Me. Writing. Love. Him.

This Journal Belongs To:

a girl

Me
The trolley seemed empty but I knew the roar of teenage slurs and
laughter were loudly suffocating the air, but I couldnt hear them. Melodies
drowned my eardrums, making me numb to the reality of now. To be honest,
as a teenager myself, I was tired. Tired of all this work, the drama, the
breathing and wondering what tomorrow would be like. Would it be new?
Would it be worth these years now? A part of me knew this answer, the
answer was yes, but how does one teen see through the utter bullsh*t of
life? And how do others not?
At times, I believe the truth of my mothers words, that I hold an old
soul. This old soul feeding
me wiseness beyond my age,
shaping out the outline of
my story, embodying my
very own personal legend. A
legend I wasnt always
quite ready to live . . .

Old Soul Signs

Thinking a lot:
Thinking about every possible thing you can and finding a deeper meaning
and understanding in relationships, interactions, conversations, and in life.
Happy with solitude:
Being lonely isnt always bad, it gives yourself time to take a pause on
life and think about everything that is happening. You try to find a larger
understanding and you are very introspective.
Maturity Before You were in Your Diapers:
You were a young adult before you realized cooties wasnt a thing. The life
of adults seemed far more interesting than fighting with Jasmine over some
toy or boy.

Enjoying the Simple Things:

Big things happened, but they dont swell your heart like reading a good
book, or a simple hello, or a sip of coffee.
Life Looks Larger:
Your eyes roam wildly with a philosophical look on life itself.
Any problems or obstacles are taken in as part of your journey and/or
lesson.
Value:
Personal values are treasured dearly, but expensive physical objects hold
no place in your treasure chest.
Self-actualization:
The realization of your talent and wanting to express yourself in every
way by doing it. (writing, art, music, etc.)

Sensitivity and Spirituality:

You rely on your gut instinct more than anything because your gut
happens to be right. You get this feeling that kind of overwhelms your body,
so choices come easily, and reading people becomes easier.
Connections in Time:
Certain time periods capture you, and you want to know more on the art,
culture, and history.
Odd Ball:
Friends grow within your circle, but you always feel like the odd man out,
that odd ball. Eventually, you realize the odd ball (you) isnt lonely, and
being alone was different than feeling as so.

Hey Stranger c;
People feel the need to talk to you or approach you, even if they arent
wanted. And when they do, they feel this vibe of trust and choose to open
up to you.
Double Thoughts:
You feel like two people, or as if you are separated from the real world
and yourself. Your mind splits into multiple meanings of life and all are
different ways to suffice.
Empathy Overf low:
You care! Your acceptance level is touching the sky and you truly
understand the power of forgiving. Friends go to you for advice, knowing they
will have your full attention and not be judged in any way.
Old Fashioned:
Quiet moments are the sweetest tastes.

Aura
There was a time when my aura was being read by a good friend of mine
named Anthony. He described it in complete and utter truth of who I am, and
strange thing is, at the time he wasnt a close or good friend.
I recall the conversation with myself holding so much fascination and awe
that I probably looked like a child in a toy store. I was even a bit jealous
because he could see something I couldnt, and I really want to be in that
contact with not only myself but the world.
Any who, his description went in the form of;
Most of the time youre a deep, complicated blue thats really
beautiful, just imagine a computer crash with personality. Other times
you are a dark smokey-red, like a black women with lipstick on.

Me
I was aware of my surroundings. Observing every person, every
interaction, every sunrise and every sunset. I even observe myself; my
breathing, thinking, pulse, emotions, the darkness that tends to linger. The
what people expect. That emotion my face reads as I glance out to a world
I dont always want to be a part of. Being told repeatedly that I look like I
hate the world, when in truth, I love the idea of the world without its
restrictions and high-expectations. But, how do you live in a world when the
restrictions are so high and the expectation level is devouring the
confidence of not only myself but many others?
This is why I drown myself out with the screams and hums of artist,
because like them, they write their truths in emotions, as I write my
emotions in truths.
All my truths come from passion or sorrow, my artistic value and wording
coming from love within its deepest burrow. It was my canvas full of
smothering colors. A canvas that never had its last stroke of wet ink. A

canvas that screamed its loudest cries and its softest whines. A canvas
that started when I was nine.

Writing
Writing was and is a part of me. It is my immense canvas just for my
wording, my feelings and emotions. It is the explanation of my imagination,
grief, joy, and much more.
It all blossomed when I was in the third grade. Another foreign school
for a very shy girl. The class was large, full of different races. My teacher
at the time, Ms. Prairie, with long silver hair down to her knees, was given
the task of the year to help us with our writing. I never knew that there
was a way to write down your imagination until I received her as a teacher.
Ms. Prairie was an omen because she gave me a piece of my personal legend
by giving me a sign of realization. That realization being, I had a way with
my mind and my words. From then, Ive always had a year where I had a
folder or loose leaf paper f loating around with pieces of myself illustrated
upon them.
Since writing was easy, growing up was lighter. Simply because I had a
way to vent and a way to create any person or thing that would challenge or
need me. This helped a lot through the dark times.

Growing up, specifically in middle school was tough. I went through a

great amount of depression and Im not complaining or looking for a pity
party because I am aware my pain is nothing compared to others. Although,
with what Ive experienced feeds my personal legend in a way as it feeds my
personality, by making me stronger. And I sit on this trolley, aware of the
black circles under tired and somber eyes. The sight so easily spotted out
because I have those eyes, a shadow of my past. The view is troublesome and
heartbreaking. All I want to do is heal hearts in any shape or form, and this
comes out in the explanation of fire churning coals inside my knotted
stomach, seeping and burning every inch of my throat that appears in
words so violently dead but alive, it becomes beautiful.
So I write; grief, pain, pure joy, annoyance, anger and past every wall of
my imagination. I write because writing is a shared language. I write
because every now and then my voice is not able to speak. Lastly, I continue
to write for them.

Love
Love was odd, and I craved it. It was that daydream I couldnt stop
dreaming of. The mysterious force that lit some f lame inside me. It was
magical and vibrant but every ounce of painful because where there was love,
there was pain, and where there was pain, there was love.
And I have loved many, and my heart is sore in places daggers have
bored. But, regret has never been a guest in my chambers for long, because
for regret meant things would all go wrong.
I have a friend, well a few friends. For starters, I have a bestfriend who I
call Ren. She has been my
longest friend, a friend for five
years. Silly to think when
many people have friends from
when they were the age of five
themselves. It didnt matter
though, because our friendship
could be described in what

many people look for, a soulmate.

There is this connection between the two minds of us girls. A connection
that truly cant be described, and that was okay. I do know that this
connection is beyond speaking itself, and on another level we cant even see
ourselves. Subconsciously.
Over the past five years, a f lare was lit and exploded. All trust, truths,
beliefs, wishes, dreams, became related. We became related, not by blood but
by a bond that tied strings from our souls, our spirits, together.
I love her, and I crave her to love me back. It wasnt in a way where it was
unnatural, but in a way that my best friend happened to be my soulmate.
As I have grown, Ive reached a level that I wouldnt be without her. I
have learned to be more nurturing, motherly, a leader that carries a large
amount of responsibilities, a friend to understand and be there, not only for
her but anyone else who comes into my arms.
Ren is my root, a base for me to stand up on when I need one.

Dont ask me why I love you, because I will have to explain to you why I live
-Unknown

* Him *
He makes me want to be every positive thing Ive ever thought of and he
shows me I am worthy of more than my minds shallow, breathless thoughts.
He brings out the beast in me by merely trying and not giving up, ever, even
in his darkest times.
If it wasnt for him, the majority of my personal legend would be hidden
deep in the depths of my conscious. And my answer would be unsure to,
would life be worth it after these years?
My personal legend is simply to be myself and live up to my ending,to
the time I pass. Between the time from birth, to now, to then, my legend is
to write my talent on its largest never ending canvas, to find and make
beautiful and painful connections with people, to live a life with two of my
favorite individuals, to make a change within his heart as he has done mine.
My personal legend is surrounding his legend, because in my eyes a
legend cannot be held without some form of love. Our love is spoken to the
depth of motivation, and for him I am one of his last reasons to stay in this

world, I have become his motivation. And I am glad to be the highest

pedestal in his eyes. James is my world without restrictions and highexpectations because with him I am
f lying and screaming with the utmost
elation that I cannot fathom. There are
no expectations but one, and that is to
truly savor and speak the form of our
love.
When my world does fall to the
reality of this form of creation with its
restrictions and expectations, Id
naturally say no. You cannot live in a
world that does not fit you, you simply
try to survive by following the basic rules.
I see myself, staring blankly into nothingness on this trolley. There is no
red paint, brown seats, rails to hold onto. There are faces, some with eyes like
my haunted past, but all so blind to the fork in the road. And I see that

division, sought out bright as day, but my roads meet again as for my two
minds are connected by the hem.
Life has a plan for I. I see those wedding bells, a lifelong friend, a strong
family, two kids in hand, never ending connections, wanted and unwanted, but
all a time to collect memories for written words on a smothering canvas.
All the time for James and I to share a legend together

I love him.
Loving him is a passion.
A passion that gives me the final satisfaction.
Something I could've never imagined.
If the day we met, never happened.
Understand that I have been blessed.
With a fine fella like you, who passes every test.
Examine the odds of one in millions finding the one.
And realize we are the lucky ones.
I hold his heart as we are miles apart.
And our love spreads within folds of art.
A masterpiece that keeps us from tearing apart.
In this cruel world, I have you to restart.
As we disappear in one anothers hearts.
Engulfed in each others love like Adam and Eve from the very start.
Dizzy with admiration, free as a dove.
His hand in mine like a well fitting glove.

Loving him with no thoughts.

Letting the f lame in my chest spark.
Allowing his image to dance and cross.
My mind, as my breathing shallows and gets lost.
In the sight of his adoring eyes that tie knots.
In my tummy and gives me butterf lies.
Because I cannot fathom another day.
Without his admiration, adoration, without his way.
The whimpering and giggling that frame.
The surrounding sound of the words that claim.
Seizing my heart as the three lines sing.
Sing a song so true, so beautiful, who knew
That I would love him so strong and proud.
Because these words cannot even explain, no matter how loud.
This passion is to not be tamed.
Because I utter these last words.
My imagination cannot detain.

All the f luttering passion inside.

Like butterf ly wings, so fragile and free.
Just like my love for he.
I love him.

Goals

Get a tattoo.
He drew it!

Getting Married

Traveling

Since You Draw for Me, Ill Write for You.

Art expresses itself through our veins, like the love we cant tame. Free
will losing the reins to create the beauty that holds us so true. Im the
canvas you see as a muse, youre my pencil that creates and lights the fuse.
Motivation holds one of the sparks to our love. Youre my best friend and
everything above. Drawings here and there, words written, expressing what
we have here. Our own world where we can crumble and curl, love in the form of
swirls. I have you, beyond all my dreams. You have me, beyond your worst
nightmares, I stand here to help you bare the world so we dont tear.
Our breathing has no other reasoning than living through another day in
each others arms. Smiles and grins tickling necks, shoulders and chins as I
kiss you here and there. Pounding creating our own rhythms, so calm. My
soul, your heart, blending together, no longer worlds apart. Seeing you,
seeing me as the beauty we perceive. Looking at a world we can both believe.

You draw for me, Ill write for you. Lets tell a story together, me and you.
Holding hands in the long run, one by one, experiencing our own days, ignoring
the games of this world. Im yours, you are mine. We have all the time, to
create and love just like a f lying dove. Free and strong, our art more than
just the canvases we show. Our art is the love we hold.

Legend
The stereotypical heart shape was meant to be two hearts fused
together.

Monster Sowing Hearts by Him (J.T.M)