Everything is new. (1.24.16)

Anger dries my throat. Tears well in my eyes.

I ball up my fists, crushing them against my sides.

A bruise will soon form where the two forces meet.

Words from a broken home knock me off my feet.

My mouth is taut, a line so thin, one would think it would snap.

I inhale once, and let out a heavy sigh that sounds more like a gasp.

The muscles in my hands tense once more as tears dry in my eyes.

Palms now gone flat against purple-green thighs.

All that remains is a bitter after taste.

My cheeks burn where tears rolled their stinging chase.

I breath deep, and let it all go again.

As I've Grown. (12.3.15)

As I’ve grown,
I’ve witnessed countless tragedies.

Whether it was guns or bombs,

In person or on T.V.

The world is a better place,

This much is true.
Less deaths thanks to disease,

Less things to kill you.

As I’ve grown,

I’ve come to disagree.

The mathematicians must not see

The world I see.

Graphs say the world is getting better.

Crime is going down,

The ocean is going up,
The shoreline is getting wetter.

But as I’ve grown.

The only things I see,

Are wars on drugs,

On terror,

On me.

From the time I was born,

In 1997,

I can’t count the number of

Funeral processions.

As I’ve grown,
I’ve seen people cry.
Watching millions of innocents die.

I ask the world,

Now that I’m 18,
What changes are left unseen.

Now that I’m grown,

I need to know,
Just where the future will go.

(P A S S I V E...O B S E S S I V E) (9.9.15)

Finding some new

Niche

Is the best drug I can imagine.

Boys,

Girls,

Words,

or

Stories.

It never matters.

I feed off the

Energy,

I need your

Attention,

I don't know you but I miss

You.

Please I can't 

Move on.

The Chase. (7.29.15)

Vincent Van Gogh told me to go out and taste the stars. To paint them with my wide eyed brush. That same brush that was tinted rose with the words of Emerson and Aristotle. Those 'great' poets told me to live my adventure, and to hold close my dreams. Scientists have spouted for years that I am special. That I am made from the building blocks of universes and I am innumerable.
All throughout my childhood, Doctor Seuss wrote for me a path of confounded prose. Telling me stories of all the places I could go and I believed every word. I remember the first time I picked up a Harry Potter novel and I heard Dumbledore tell me about his mismatched wool socks. I recall the sense of whimsy the words ignited in my chest.
I remember picking up Shakespeare's 'A MidSummer's Night's Dream' and having that whimsy run wild. I was entranced by the pitter patter of Iambic pentameter. I recall being engrossed by Edgar Allen Poe's trokey, as he talked about ravens rapping on his door. All these voices calling to me from the past, inspiring my mind to rebel against my present.
I remember finding out about Van Gogh's depression, Poe's too. I learned about Shakespeare being a drunkard, and my dearest Doctor fighting nazis. The way those realizations dawned upon me, the weight of their words only increased. Suddenly the raven was no longer a mischievous friend, but a sullen companion. No longer did Puck seem to be the lovable scamp, but more the righteous hand of fate.
The beauty of 'Starry Night' became insurmountable.
There is a sense of wonder that never left me. Inspired by the greats of old. They whisper to me while I try to sleep. They tell me their tales and ask me mine.
"Who are you?" They say, and "What are your sorrows?"
I miss the days when I responded freely
"I wish I had more money." "I wish that I was in love."
But now things have changed. I am no longer chasing sorrows, because despite what the greats told me, I chose to chase a more finicky beast. I chose to follow hope. The light that glows in the flowers at dawn. The way the ocean sounds at midnight. I chose to follow my heart and chase my dreams like wisps off a wishing weed. I don't know where this road leads me, because more often than not it's not a road, but I know I will land one day. Wherever I land those greats will follow.
Because people like us can't help but to chase a story.

I Remember The Rain. (2015)

When I was a little girl, Thunderstorms scared the living breath out of me. My mom would tell me that it was angels moving furniture in heaven. As I grew the rain became a fascination. An event I remember quite clearly was leaving a little sand sphinx out in the rain when I lived in Arizona. I went back the next morning and the sphinx had eroded, I claimed satan had put a mark on me. My mother told me I was nuts and bought me a book on Egyptology. 
I went to my cousins house for some reason, as we drove in my grandfather's old white minivan five year old me watched the rain race down the window. I always rooted for the really little droplets. I imagined they all had families and had to race to gain more food. When I arrived at my cousin's house (she was seven at the time) We put our blankets into the dryer and worked on making pop tarts, hot chocolate, and two bowls of cereal for a rainy picnic. We weren’t going to go sit in the rain, but rather on this little piece of pavement in her backyard the the roof hung over very conveniently. We watched the rain for hours before her mom found us.
As I grew older still, rain was the time that I feared most. My father died on a day with rain, and it rained that whole week. No hot chocolate or tea could have made me feel better. I missed him so dearly, and felt so guilty that I asked the rain to forgive me. I asked the waters to poor over me in a cool embrace and remind me that I wasn’t to blame. I was eleven.
When I turned thirteen, my knowledge of spirits and how to contact them grew immensely. I was at my cousin's house, (this was the same cousin from the previous story, she lived in a new house though.) which was located in the middle of the desert. I wrote a letter to my father, four pages. Asking him questions and desiring some kind of proof that he was still with me. The definition of “Be careful what you wish for.” was that evening. I burnt the letter, sending it to the heavens and to my father. My cousin and I went back inside, when I freak storm had appeared. Light crashed and illuminated the house, turning off the power. The power kicked back on quickly but loud claps of thunder sounded through the night. Rain poured down in buckets. I hadn’t ever seen anything like it. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. The shadow of my Dad, he was standing across the room from me, and I froze.
And today, when I was too angry for words, or the only thing I could do was dance. I did so in the rain. Letting it wash away that hate and letting the universe remind me that it was okay. I was valid and the anger I was feeling was valid. 

Vile. (12.2.14)

Black out your heart,

Dark smoke blinding the moon

Sand falling on a distant shore.

How many colors do you taste

When you think of me?

And how I burnt out your heart

And cooled you with my touch.

I am something vile.

A poison made pure by

Years of distillation.

I am assimilated into something that I don’t

Completely understand while you scream.

"Don’t go into the night"

Because that’s when the stars can get you

I have found that every year is the same.

Right as I figure out what I fear most,

You teach me why I am always right.

So if you kiss me goodbye,

You’re going to end up dead.

A Little More Than Hopeless Romantic. (11.24.14)

I found the cure to growing old in her peppermint smile.

I'd be damned if I didn't mention that
even the mere sight of her handle gives me heart palpitations.
A gentle tip tapping, ripping at the delicate muscle.

Sometimes I want to pull a "Practical Magic" and
Just set a spell telling me that,
No, I don't fall in love with those eyes.
No, I don't find the way you laugh at me endearing at all.

No. That isn't the slightest bit true.
And of course number one on my list is not to lie.
And how dare I break that rule,
By lying to myself, telling me that I don't want you.

As the Summer died, gasping out His final breath.
Winter takes Her hold on me.
Two aspects of my soul, fighting for the spotlight.

Because where he was warm and wild,
She is cool and gentle.
And where he loved me in the moonlight,
She'll love me in the sun.

The way her hand cradles my heart,
As though it was a hawk with a broken wing.
Something fierce and crippled.
Makes the tip tapping grow a little more each day.

Feel Alone. (10.24.14)

Do you feel alone?

You’re scared and breathless,

If they looked they’d see tears.

If they looked they’d see scars.

You’ve been running and your heart stops.

You’re lungs can’t inflate anymore, they’ve popped.

How many ghosts did you make along the way?

How many times did you choose to run away?

Animated hand’s and wild eyes,

They’re discussing your demise.

They know you’re pointless, and you do too.

So you just let it happen to you.

Your face feels flush, a stinging blush

And they won’t look at you.

You implode.

A time bomb, been ticking since the day you were born.

You push away,

You got attached this time

You don’t want to commit to this crime.

As they walk away you beg them

“Take what’s mine.”

This time you want them to,

Leave you behind.

To carry a little piece of you.

Flailing Jump Step and 8 AM Nothings. (9.30.12)

Waking up is always the hardest part. My phone buzzes about around 4 AM, that’s when Jo sends me the first text. It almost always reads “Morning.” to follow up with his text from the night before “Night, sleep tight.” I reply with a hazy mind. I shouldn’t be doing this, why am I? I shouldn’t be hurting myself like this. I battle with that until 5:30. By then I know I should start waking up. I swing my legs over the side of the four-foot long couch that I call a bed, attempting to gain a bit of momentum. I lift my heavy torso, and my foggy head. I sit for what seems like hours, but in reality is only a few minutes. I get up and begin my day. 5:40 Nutella waffles, 6 o’clock dressing, 6:15 internet, 6:30 wake up Grandpa, 6:40 crawl out the door and head to Starbucks. I walk into the Hipster-esque coffee shop and order two salted caramel fraps. One for me, and one for the old man. By this time it’s almost 7:05. I take the coffee, walking briskly to the bright red KIA minivan. Jump in and make my way to school.

Most days (almost all of them except Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays) are uneventful. But this was a Friday  this was a good day. Well, almost, see we had a ribbon cutting to ceremoniously open a beautiful new building. It was nice, and there were some flying pigs, no biggy. But it was what happened after that, walking up to the Red Dragon with some of the people I chose to be associated with, that changed the day. I started seeing things, things that I couldn’t explain. Like how Jon’s smile curves up ever so slightly more on the left then the  right, or how Sara can’t even mention Mr. Fedora without blushing. How all the boy’s flock together, or that people drift towards me. That’s rather presumptuous, but I think it’s true. It was starting to see why one might think that I was shining.

After the sudden epiphany, I went home, trying to explain to my mother what would happen that night. The night that was supposed to change everything. I told her that I wouldn’t be home ’till 9 o’clock, and that things were going to be wonderful. I jumped in my tiny shower, singing “Rolling in the Deep” like my name was Adele. Stepped out of the shower, towel turban in place, ready to be ready. I grabbed my war paint, and I threw on my armor. More like I tried on three different dresses before I decided that the dress I wore too 8th grade graduation would have to do. I was readying up for the biggest battle of my High School existence. My first dance. Lacing up my chucks like they were steel toe combat boots, I was almost ready, almost. I took up my little clutch like a weapon and shrugged on my blazer. Not too 50’s, but not so little that I didn’t match the theme. I jumped into the KIA again, rolling to the dance.

Getting there was terrible, I was scared, me! The one they call “The Brave Little Freshmen” I opened the door slowly, taking a moment to let my legs stop shaking, I knew I was going to have to pass a crowed of people, alone. It could have gone either way, I could have been laughed at  (likely) or wolf whistled but neither happened. I got to the door of the M.P.R unsure of what to do next. Thank God Reina and her friends came up too me, I was beginning to shake again. We stood there talking for a long time. Then I started chasing Alex, up and down the stairs and elevators. My phone started to buzz around in its black silk confines. It was Jon. He didn’t know where the magic was happening. I waited in front of the school, where hundreds of us sat only hours before. He rolled up in some fancy Italian leather jacket, I laughed shortly, still feeling somewhat terrified. Nat came up to me and said the fated words “The dance is open.” Make it or Break it, Do or Die. I was the bravest little freshmen. I strutted up to the ticket desk, told them my glorious name and waited while they looked in the V’s until they realized I said Baugus, not Vargas. I waltzed in and looked around, random green LED’s lit the walls and a few odd dancers, one or two maybe. The room was dead. I walked outside, calling for Reina and her friends. They shuffled over awkwardly. When they finally met me at the little door, I had grabbed Reina’s wrist.

“Come dance with me!”

“No way, I don’t dance.”

It went on like this for another 30ish minutes, until I gave up. Then I noticed two wonderful girls making their way to our little group. Kat and Lilly walked over and hugged me tightly. We all knew that Jon, her crush, was at this very dance. She looked a little torn up, but she was having fun and that is what was important. Moving forward about an hour, the dance started to take shape. Myself finally feeling comfortable in the dimly lit room. LED’s flashing around the room, all of us moving and laughing.

It only got better as the night progressed, as more people filed into the tiny room we all danced more. Everyone danced together, no one was afraid to be themselves. As I danced around the room, looking at the writhing inhabitants, I couldn’t help but smile, this was my life. With boy’s off in other states, friends who couldn’t careless, and the magic to progressively worm my way into the hearts of everyone. I dance with Carla and Reina for what seemed like forever. I walked over to the wall and sat, dead tired and sweating like a flying pig. Carla went up to me and grabbed my hand,

“You can’t sit down, if you sit down it will be awkward.”

With a gentle push she sent me off into the crowd. I saw some seniors standing around in a circle talking, I went over and started flailing my arms in what I was hoping would be taken as dancing. With luck, and I’m sure some divine intervention, they started to dance as well. The night was becoming more and more wonderful with every little step or movement I unintentionally made. The night was winding down and the songs became more and more pop-y and lock-y. So I took the opportunity to sit down. After sitting for about 5 minutes, a boy came over to me. It could have been Brendon or Jake. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t tell. Anyway, the boy asked me why I wasn’t dancing anymore. I responded accordingly.

“I don’t pop,lock, drop, or top.”

He laughed and said he couldn’t do my flailing jump step, well, he said he couldn’t do that dancing thing I was doing. I thought it was funny, he thought it was cool. Apparently I’m not as bad a dancer as I thought. At this point we were trying to teach each other dance styles, but right as he was going to break down and show me up. One Direction came on the loud-speaker. Kat hooked my arm with hers and dragged me out to the floor. I began dancing with a new ferocity. I wanted people to see how happy I was in my own skin. I think it worked.

My night was coming to a steady end, Lijah had just gotten there and wanted me to stay longer, but I couldn’t.

Like every great Cinderella story, the dress has to rip and the ugly step sister has to get her eye pecked out. Oh, and I had Grandpa waiting in the car.