Peter Pan

Peter Pan,

I do not want to grow up. Paying bills and grocery shopping intimidate me. I want to explore the world. Find lost things. Drown in no responsibilities and freedom. 

I don't want to grow up. I'm too young to be old but too old to be young. 

Please come at my broken window and pour a gallon of pixie dust to revert back time. 

I am a lost boy at heart. I spend more time outside and in other worlds than cramped up inside this world. 

I am a Wendy at soul. They will never change me, even though they will try. 

Peter, I know you fell in love with Wendy Moira Angela Darling, that's why it hurt so much when she left for England. 

Love is a strange thing. It will heal your soul but shatter it into a million pieces if it can, lifting them up into the sky as the Milky Way. 

Tell the Lost Boys to not lose sight of who they are. They are old men with crows feet by their eyes and wrinkled skin, but a child at heart. 

Tell the Lost Boys that Cinderella finds her glass slipper and a prince along with her slipper. 

Snow White is awaken by her true love, Sleeping Beauty is the same. 

They all get happy endings. And so shall you. My happy ending is soon beginning but will not be an ending and will not end the same. 

With faith, trust, and pixie dust,

another Wendy. 

This is me...

I have been hesitant to sprawl my fingers across the keyboard that have grown far too familiar.

 Millions of mixed thoughts and feelings rummage through my mind as doubts and regrets flow.

Alas, I am the girl that sits reviewing the smiles on pretty girls and bold boys talk just as the babbling brook in my backyard. 

I no longer sit in the back of the classroom, but I still eat alone.

I am not a superhero. I am not an excellent writer.

I had envy eyes as I read Carolina Liar, Courtney Rome, Adeline Stone, La Luna, Just Korra, and Eva Peron. But love and admire them so. 

I never made it on the top five or hashtag stolen.

But I know that I have held back. In fear, worrying no one was reading.

Everyone has a creative side whether they choose to believe that or not.

I am the girl who kisses the night in hopes another is kissing too.

I am the girl who doesn't wear what she wants because of fear and self consciousness. 

I am nothing what people labeled me.

Labels I am sure you have been labeled as well.

Fat. Ugly. Stupid. Not good enough. Try-hard. Copy-cat. Fag. The list goes on and on.

I have also been labeled as: beautiful, a beautiful writer, colorful, kind-hearted.

Can you guess which ones I believed? 

I am not my diseases that tries to shade me a color of monotonous grey that capes the beauty of the world.

I am the pitch in my laughter, the inky brown in my eyes.

I am the playlist I keep in my head for every situation.

 "Nothing breaks a being more than questioning who they are. While trying to ignore what they should be." A quote from my dear friend, Kassandra Griscoe.

A part of me I never knew I would treasure.

But, this is me.

The girl who loves driving late at night with the windows down and the moon kissing the road, the wind thrashing against her skin.

The girl who loves too deeply and falls too quickly.

Who wants to hear the world and the world hear her, but is too scared.

The girl who has learned it is okay to open up and expose yourself to be viewed as an art exhibit.

The girl who wishes for you to stay to learn more about.

You see, I am just like you. That is another thing I have learned; even in the same classroom but different seats, we are all the same.

I admire the moon and the stars.

I admire all of you.

Thank you.

And thank you Kassandra, for igniting the flames within my childhood and becoming real just as me.

With all of my love,

Katie Taylor

Stairway to Heaven

I'm on the stairway to heaven. Even though my scars are heavy. I am a warrior. I don't want to lose control, I don't want to be stone cold. 

Its been a while since I can say I wasn't addicted to you. 

My heart goes into slow motion as my mind melts away. I am still here. These words may fool you, but I am beginning to be happy. My demons are shifting into the corner. I still call out; hello, can anyone hear me? Misery, is jealous of my happy eyes. There are many things I can tell you that I don't want. 

I don't want to fade away, I don't want to just be another brick in the wall. I don't want to tear away. 

I am learning how to be a black bird; "take these broken wings and learn to fly." Just as John Lennon had said.

Depression makes me wanna die sometimes. 

But I am still here. 

Alone

Alone. Alone.

Dear God, I am so alone. 

No one understands because no one sees me.

No one hears me. 

I am a ghost. 

A lonely ghost in the night. 

I pray to you.

Are you still there, dear God?

Can you hear my cries?

Alone. 

I am still alone. 

I feel guilty. 

I feel pleased. 

Dear God, will you help the pale sinners on their knees? 

I'm alone. 

We are all alone. So very alone. 

Alone. 

Alone. 

Alone. 

Alone. 

What am I feeling? 

God.. If you are out there.. Please. 

Remembering

 Do you remember twins falling into the ruble one at a time?

I was only three.

Do you remember when four teenagers made a pact to commit suicide during Christmas break?

I remember praying for their families that night.

Do you remember when backyards were the safest place on Earth?
I've been to China, Egypt, Madagascar, Narnia, all before supper time.
Do you remember hiding behind your covers thinking they would protect you?
I had hippo eyes while holding my breath.
Do you remember the letters they make teachers read?
I remember my French teacher crying through the suicide notice my sophomore year.
Do you remember when I came home crying because Maddie made me eat a potato bug?
I felt sorry for the poor bug that died between my teeth.
Do you remember when the world was ending in 2012?
I had my first sleepover then.
Do you remember when bitter frosting and loose teeth were the only problems as a child?
I never knew those would be a lesson to me as a teenager.
Do you remember when Santa, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy became parents with an emptied out wallet and regretful chewing on the cookies they wished you didn't make so many?
I hid in a bin in the back of my closet; crying.
Isn't it funny what we remember and what we forget?
We remember what we wish to forget and we forget what we wish to remember.
Do you remember the terrified teenagers at the Columbine shooting of 1999?
Or the girl known as 'the girl who said 'yes'?'
I remember my biology teacher yell at our class for being too noisy through a lock down drill who referenced to this shooting.
Do you remember when Chapstick was invented?
Yeah, me neither.
Do you remember when the grumpy, wrinkled teacher yelled at me in front of the classroom for being late by three minutes?
I ended up crying in front of the class. I stopped wanting to talk to teachers. I secretly feel they despise me.
Do you remember when police K-9's searched the school for drugs and found some?
Police dogs give me anxiety attacks.
Do you remember when all of your hard work went to nothing when no one gave feed back, so you didn't want to do it anymore?
Yeah, that happens to me often. Even on the blogs.
Do you remember when 'Stupid', 'Fat', 'Jerk, and 'Sex' were the worst words out there?
Now there are over forty.
Do you remember when Syria's government poured mustard gas on their own people?
Google images are terrifyingly disturbing.
Do you remember the lost things you forgot all about?
Do you remember what you wish to forget?
So do I. But that's okay.
I remember, but do you?

You kill me inside

You kill me inside.

Words that stagger into my mind at four in the morning.

You make me feel like the pink bubble gum on the bottom of your shoe.

You kill me inside.

I carved your name into my heart hoping you would stay.

I carved your name into my heart knowing mine would be nowhere near yours.

You kill me inside.

Those endless nights tossing and turning and the coldness of the blanket wrapped around my thigh.

You burn me alive.

I feel as if I am drowning in quicksand. Slowly.

You make me feel as if my body crawls up in flames with one blank stare.

You carved your name into my skull with a broken number two pencil.

I carved a four letter word on a desk in fourth period. 

I watched the words slowly become dull and meaningless.

I watched you carve another's name into your heart where mine should be.

You kill me inside.

Alive

Maybe it's unstoppable. 

Maybe it's inevitable. 

Growing old and dying youthful.

Changing the colors in our eyes to fit the shade of grey.

What is being alive?

Is it the constant inhaling and exhaling of rhythmic breaths?

Is it the crippling bars of a keyboard?

Is it the mountains we climb to get to the greener grass?
As we grow older we slowly fade away into the monotonous shades of grey of the society we helped build.
The different formats of love and hate become the air we breathe.
I do not want to live in vain.
I want to chase my dreams that try to float away on a string.
Am I alive?
I have feelings I do not fully understand.
I have hormones and chromosomes.
I have a beating heart and a throbbing pulse.
Thick blood bubbles to the surface when my skin parts ways.
Am I alive?
My mind collects words and phrases like a spider's web.
I can feel sand between my toes.
I can taste the rustic blood on my tongue.
I can smile and laugh freely.
Is that being alive?
I want to grow old. I want to see the world through wrinkled eyes.
I want to feel alive.