It is not our darkness that frightens us; it is our light, what we are capable of, that fills us with

fear.
But I believe that both can frighten us. Our light can blind and burn us, but our darkness can consume us.
Just like a black hole swallows stars.
But our darkness makes us shine, too: for without darkness, stars could not shine.
// How Do You Shine? \\
There was this fall day when I was taking a walk, and I came across this leaf. It got me thinking.
Its such a shame that a fragile and beautiful thing like his leaf is thrown to the side of the road to be
trampled upon. It made me consider a few things. Like
Maybe there are a lot of beautiful things that we dont see, either because we arent looking for them, or
they were thrown aside; an outcast by societys standards.
Its such a tragic thought. But what about this idea:
If I saw a leaf, and I still think about it daily, and I am entranced by how beautiful it was, then how much
do I think of you, and all your beauty?
// A Leaf Blown By the Wind Leads to You \\
But what about the moon? People want to dim its light so that the stars are visible. Its like that
person that is always there for you but you toss them aside and they feel neglected and unwanted but they
will do anything for you. Why dont people realize that everyone is a moon someone and some to more
than one? Were all broken people that just need mended but were all too distracted to mend each other so
we end up breaking even more. Why are the biggest most beautiful ones cast aside because they try to be
different?
-People fail to realize that without the moon, there would be no tides. So without those moon-like
people, theres a lot about us that would become a whole lot more unbalanced. We should just love
everyone in our lives because everyone goes through enough crap daily anyway. And if we cant do that,
then we should just fess up instead of letting them sulk in their minds, wandering what they did. And dont
take for granted what we have in our lives, even if everyone has it. Remember that even if someone seems
small, it probably isnt. And love. Love recklessly and passionately or calmly and subtly. It doesnt matter
how. Just make sure its known.
// Are You the Moon or the Stars? \\
Whenever you grow up in a small town you get this feeling like youre trapped. Whenever you tell
someone the name of your home town and they get this confused look, you feel as small and
inconsequential as the town itself. It isnt until you say that its about an hour away from Chicago that the
confusion leaves their face. Yes, it is a small town that barely anyone knows and theres nothing special to
those who drive by the small store faces, and they keep it in their rearview mirrors. But what value does it
have to those whove had their first experience in everything in that small dot on the maps it shows up on?
Yes, it is small. Yes, it makes you feel as miniscule as it is. But whenever you spend your entire life in a
place like that, it feels a lot bigger in your mind. And in the grandest scale, does it matter if people know
where you grew up? No. what really matters is who you became. What matters is how that small town
molded you and helped you to become this person. It is towns like these that help you to appreciate the
bigger things, whatever they may be, but still find room for the smaller stuff and you realize size doesnt
define the amount of beauty one can contain. You read those books or see those films about that one
character that came like a town from mine and still became someone important or famous. But thats not
reality. Odds are Ill always remain inconsequential, overall. And that doesnt bother me because what
really matter is being seen as a someone by those who I see as someones. She was not loved widely, but
she was loved deeply. So let me stay small to strangers. I dont want to be known in a glance; I want to be
the explored town with secret treasures waiting to be discovered.
// Am I the Small Town or the Passerby? \\
Blurry eyes,
Blue mind;
I cant find
The life that used to be mine.

I was thinking about how the roads in the winter expand and break apart and how theyre kind of
like bricks; all bumpy and the seams become broken apart. Then I thought that people are kind of like those
roads. We become broken apart and feel like our seems are breaking apart. But the way I look at it is this:
like how the roads are worse in a certain season, so are people. Everyone has a time when theyre broken
and breaking worse than usual. Then in time from spring to fall the roads get repaired and the seams get
filled. And eventually people get their seams filled and repaired by everyone around you. And just maybe,
youll do the same for others.
// Are You Going To Be the Road or the One Who Fills the Seem? \\
Today we were driving down the highway and all of the windows were rolled down. The wind was
tunneling through the car, almost like a vortex. Goosebumps ran along my legs and across my arms; chills
were creeping down my back and crawling up my neck. But for some reason, all of my troubles and
worries they just disappeared. I dont know if it was because my exterior temperature finally matched the
numbness I feel inside. Or maybe all of my problems just blew away, right out of the window.
// But the Wind Went Away, and My Problems Didnt Stay With It \\
I believe scars tell stories. I believe mine speak of the pain I feel, the sadness trapped inside, the
ache in my heart and the tears trapped behind my eyes- so I cried through my veins instead. They scream in
agony because my eyes are bloodshot and my mind spins and the only thing to bring me out of that trance
is to use my skin as paper and I record the voices in my head. My scars whisper of when they are made and
how theyre created by loneliness, worthlessness, fear, broken hearts and broken promises.
// I Know That Is What They Are Made Of, Because That Is What I Am Made Of \\
The other day in science I learned that visible light usually travels at a constant velocity of nearly
300 million meters per second. But when the light passes through a prism, each color component of light is
slowed to a speed slightly different from the others, causing each component to bend at a different angle as
it emerges from the prism.
And it occurred to me that life can kind of be like a prism.
There will be moments in your life when it seems like time doesnt exist, or perhaps that it barely
moves. There will also be times when you feel like youre going a mile a minute and it feels as everything
is rushing around you and youre watching these moments just fly by because you cant find the break
pedal. No matter how you feel or what happens or if your heart is beating so fast everything seems slow in
comparison or if you feel numb inside and anything is too much because your thoughts are racing- it
doesnt matter what the situation is. Youll always emerge a different person, another color, even if its only
a speck of a difference. Because, every choice made, it transforms you into a different person than the day
before. It is up to you if you like your color better or worse.
// What Color Have You Painted On Your Skin? \\
Racing hearts,
Chasing stars;
Were just pieces of art
Trying not to fall apart.
I am a strong believer in the theory that we are made of the same things as stars.
You see, we shine just as bright. There could be moments when our intensity blinds distant stars.
Now study your arm. Do you see the lifelines underneath your skin? Those are your teathers
keeping you here. They are those practically invisible strings that keep the galaxies in place. And when
those fragile cables become undone, that is the moment you realize youre made of the universe, and you
cant help but watch as you bleed beauty.
The thing about stars is theyre only truly admired sometimes. Which is kind of outrageous to me?
I mean theyre always shining and we should recognize that; just because we cant see them doesnt mean
theyre not there.
Breakdowns are so defaced and I wish they werent because you dont always have to be strong
and stunning. Being down gives you the chance to stand back up and remake ourselves. That is how
galaxies are made; they collapse and are reborn.
// We Are All Merely Stars With Heartbeats \\

Someone once asked me why I love what I love. They said that is what makes me different from
everyone else that might love the same thing. This is what I told them:
I love writing because I can let out the demons in my mind that eat me alive and tear me apart,
without the fear of being judged. And I like writing on paper because it gives the trees a chance to live on in
story. Even if these words suddenly combust or are blown away, it has become part of the story.
I love music because it helps me to realize that Im not along. Because other people who listen to
it know what Ive been through, what Im going through. You can scream the lyrics out to the world and not
be afraid. Because theres going to be someone else who will scream back the next line. The beat of my
heart is in the notes, and for once Im not terrified to hear it.
I love photography because there are so many moments I want to treasure and eventually my
mind will become full and delete the distant memories that I can seldom call to mind. But I dont want to
forget. I want to remember. And photography lets me remember. It pulls that memory from my
subconscious. I see a picture of that one day at the beach and the smell of the air or the texture of the gritty
sand or the sound of the lapping water or who I was there with and what we were doing it all comes
rushing back. And I love that because all I want is to feel alive and the days I photograph, what I
photograph, it does that.
It makes me feel alive.
While it was only minutes or mere seconds passed, it felt like an eternity until their reply came
through. They told me, That right there, how you have explained why you love what you love. That right
there is why you are different.
And I believed them. Of course I do; I trust them with my life because theyve saved it more times
than theyve touched my heart, and that is an awfully large number. So of course Id trust them with the
truth, and telling it to me.
Still, despite all of this, I cannot convince myself that it is true. How does that work? I know what
they told me is true, but cannot convince myself of the authenticity? Perhaps it is true to some, and to
others I am just an average, stereotypical adolescent female. Which category would I be placed in? where
do I fit in? maybe I dont, and maybe they are right, that because I dont fit into those restrains, its the first
step to realizing that I am - in fact - different.
There is an awful lot I dont know, like if I am different or not, but the only thing I do know for
sure is that when I love something, I love it with every ounce of my being.
// Who Am I? \\
Some pieces of art these days are a canvas covered in a lavender tinged paint. But maybe thats
the color someone needs to complete their collection. Maybe youre a mosaic, and your broken pieces
somehow fit together. Maybe youre a clay pot that holds someones most beloved flowers. You could be a
poem containing all the words someone wished they knew how to say. Or perhaps youre the book that
changes someones perspective on life. Were all works of art inside, outside, or both. We are made to
inspire and admire. Dont hide the work of art you are because someone called you fake or bland. Maybe
lavender just wasnt for them. Ignore them and display yourself at exhibits and let them stare at you in awe,
stunned by your beauty. It doesnt matter if them is a stadium of people or a single person. Your value
isnt based off of everyones opinion, only the one who has found you and never wants to let you go.
// Youre Still A Masterpiece When All of the Lights Are Off And The Room Is Empty \\
There was this one morning in the car I was watching raindrops roll down the window and it made
me think that somehow these raindrops could represent people. There was one raindrop that was ahead of
all of them, and a little below them. That one is the person that depends on themselves and they think that
staying alone is the most beneficial. There was another one that was a bit behind because it kept getting
caught up by the smaller raindrops. I saw that one as the person who had bad association. But before I
knew it, it started picking up momentum. And in that moment I knew that it found the right people to be
around. It kept picking up more speed and then
It passed the first raindrop. And as that first one neared the end of the window, it stopped
completely. It was there until it dried up. To me this is a beneficial lesson that you may think youre better
off alone, if you dont depend on others. But in the end, you need someone to who is there for you that can
pick you up when youre down and keep you above the waves when youre drowning and to hold you when
your body is shaking and the tears stream down your face.
// Dont Be The Lonely Raindrop \\