I wonder why stores sell fake flowers,

And then I came to the conclusion that:

The real ones simply just don’t survive,

Out of their enviroment.

“I am not that kind of girl.” She exclaimed with passionate conviction.

“Well then, what kind of girl are you?” He asked curiously.

 

I am this kind of girl:

 

I am the kind of girl who dances on warm spring days in my favorite blue fuzzy socks, wearing one of my older brother’s T-shirts and listening to Coldplay.

I am the kind of girl who feels happier when her five-year-old brother gives her a tiny blue forget-me-not than when a boy gives her a rose.

I am the kind of girl who wears her brother’s baseball and golf hats for two reasons: 1- She doesn’t have to do her hair and 2- They smell really good.

I am the kind of girl who writes poetry about sticky notes but always loses them before she can use them.

I am the kind of girl who is hopelessly and utterly romantic but finds that fictional boy characters always beat the real ones.

I am the kind of girl who celebrates beating her book reading record, and paisley drawing record more than getting an A on a test.

I am the kind of girl who recites lines to all the best Disney movies and sings along to Mulan’s songs.

I am the kind of girl who loves Chaco’s and gets insulted when no one else seems to recognize the brand.

I am the kind of girl who watches calligraphy handwriting just because it is so beautiful.

I am the kind of girl who uses paperclips to pick locks when she accidentally locks herself out of her own room.

I am the kind of girl who forgets when Science homework is due and stresses out about doing it.

I am the kind of girl who loves chess, one of the reasons being that the queen is the most powerful piece of the board. (It can do everything)

I am the kind of girl who reads Erin Hanson poetry and cries, because words are completely, unexplainably wonderful.

I am the kind of girl who has an addiction to applesauce and eats out a big container in her fridge.

I am the kind of girl who wears a PJ shirt and slick pants while studying Latin verbs.

I am the kind of girl who listens to Adele and eats ice cream.

I am the kind of girl who eats celery and peanut butter for a snack.

I am the kind of girl who grew up on porch swings with orange popsicles and her older brother’s best friends.

I am the kind of girl who buys postcards from anywhere and everywhere and leaves them tucked in books in her bookshelf because she has no one to send them to.

I am the kind of girl who makes sand sculptures of dolphins and flowers at the beach.

I am the kind of girl who runs barefoot while having a water gun fight with her younger siblings.

 

I am the kind of girl who recites all the main bones in her body before she goes to bed.

I am the kind of girl who was once ashamed of her smile because her teeth are not straight.

I am the kind of girl who paradox.

I am the kind of girl who believes that people are the best and worst forms of poetry.

I am the kind of girl who listens to Grace Vanderwaal and swings her little brother around in a circle.

I am the kind of girl who gets paint on her hands and wears it proudly.

I am the kind of girl who studies with a lead pencil in her mouth.

I am the kind of girl who has to work hard not to go over the limit of words, not to stay in it.

I am the kind of girl who writes everything in a neon green sharpie.

I am the kind of girl who writes too late and dreams too much.

I am the kind of girl who didn’t know who Millie Bobby Brown was until last week.

I am the kind of girl who always loved white crayons because they only showed up on dark paper.

I am the kind of girl who painted on an old pair of shorts to make them DIY.

I am the kind of girl who knits when she is nervous.

I am the kind of girl who made a slingshot out of a hanger when she was eight.

I am the kind of girl who quotes Shakespeare as comebacks and Jane Austin as love advice.

I am the kind of girl who wears an old stretchy teal t-shirt with a salsa stain on the left sleeve on Sundays.

I am the kind of girl who gathers ferns and flowers to make crowns.

I am the kind of girl who dressed up in a toga one day when I was eleven.

I am the kind of girl who wears an old pair of Burks from a bargain shop.

I am the kind of girl who fishes every day she can with her older brother.

I am the kind of girl who loves the words “The” and “Okay.”

I am the kind of girl who reads books for the Children’s section at the library still because the creativity and magic they express is wonderful.

I am the kind of girl who got creeped out while reading Alice in Wonderland.

I am the kind of girl who spins around in a circle and says, “Laetus.” (Happy in Latin)

I am the kind of girl who calls boys, “Arrogant toe rags” similar to what Lily Evans called James Potter.

I am the kind of girl who lets her sketch books grow dusty, and her hands never become clean.

I am the kind of girl who gets lighting inspiration for stories and poetry.

I am the kind of girl who never does anything but swim at a pool.

I am the kind of girl whose dream job is at a library, bookstore, or bakery.

I am the kind of girl who slips little notes in her library books in case one day she will meet her best friend in the best place.

I am the kind of girl who walks around the house at 3.am. just wondering at the stillness of it.

I am the kind of girl who rather have penpals then people email her.

I am the kind of girl who listens to Lost Boy by Ruth B. and cries than the girl who cries over a chipped nail.

I am the kind of girl who watches Broadway shows, then the kind of girl who watches Stranger Things.

I am the kind of girl who lays on her brother’s bed and watches him play video games.

I am the kind of girl who spends Friday nights at home and doesn’t go to parties.

I am the kind of girl who loves rainy days.

I am the kind of girl who likes hot showers because they are the best place for thinking.

I am the kind of girl who loves the name “Wednesday.”

I am the kind of girl who loves watching sports.

I am the kind of girl who says “Tushie” and “Tootles.”

I am the kind of girl who loves eggrolls, lasagna, chicken salad, Italian food, and Mexican food.

I am the kind of girl who loves canoeing.

I am the kind of girl who loves metallic pens.

I am the kind of girl who loves the smell of lavender and lemons.

I am the kind of girl who reads Fault in our Stars when she is done with homework.

I am the kind of girl who cries when hearing about WW2.

I am the kind of girl who makes little notes and hearts for her friends.

I am the kind of girl who thinks that times like 8:44 are special.

I am the kind of girl who likes a.m. better than p.m.

I am the kind of girl who loves sleep.

I am the kind of girl who rather aviod boys.

I am the kind of girl who loves little kids.

I am the kind of girl who loves adjectives.

I am the kind of girl who can punt a soccer ball.

I am the kind of girl who can crash a golf cart.

I am the kind of girl who loves writing calligraphy and other funky writing styles.

And I am the kind of girl who is utterly fascinated with you.

Let Go

I dug my nails deep into my palm,

And clenched my fists around my anger.

 

I closed my eyes to trap my tears,

And put my hands over my mouth to keep in words.

 

I put my hand on my belly to quench hunger,

And wrapped my arms around my myself to keep all of me in.

 

And I think it’s time to let go.

 

The new watercolor painting update of my blog’s logo is by one of my new favorite artists. (Ana Santos)

Her work involes nature through watercolor portriats.

There is a time in your life when you are stuck in between who are you, and who you want to be.

Well, I’m there.

 

I remember I once watched the Narnia moves (The first three) and then cried. I cried simply because of who I was. Am.

I wanted so badly to be Lucy, believing in things magical, and being wonderfully brave.

And I was once, that is the sad part. I am not any more though.

I know the sad truth being that I am a Susan. I don’t really believe blindly in things anymore, and while family is very important to me, I tend to want to forget bad things.

I want to be Lucy, but I am Susan.

 

You are Poetry

Blue jeans.

Crazy (Curly) hair.

Chaco sandels.

Messily painted nails.

Hair ties on wrists.

Smells like lavender and lemons.

Saffron colored socks.

Sketches of burks on your walls.

Blue eyes.

Gold star earrings.

Acrillic paint stains on your hands.

Old bike parts.

“Perfect boys only exist in books.”

Palm trees.

Mountain peaks.

Calligraphy pens.

Darling, you are poetry.

Alphabetic World

I never belonged anywhere,

Other than the pages of a book,

Living inside other people’s word,

Until I started to write.

 

I found my home in similes,

And created paintings of my devising,

Out of words like “euphoric”,

And “nostalgia”.

 

I made metaphors out of air,

And concrete poems out of pictures.

 

I found an alphabetic world,

That was longing for poetry,

That it might never understand,

And so,

I gave it poetry.

 

Ambiguity,

Anachronism,

Hubris,

And inculate.

 

I lived in hyperboles,

And sang homonyms.

 

To sum it up:

I did not only give the world poetry,

I gave the world the true me,

And that by itself,

Was pure poetry.

 

Self Portriat

I did a self-portrait today,

And when I looked at it,

I cried.

 

The girl I painted there,

Was not one I ever thought,

I would be,

When I was younger.

 

I thought I would be happy,

Neatly organized,

Perfectly aligned,

Full of technique,

And brillance……..

 

But no,

My self-portrait was different.

 

 

It had a girl,

With crazy hair,

A freckled nose,

Colors swirled on her skin,

Eyelids,

And cheekbones.

 

The colors like bruises,

Bright,

And strange.

 

And I wondered,

Why I painted myself so.

 

Then words came flooding back,

As if a dam had been broken.

 

Thoughts,

Ideas,

“Friends”,

And words filled my head.

 

But there were not good words,

They were dark words.

 

Bad words.

Horribly words.

And words that were used,

To describe me,

By others who never cared,

To know me beyond my skin.

 

And then I knew,

My self-portrait was so crazy:

I was crazy.

 

I was not going to fit into lines,

Squeeze into techniques,

Or fold myself into harsh shapes.

 

I was going to wild,

Colorful,

Exciting,

Full of brilliance,

And purely myself.

 

So when I painted bruises,

That is ok,

Because we all have,

Wonderfully colorful bruises,

From words spoken behind our backs in halls,

Or to our faces by “friends.”

 

I have bruises from words,

Do you?

 

You can rip me apart.

You can tear me clean through………………………But I will not give you my oatmeal choclate chip cookie recipe.

I always hate goodbyes.

The lingering sense that you may not come back, or I may never see you again.

There are so many uncertain things in life, and nothing is guaranteed.

So when I say goodbye, please don’t feel insulted when I say,

Tootles,

Tator tots,

See ya later, alligator,

Etc.

Because if that goodbye is the last time I ever talk to you, then at least I know the last thing I ever said to you as only, “Goodbye.”

 

My blog is made to change with me.

The colors, the fonts, the pictures, and even the type of writing I do!

But however, tyhere is a key to this certain kind of quirky-me madness:

All the logo pictures are going to be by Agnes Cecile my favorite watercolor artist,

And the menu colors are probably (80%) going to match. 🙂

I have this little ringlet of hair that is too short to fit into my ponytail.

It curls around my neck and tickles my ears.

It annoyed me at first, but now I sorta like it.

I twist it randomly around my finger while I am thinking, and try to braid it when I am bored.

On the days I don’t wear a ponytail, I can’t find it.

I pull and part my hair in vain, but I just can’t find my little curly piece of hair.

I think it is a good description of me: When I am around a lot of people I am often shy, and pretty normal.

But when I am on my own, with friends and family I am weird, crazy, euphoric, and have an obsession with everything……………………and that is ok.