I remember the first post I wrote on this blog, a blog I had no idea what would become. In the beginning, I didn't write this blog for myself, because I didn't know what that meant. I didn't even know who I was. I would think about this sometimes, about what impact my words would have, or whether or not anyone read it. But now, four years later, I understand that this blog was meant for only me. It wasn't always written for me, but with other people in mind. And for a while, this almost made me ashamed.

Almost.

Now I think, I wouldn't change any word I've written here, especially the ones disagreed with. Because how else will dialogue begin if there's no disagreement, no uncomfortabity? I used to be so afraid of being out of my comfort zone, of thinking differently, of doubting the norm. And to an extent, I still am. But I welcome the fear, because it makes me feel alive. It makes me remember that nothing is ever what it seems. I have grown so much since the first post I wrote, and there was a time that it terrified me, because I didn't recognize myself. But then I realized that that's the beauty of growth. It's unexpected, and never happens the way you think it should.

I want to grow, better yet, I have a hunger for it. I want to change, develop, learn. Because the more I learn, the more I realize how oppressed we are, by ideas, ignorance, society. 

And the only way to free yourself this is to face it.

I used to think I couldn't help who I like, maybe to an extent, I still do. 

But I don't want to use that excuse anymore. I don't want to wait for things to change anymore because it feels like I'm waiting for my life to start, waiting for something to happen, while my life is rushing past me. 

So I'm done liking the person that I do. I don't know how many times I've said this. I remember when I told myself I would only give myself one night to get over him, and one night turned into a week which turned into two months. Two months of waiting for him to tell me something, anything, but really what I wanted to hear; that he cared about me too.

Instead, I heard silence. I waited for silence. I waited for a prom invitation that never came. because while I was asking for him to ask me, he was waiting for all of those girls he brags about to say yes.

I want to say that I feel like a fool. but to be honest, I don't. I'm not sorry that I bluntly told him how I felt. I'm not sorry that I obsessively waited for an answer that obviously will never come. 

I am sorry that I pretended that nothing changed, that I pretended that I feel the same. I'm sorry that I hope that he would say something different. 

a year ago,  would've hated hi I would've written shitty poems how I felt without ever saying his name. 

But now, I almost feel bad for him. I don't want to wait anymore, for him to realize or not realize how he feels. I don't want to wait period. 

i just want to live life. 

What if

Every once in a while, I turn into a hopeless romantic again. I start singing to myself and gazing dreamily and asking what if question:

What if he knew how I really felt?
What if he felt the same way too?

You know how it goes.

But then reality kicks in. He never tells me how he feels, if he feels nothing. And when I feel like things may be happening between us, things go back to normal. but they don't, because how can i be just friends with someone who I'm asking what is about?

I'm tired of hiding how I feel. I'm tired of having to put on this facade, that everything is just fine.

But what am I supposed to do, be brave? Take a chance, risk my pride and already low popular high school stays just so i can finally answer a few what if questions?

Nobdy is brave anymore. We all hide in our causal relationships and subliminal messages on Facebook.
We all wish to fall in lot, bit when it seems as if we're on the verge of it, we run away and hide again.

i know i do. those what i questions i wish to answer badly about him may never be answered, and knowing me, just like everyone else, I'll always wonder, even if i never admit it.

this is really hard to write

I  have a confession to make.
I was never upset. I was afraid, that I fucked everything up with someone I really cared about, one of the only people who I ever let see the real me, and i thought things would never feel the the way the used to.
I was afraid that I would depend on him again, that I never stopped needing him, but that he didn't feel the same.
And so I covered up my fear with anger, and I walked away, which is exactly what happened before.
because it's not that we can't friends the way we used to.
It's the fact that we can that scares me, how easy it is to feel comfortable, for everything to feel like they were.

That's Not Me

People look at me, my face, hear my voice, and tell me I'm emotionless.

That I'm aloof.

But if they read my words they would know that's not me at all.

i have more emotions than I know what to do with.

But people don't know me well enough to understand that.

I maybe I don't show it enough for them to realize it.

i can't help if my face isn't an open book, that I shield my eyes from what's running through my mind.

But if you read my words, you would see that I think about everything, all the time, That I miss that best friend that I lost, that I'm in love with the guy I pretend I don't care about.

That I cried myself to sleep when my last boyfriend broke my heart.

That I have hopes, dreams, fears, worries,

insecurities.

That no matter what people think, that person they describe me as,

it isn't me. It never has been, and never will be.

My Escape

How is it that I'm the only one who cares?

Because that's how it feels.

And I wish it weren't true.

Writing,

it's My love , my passion.

My life.

Seeing my words in print, that's what I dream about.

That pen in my hand never disappears, and my hands never cramp from the endless scribbling that I do.

My passion.

My glory,

It's what tells my story.

And that's never going to change.

I just wish other people saw that.

Brown Eyes

Its crazy how emotionless you can be.

You're just apathetic, and it makes me wonder:

How can you be so heartless?

I don't know.

That's what I've been trying to figure out.

Because even after all that's happened, I can't say that I feel nothing when I see you.

And I can't help that you can sense it when you look into my eyes.

But wen i look into yours-

there's nothing.

And it takes me back to when the wound you left was still ride open, and I wondered if you ever really cared for me.

I don't know what it is about you, but somehow you get to me every time, and no matter how hard i try to hide it, I show it sometimes.

And even though I know I wouldn't take you back, I kind of wish I could see how you really felt.

I don't want to hear your bullshit and overused lines that you use everyday.

I want something real, raw, and vulnerable.

But I guess that's not possible for you, is it?