the crazy kind of love

(written for my broken-hearted & beautiful friends tonight)

maybe we were supposed to bite our tongues,
be confident,
shake our hair to the wind,
and be the young and wild and free girls we were destined to be.
but this wasn’t always our reality.
we wanted to synthetically transform into the Barbie of their dreams. so we would squeeze all of our insecurities, all of our doubts, and all of our insanities into those too-tight pants that we think they just might like.

it’s why we smiled wider, laughed louder, so maybe their eyes would drift over and meet our very fragile ones for half of a second.

we loved them. wanted to destroy our worlds so maybe we could be a part of theirs for just a little bit of time. all in the hope that they would give you more than a casual hug or a fleeting conversation in the hallway.

but, they…they were the manipulators. they knew how absolutely head over heels we were for their half a seconds and empty promises. and they used it to their advantage. they were the winners, the conquerers of a single gender species.

but no. let’s forget about that. continue to be open, willing, trusting, loyal. because no one wants to point our their flaws. only ours. the crazy girls.

they decieve you. they hold your hand and flirt with you and smile coyly at you from across the room. they steadily build up the idea of dating, a beautiful girl and a beautiful boy finally doing something really great together.

(together. music to a crazy girl’s ears)

then, they pull the plug. end it. say they aren’t ready. it’s not time. that you both should move on and focus on other things.
we, the worshippers, unravel. heads spinning, wondering where we went wrong. what’s wrong with us?

they have the nerve to tell us we are the crazy ones, the hell-raisers, dramatic, petty, ungrateful.
all of us.

maybe it was a bad idea to throw ourselves into this fire. to give ourselves up to the thing we know will destroy us. but we pray. we hope. we have blind faith that maybe the heavens will open up and rain will cascade down and eradicate the inferno. calm the soul. make him peaceful again. make him love again. or at least somehow capable of it.

girls are the lovers and the fighters. we love so it can give us something to fight for. its part of us, built right into our dna.

all i can remember is her sitting on my couch, her eyes stinging red from the tears and thinking, “why?
this amazing, beautiful, fierce lover shedding her tears over a single boy. one of the strongest people i knew suddenly becoming weak by a single action. it was astonishing how much control these people have over us. how they can sway and dictate our entire mindsets over one single lie.

we ask so many times. we give them opportunities to let us crazy girls go, but they continue to lead us on. they love the attention we give them because they know how incredibly fierce it is. how more fierce it will become if they slide one more lie in masked by a sneaky apology and a bright smile, relieved they have more time to sit in the throne we have built up for them in the kingdom of our making. it’s one of a kind.

our fingers ache as we claw and fight our way through what we think is just a simple misunderstanding. something we can fix, something we can control. little do we know, you can’t dig your way out of a mindset. we’ll drown, lost among the endless sea of other girls who lost themselves trying a little too hard for people who just don’t care.

so, i will leave you with this.
love. it is what we crazy girls were designed to do. love indefinitely, love infinitely…but never lose the love you have for yourself.


the tips of my fingers trembled as i touched the journal.
i had quoted you endless times. i wanted to know what your words felt like rolling off of my tongue and onto the page. i took my comfort in you, in this unoriginality.

i couldn’t dare face my own creativity. it was too fierce and wild and took me over with one single exhale of a word. all i could focus on were the do’s and don’ts. 

one command. one life-threatening, soul-altering word.
don’t yell. don’t cheat. don’t fight. don’t push. don’t cry.

everything suppressed, screaming to get out.

i had recreated myself into a pristine, obedient woman. i had created myself into you.
you were the rule follower, the epitome of perfection. of course, i could never fully become you.

but i could try.

i could paint my life in your subtle, pastel colors, hiding the darkness within. i could suffocate myself in your rainbow of niceties and politeness. i could choke all of this down, and pretend.

but i would always be your opponent. the one standing at the end of the spectrum, inches away from dropping into nothingness. oblivion.

if i am so aware of this fact, why do i bother? why do i put myself through this pain in order to transform myself from something i cannot escape?

it’s easy. plain and simple and clear.

we’re all bred to want something we can’t have. straight hair, perfect nose, skinnier waist, bronze skin. it’s programmed into our beings. it’s a natural chase, from the moment we are born. constantly surrounded by the do’s and don’ts of society. we inhale the do’s and exhale the don’ts, telling ourselves this is how to survive. to become something we are not. to bury ourselves in the artificiality. to become it.

so that’s where i am. in the endless sea of artificiality, drowning among the others.

while i am struggling to become her, she’s struggling to become someone else.

maybe she’s struggling to become me.

maybe she wants to strip herself of the inbred pleasantries. the smile she can’t hide. the desire to help, to be selfless, to never let them down. to be that model for them. a leader.

maybe she wants to jump across this predestined spectrum and take my place at the precipice.

maybe she has darkness too, but she’s just beginning to discover it.

maybe she’s had it all along.

funny, right? how everything is opposite? how you never really know who someone is? who they want to be? what they want us to be?

in the end, the choice is really ours.

do. or don’t.





Whispers of a forgotten secret from long ago,
that was how we carried on.
We didn’t care that the only thing that kept us going was the nostalgia, the memories.
We pretended that life was a game of storytelling.
Reality was all but a short distance away, but we preferred the slow paces and familiar routes.
The others would pass us by and laugh their superior laughs.
We would turn our faces and act like nothing could touch us.

We were wispy children stuck in the past,
unable to move on from the life of daydreaming and lollygagging.
Our refusal to grow up had brought us strength, dignity, and pride.

The option of an elder life had never interested us.
We were no stranger to their lifestyle of bravado and business.
We preferred the silence of simplicity.
The exposure to responsibility was too much.

In the faraway, distracted world we had created,
we were content,
we were joyous.
We were undeniably adolescent.

paradox girl

hook, line, and sinker
i attach and detach just as easily
i’m a paradox girl
trying to distract myself from what i
love the most
the biggest loss.
i fall in love with ideas
in order to pass reality by with a
fleeting stare of contempt

the stars swim in my eyes
while i hide