“I will hold your voice in a little box
And when you come upon me I won’t look back at you
You will feel a hand upon your heart while I place your voice back
Into the heart from where it came from
And I will not cry also
Although you will expect me to
I was wiser too than you had expected
For I knew all along you were mine.”—Dorthea Lasky
“And “Baby,” I’ll tell her “don’t keep your nose up in the air like that, I know that trick, you’re just smelling for smoke so you can follow the trail back to a burning house so you can find the boy who lost everything in the fire to see if you can save him. Or else, find the boy who lit the fire in the first place to see if you can change him.”—
I vow to love with every ounce of my being, to forget my selfish wants and needs, to never lie again (to kiss, run, sing, dance, cry like I really mean it.) To listen to the Boss and read good books. To stop boys from ruining my nights and to remember that I AM LOVED, FOREVER. To write down my thoughts and add the Cranberries to my ongoing playlist. To remember my bad dreams so the good are even better. To guard my heart like a ninja. To worship God forever. To stay in love. To fight harder that possibly imaginable for my beliefs. To stay small. To not have sex till there is a ring on my left hand. I vow to see good in every person.
“Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe.
— Philippians 2:14-15”—
I want to be many things to many people. I want to be free and to contradict the typical teenager. I want someone to look at me and see their entire world and realize how very fragile we humans are. I want someone to love God more than they love me. I want to be beautiful not in looks, or words, but in what I am. I want to scream until I cry, cry until I laugh and then do the whole thing backwards. I want to let go of everything, just fall, and find that I am held up by a thousand invisible ropes that are anchored to my heart. I want someone to write a song about me. I want to stop wanting and to start finding.
“In periods of rapid personal change, we pass through life as though we are spell-cast. We speak in sentences that end before finishing. We sleep heavily because we need to ask so many questions as we dream alone. We bump into others and feel bashful at recognizing souls so similar to ourselves.”—
I hate to sound like a stereotypical teenager, dripping with angst and selfishly pitying myself while there are people dying of countless causes all across the globe, but I need to speak my mind somewhere. This is my somewhere.
I am tired of high school. Of girls dressed up like prostitutes and boys wearing flat bills and over-sized rhinestone studs. I am tired of the f-word, the b-word, and derogatory jokes. Of the lack of respect for knowledge and beauty. I don’t care if the boys in my grade go for freshman or walk down the hall with so-and-so or had sex last weekend at a party. I want to be with people who love God and life and meaning and adventure and books and ballet and Debussy and actually know what words like aesthete and aperitif mean. I want people who want love, and not the kind you profess over facebook. I am tired of pointless PDA and the middle finger. Give me something to really look at. Is this so much to ask?
Maybe I’m crazy to expect these things from high schoolers, but it seems to me we have degraded ourselves to the level of animals, relying on hormones and instinct, living tactless lives and pretending we’re adults. If this is the future generation, dear goodness get on with inventing that time machine and send me back to a time when I would be the one in the loop and not the odd girl who covers her body because she has something called dignity. Read a book people. And no, Cosmopolitan does not count as bona fide literature. The Buckle sucks by the way.