Growth in a month is more than a century


The picture I took of Emerson on a day which was too cold to do much with but he still insisted we take my dog to the park anyway

There are a trillion words on the tip of my tongue that are just never spoken because I can’t find the right ones. 

There are a trillion worries that bubble in my mind that cease to overflow.

There are a trillion things I’d like to do, but out of some sort of spite or self-restraint, I don’t do them. 

Lately, I’ve learned to let things go. 

My name is painted in dull lighting, my picture is taken from the wrong angles, my story is told in the wrong tense. 

I once fought and fought, only growing more tired still. I fought the world when no one would fight back. I would die on a never-ending hill. I felt angry at everyone because everyone was angry at me.

The pride that oozes out of body is showed in some sort of confidence in which I have never lacked. The loud statements that run out of my mouth trample the quiet mumbles of others. 

I have always been prideful, and I have always been loud. 

For other people, I have always been narcissistic, and I have always been ear-splitting.

My boyfriend and I during one of our dates in Ada when it felt like everyone had their eyes on us, we still proudly went out

Maybe, in some ways and on certain days, I am. I am the picture they have painted, and I am the ugly angle they’ve captured—not always. 

I never begged for negative attention, nor did I beg for the positive either. I never asked for the day I was born, nor did I ask that of my other. I never asked to be posted in such a judgmental way, nor did I expect others to support it.

While I am an open book, they continue to rip out the pages, but I let them go and rewrite.

Maybe there’s a tale of the time where I was looking out at butterflies and I never felt more alive. Maybe there’s a story of a love letter written in the middle of the night. Maybe there’s a chapter on the way that I grew.

My boyfriend and I after he came with me to the doctor’s office where I’m afraid of needles and he’s afraid of blood—he came to support me nonetheless

I’ve been pushed to grow more in the past month than I ever had before. I was still using my imagination at thirteen. I was still chasing fireflies at fourteen. I was still chasing innocence at fifteen.

I’m happier now, to be honest. The world has taught me a lot in just a short amount of time, and I’m grateful, I guess. Most were hard lessons with gold on the other side, but they hurt, nonetheless.

I have learned to trust those closest to me, know who my friends are, but, most importantly, to not judge people off of just the rumors my ears pick up on.

It’s easy, especially in high school, to hear the little whispers and believe them as large truths—I had always done that. Now, I’ve decided to stop hearing and start listening. 

My boyfriend and I at both of our first Winterfest dance in which we both agreed the drive home afterward had better music than the dance itself

I listen to the kind words of those that I barely know. I listen to the encouragements from the sideline. I listen to the people that build me up, instead of hearing those who tear me down.

I’d like to think I’m more positive now, but maybe, in reality, I care less.

I laugh off the little things, and I smile at those who glare. The best way to live through life is to forget about how much we’re told everything matters and to figure out for ourselves what truly does.

I am happy because of what I’ve been taught.

I am happy because I know what matters most to me.

While I don’t wish upon anyone the things I’ve experienced in dull lighting and ugly angles, I hope everyone learns what is worth expressing.