O h f o r freedoms s a k e stop trying

I bet Grace Kelly knows what it's like to look in my mirror.

"The trick isn't being pretty, it's acting pretty." But I'm a terrible actress, and not the least bit convincing.

I hit rock bottom last night. Literally. Happiness found my out stretched arms and black bike tires carried the weight from these shoulders. Blood was far from pure but thoughts were white like snow and free like doves. 

                  And oh did I fly.

Blue ribbon wings

Broken sidewalk runways

c o o l  d a r k  s i l e n c e  , 

               w a r m  b r i g h t  f r e e d o m

Do you get what I mean?

I'm a little dizzy and my head is still spinning so I'm hoping you will go easy on me.

My legs are tired from chasing my heart around, so keeping up with you takes everything I have left.

I just want you to kiss me again.

Set my forests on fire, and light up my skies. Rattle these cages made of my bones. Shatter all the windows, and slam all the doors.

Inspire me.

Let the ink from my pen bleed down these pages.

I can't ignore the way your heartbeat calls to me.

 I can see them now. Your stars, they're everywhere. These night skies take me by the hand and pull me from the city glow I've been trapped in. I can't help but to lose myself in it all.

You've got me singing.

You've got me second guessing everything. 

You've got me strapped into this roller-coaster you're running, and I'm ready to ride 

Wether it be for a night

                            or an hour

                                     or a second

I'm ready. 

I just want you to kiss me again.

June 5, 2k13.

#SummerBlog

101 things I've been thinking about;

1. Semicolons 

2. Wild fires

3. Why all ice cubes aren't spheres.

4. How many people notice that I notice.

5. Music.

6. The sounds my body makes when it's really quiet.

7. Sound.

8. What it would be like to live above a coffee shop in Oregon.

9. Sex on the beach.

10. The power of suggestion.

11. Spiders.

12. My eyebrows.

13. What life as an army wife would really be like.

14. TMNT.

15. How this little symbol, #, has 3 identities.

16. Cutting my hair.

17. The sound breaking glass makes.

18. What qualifies a person as a liar.

19. Weddings.

20. Making money.

21. Drinking.

22. The old T-Swift songs.

23. Junior high.

24. Cafe rio grilled steak salads.

25. The lyrics to multiple songs overlaid in my head that make a soundtrack for my life.

26. What I would look like with a Tyra Banks style ANTM make-over.

27. Expensive shoes.

28. Windows.

29. Standing on my tip toes.

30. Hips.

31. Leather seats.

32. Heals and appropriate places I can wear them.

33. Airplanes, and overhead storage.

34. Donut sticks.

35. Equal rights.

36. How seven elven makes Slurpees.

37. Starving babies in Africa.

38. Starving babies everywhere.

39. Riding across the country on the bake of someone's bike.

40. Awkward, the MTV show.

41. Alternative career paths.

42. How drowning feels.

43. Tanlines.

44. Freedom.

45. Password requirements.

46. The worlds lack of trust.

47. What the red line is called, the little one that tells me I can't spell.

48. Logan. 

49. Natural disasters.

50. Blind people.

51. Food networks next iron chef.

52. Guns.

53. A scientific explanation for skin colors. (Like honestly though..)

54. Gas prices.

55. Value.

56. The possibility of a zombie apocalypse.

57. Sigmund Freud.

58. Faust.

59. Who reads my blog.

60. Hair gel.

61. Bridges.

62. Air conditioning that works.

63. Who Little Debbie actually is.

64. Moving.

65. What super power I would choose, if I ever had the opportunity.

66. How to perfectly fold a shirt.

67. Kids.

68. Old school rappers.

69. Social media sex jokes.

70. Curling iron burns.

71. If caskets are comfortable.

72. Weddings.

73. Family recepies.

74. Pitbulls.

75. The life of my iPhone battery.

76. Cage fighting.

77. My lack of tolerance.

78. Emojis.

79. All the books I would buy if I had a personal library.

80. House parties.

81. If my grandparents will get to see me get married.

82. Salsa.

83. Piers.

84. 4th of July fireworks.

85. SNOWCONES.

86. The cultural curve of my nose.

87. Nike socks.

88. Mountains.

89. The vicious cycle of happiness my life is made of.

90. Getting published.

91. The letter x.

92. Locks of love.

93. College.

94. Drug dealer girl - Mike Posner

95. Cake batter Chapstick.

96. Log cabins with open windows and queensized beds.

97. @

98. What falling in love feels like.

99. Problems.

100. Where I'll be in 10 years.

101. Kissing.

June 3, 2k13

#SummerBlog

Let me re-introduce myself;

Anything you are expecting, isn't here.

They call me S-Jay, Jay for short. I have long dark hair and a very short attention span. My past isn't pretty, but my cursive is immaculate. I misplace almost everything in my life, but I prefer the chaos. Perfection is boring. I used a fake I.D to get my right ear pierced a second time. I make mistakes often, and rarely apologize for anything. I find it cliché to wear my seatbelt. Death fascinates me, it is beautiful and terrifying at the same time; I think death and I are similar in that way. I'm a lover, and a fighter. But most of all, I am a writer.

At least that's what some delusional part of me decided, so here we are.

June 1, 2k13

#SummerBlog

Love left overs

Wind blown dreams carried me back to you tonight.
The natural curl of your hair. The elegant way your body moved, in it's innocence.
My tear stained cheeks are warm and it takes all the marrow in my bones to keep from missing you.
Things feel out of balance in my life. The scales are tipped. And try as I might nothing can be done to right all the wrongs that were left here. So I pack them into Tupperware containers and stow them away.
Dirty basement shelfs and dust covered hallway closets have become home to me. Life is easier between the reels of home movies, and abandoned deck of cards.

You promised me forever.

Your tears will never fall like rain, watching me walk the isle. I'll never wear your ring on my finger, or that white wedding dress.

Not for you.

Because hopes of forever and a none chocolate wedding cake are gone.

Gone with you.

We'll never put up our own tree, or hang worn out stockings in our cheep apartment. Because you'll never love me, and we'll never share sheets again.

You will never be my valentine. No amount of paper hearts can change that. But I still cut them out.

You won't be the one I tell my daughters about. You won't keep the title of my one and only. I'll take that back, someday.

You'll be striped of your honor and banished from my kingdom.

Someday my knight in shining armor will wear diapers, and he'll call me mommy. His Daddy will be the kindest king there ever was. And I'll be Queen of our castle.

I will be happy.


And you won't cross my mind.

I'll cross yours. She'll insist on chocolate, and you'll miss me.

Your preacher will ask for objections, and it'll will be you who can't find peace much less hold it.

Because in your head it's my innocent kiss you long for. It's my smile you miss, and my love you wish for on every star.

It's my void you can't fill.

And you'll run, and run, and run. The way you should have ran after me.


I'll be in Jamba Juice. With a toddler in my stroller, and a baby in my belly. My ring will sparkle, and my face will glow. "Because it's a girl" the cashier says. And you'll see, everything you let go of.

Your tears will fall like rain. And your heart will break, just like mine did so many years ago.

I'll speak as if you'd hear me, and you'll listen like the leaves.

Hungry hands tear at my tissue paper skin. Every breath feels like the oceans swell, and I can taste my heart beating at the back of my throat.

This is it Sally. This is the unattainable glory your empty heart aches for, and yet your insides are a rainstorm.

Love is poison and my addiction is irreversible. So I'll turn all the oven knobs and lay my soul on the stovetop. Fill my cup and hide the bendy straws. Love is a poison, and I'm afraid I've started to build a tolerance for it.

You can kiss me with the kitchen knives, and I'll sing to you from the all the places I run. Pack our hearts in a picnic basket and return only pieces of mine. Broken is all I've known, broken is all I am.

The scars from scolding water fade, but these memories never will. They whistle and they wail and they always bring me back to your name. My desperate hopes grow love like weeds and hate like green grass. The dandelions tell me to run, but I've become accustom to the pain inside these fences.