of what she expected to happen), and her happiness couldn’t help but follow suit. So from an experience that should have gained its place on the Eternal Wall of Shame, our story’s heroine actually increased the quality of her life. Imagine that.

How Perfect

(Dedicated to three amazing friends who changed my life.)

Where did I go?

And who caught me

as I fell?

I was up

much too high

to catch myself,

and I thought

I'd been

alone.

But you stood

at the bottom,

your arms reaching up

to catch me.

You're so big,

it wasn't

too hard.

So warm, I

thought I'd fallen

into the sun.

But why would

he be down here?

Now it was you.

It's always been you.

You don't have

the right words,

but it works for you.

And I'm good at listening,

so I usually hear what you mean.

I'm not so good at

being nice,

but you're really hard to hurt.

And you usually forgive me,

anyways.

You may not be perfect,

but you're always there

exactly when I need you.

And that's quite the feat,

because I'm in need of a friend

quite often.

We've hurt each other.

We have offended.

But that's why we're

so great.

We've never forgotten

how to forgive.

Over and over and over again.

And you ease my pain.

With one subtle gesture,

My worries are soothed.

Because you know.

And you're perfect

for me.

The Trouble with a Fickle Heart

If I should

get married

before I am ready,

I hope he has

the sense

to say,

"Honey,

let's not have

kids

just yet."

I hope he can

honestly say,

"I love you

enough to wait

until everyone's ready."

Because I rush in.

And then I have

too much heart

to ever change

my mind.

So I hope I get it right.

The first time.

And I hope he understands

when I don't.