So... now what?

Now that popularity is nonsense
and everyone is so much deeper than we thought
and names are just names; it's what's written that resonates
now what?

Now that we're meeting people for the first time
all over again
and now that we're expressing just how much we all love eachother
and now that the blogs finally mean something again

Now what? 

What will happen when we see each other at school? 

What will happen when we pass in the halls? 

What will happen when we meet in person? 

How will things be different? 

How will they be the same? 

What do we do now? 

Well... this is it.

Korra is my stuffed Koala. She's huggable, happy, and gets to lay in my bed 24-7. Living the dream!!!

And I... I am me. No, I am more than me. You have shown me that.

Thank you.

I'm too Motzart to wear plaid anymore

When everyone was listening to indie music,
I was waltzing to opera.
When everyone was rocking out to rap music,
I was belting along to show tunes.
When everyone was screaming over boy bands,
I was crying while listening to ballads.

My music is different.
I am different.
Slower, calmer, less sure
but maybe more sure at the same time.

When everyone was analyzing hip hop videos
I was watching contemporary dances.
When everyone was krumping on the dance floor
I was practicing my ballet positions.

Standing apart from everyone,
I can appreciate and enjoy their music
but mine is usually too boring for them
and that's okay.

When everyone was writing metaphors
I was writing rants
and when everyone was getting 'mm's' and snaps
I was getting nods
and when I read what you guys write I get so jealous
at your handle on language and imagery.

I don't write like everyone else.
I write like me.
And that's totally okay.
Because I waltz to opera
and ballads make me cry
and I will always love show tunes.
and my writing will always be mine.

When somebody loved me... everything was beatiful

Sooooo...... yeah. I can tell I might regret posting this. But yep. Music. Is my soul.

Music is my life.

Music is my reason.

Music saves me every day.

Every day.

WHY IS FUTURE A THING??????

Do I choose the school of my dreams, my childhood, my parents? The one all my friends are going to? The one I didn't even have a plan B for until two months ago? The  one I don't even know for sure if I'll get into?

Or do I choose the one who has offered to pay me to go there? The one I applied for hastily and then already earned a full-ride scholarship for?



I'm so confused.
Help.

My Paris is under attack too.

My heart broke when I heard the news.
I think it's a given but I'm going to say this anyways:
Keep the victims in Paris in your hearts and prayers.
The world will continue to be a terrifying place
and not even Paris is safe.
Sorry, Nelson.



I'm a victim of attack in my own Paris.
And I'm also the attacker.
Funny how hearts and brains get along that way.

The heart's just a muscle lead by electrical pulses

You say you like it when girls have soft lips

but mine are just so dry, no matter how much chapstick I put on

maybe that's why I didn't go in the last 10 when you went 90 that night

I want to love you with all my heart

but I think my heart's not as soft as it should be either

because it's missing some pieces

it's raw and it's bruised and it's bleeding

but maybe

just maybe
each piece is still capable of loving you
and maybe

it can love you with more than it has

I can love you with more than I have

because my heart may be broken

but when I look at you it doesn't ache anymore.

Baa. I'm a sheep.

One senior year bucket list item I have to get out there:
I want to go on a date with a football player this year.
Just once.
I know, I know, popularity is nothing
and look for the guys that are really genuine and different
and wanting to fit in is for sheep and tourists
but that doesn't stop me from wanting it.
Because I know who they are.
They're not just mindless jocks.

Because I know Talmage Gunther is the sweetest, smartest, kindest guy.
He has an incredible testimony.
and maybe he doesn't remember my name
but he still says hi to me in the hall.

Because I know Nate Bennett is a freaking genius and is so uplifting.
He has an incredible testimony.
and maybe he doesn't remember my name
but he still says hi to me in the hall.

Because I know Michael Cannon is hilarious and driven and brilliant.
He has an incredible testimony.
and maybe he doesn't remember my name
but he still says hi to me in the hall.

And that's just three examples.

so maybe I'm just a background color in a sea of colorful jock fish
but they still say hi to the tiny little krill below them.
I applaud their ability to be more than they are.
I wish I could be more than I am.
I wish I could be noticed.
I wish I could be courageous.
I wish I could talk to guys like that.
I wish I could be...

YOU KNOW WHAT?????

Tal, even though we haven't talked since English last year, will you go on a hike with me? And thank you. For not ignoring me.

Nate, even though you don't know me super well, will you go to a movie with me? And thank you. For getting me through math sophomore year.

Michael, even though we have never had a real conversation besides 'did you do the homework?'- will you come get a Roxberry with me? And thank you. For treating me like a real person.

-Korra

Red Alert: It's Real.

Anxiety is not just fear.
Anxiety is not just stress.
Anxiety is not just perfectionism.
Anxiety is not just fatigue.
Anxiety is not nice. or pleasant. or bearable.
Anxiety is REAL.
Anxiety is crushing panic
that swallows you whole
and doesn't let you
think
straight
for
one
second.
Anxiety is when breathingspeedsupsomuchit'snothealthy
Anxiety is when your chest physically hurts from your heart beating so hard
Anxiety is too many or too few chemicals in your brain
Anxiety is REAL.
Anxiety is all those nights sobbing in the middle of the night because
life
is
so
hard
and there's next to nothing that can be done to make it easier.
Anxiety told her that those people whispering must be talking about her
Anxiety told her that she was inadequate
Anxiety told her she should give up.

Anxiety is REAL.

Anxiety
is
me.

To Perfectionism:

You told me that my worth is equal to my accomplishments

But gold medals and state titles are too heavy 

and my neck might just snap under all your expectations.

I push and try and scream silently

because no one can see just how imperfect my mind is.

all they see is perfection.

no, all they see is what should be perfect

because 2 + 2 can't equal 5 but somehow I still got an A on that test

because you told me to.

My math notes must have an error somewhere,

because my handwriting is worse than yours

but you know what?

I like silver medals better anyways.