Something was pointed out to me, by one of my sisters no less, as to why people may be ignoring it [two posts back.] She didn’t say it like that but her question was, “What would posting that solve? Imagine him reading it. What would you want his response to be? What do you think it would be? I replied, “[It’s] Not really about him reading it, more of  the people around him. Letting them know that someone they put on a pedestal is someone who would say something like this.”Her question was a valid and a good one. Another person said, “People would rather not deal with what they don’t understand or what they don’t want to understand.” These eased my anger and put me in a place of reflection and I came to a few conclusions.
I have very little feeling about how He responds it because I have learned that it is best not to carry the opinions of those who hurt you, but if I had to want him to have a reaction, I would want him to feel ashamed. Also, I am done being seen as the ‘evil one’  because people those around him only have half of the story. Anyone capable of saying things like that to a sexual abuse victim is not a white knight. Reasoning, why do I care about his friends? I wouldn’t want anyone to be friends with someone like that. I am also tired of awful people being praised. You wouldn’t praise someone who slapped and already wounded person, would you? I’m trying to change the way things work, I’m being the change I want to see.
It enrages and saddens me that people aren’t helping. Lack of understanding isn’t an excuse anymore; my mother doesn’t truly understand everything I’m going through but she is still trying to help, she isn’t be ignorant. The true issue is people not wanting to understand and to change because people are afraid of change. The more boastful they are, the least likely they are to actually help, but they continue to boast. I had already learned this but I only believed it when I asked for help yesterday and I’m not one of those Facebook users who posts, “Share this if…” I prefer action. Action like calling-out an asshole who criticizes someone going through PTSD from rape.

The action, the change, I want is for the true good people to win instead of those who are two-faced.




Tonight, while I waited for my sister to pick me up, I sat on a bench and held a purple buttercup flower. They are among my favorite wild flowers because they are adorable and smell like, well, a Reese’s. I held it because of how delicate it was. The goal was not to crush it.

Looking at how perfect it was, how unblemished and okay. The lesson was to be gentle with things that have what I do not, to not envy or feel rage towards or feel jealousy. The lesson was to show myself that is okay to trust. To some, it may seem odd to see it in a simple flower but hear me out: You can trust that those flowers will be soft, so very easily breakable, purple in color and smell like candy.

You can trust. It is okay to trust. Trusting will not inherently bring you pain. To trust is one of the bravest things you can do and it’s also one of the most forgiving. Being cruel and bitter isn’t bravery at all, no—bravery is being vulnerable. To be vulnerable is to begin healing and understanding that, yes, awful things can happen but not letting the awful things become your identity and eradicate you of kindness and hope.

I didn’t crush the flower. I will not lose hope or who I am.

1. Being trapped in a confined environment can turn an ordinary experience into a powder keg. Write about a thing that happened to you while you were using transportation; anything from your first school bus ride, to a train or plane, to being in the backseat of the car on a family road trip.


I don’t have anything spectacular to write about that happened all at once but I do have one trip that was a succession of events that made for an interesting trip.  In this particular story I was headed to see my sister, Rachael, in Pennsylvania. It was also the first time I’ve ever flown alone. It was sort of fun… Sort of.

5:00 am.

The air port is pretty empty.
The woman in front of me, I swear, I thought her and her guy were going to have good-bye sex right there. Luckily they didn’t and then it was my turn and he asked how old I was,
“I’m sixteen.” I say, glad that it was a easy question. If he asked my Social ( I know he wouldn’t, but I was thinking he might at the time) or something, I would have been screwed. I get passed him then I get to the Grouchy Security Lady and I nearly gawked at her because she wants my jacket in one of those security tubs and my shoes in another box. My bag? Unless it has a laptop, no box. Lady, what the hell? I’ve been to this airport and I have seen more ethical, happier, and brighter Security Crayons than you.  Southwest? Put everything in in one box if you can.  She was also he kind of person who gave orders in increments.  Just tell me all at once and don’t mumble.
Southwest: the happy airline.

Once I make it out of Security, I find my gate easily and sit there for a while ogling the Odwalla drinks and bars. I finally get up, determining that my flight won’t leave when I move my butt. I get a bar and a drink. I feel better and stat reading Under the Dome. It’s good, but slow like most of Stephen Kings books so it’s not working to hold my attention. I keep reading because I am stubborn.
When my plane starts to board I am momentarily worried and irritated with how they board.
How am I supposed to do this? F8? ‘Numbers ten and up’? Does every letter of the alphabet have ten seats? Or is every letter one seat or row?
I go with numbers ten and up. I find my seat and it’s a window–yes. I see my seat partner and he is a mildly chubby man in a floral shirt with a chain link bracelet–his watch was on his other hand–and he was listening to Beyonce.  He also had an iphone and a blackberry, but  unlike every other zealot, he had a Dell Notebook that was black and most likely a 06-07 model. I saw the Vista sticker and this definitely wasn’t a newer model.
I find the set up odd. I am sixteen, reading Stephen King wearing a pink Antones (blues club), blue sparkly Converse (which got some attention from Pilots), LA Ink sweatpants (I didn’t know, I just liked the design) and listening to Depeche Mode. I don’t have everything spread everywhere like he does, and I listen when they say,
“Please turn off all portable electronics.” He does not. He keeps listening. He doesn’t make any attempt toward conversation and neither do I. He doesn’t even look at me. He actually looks straight past me into my window. Still avoids my gaze. I know it can’t be my boobs because they are hidden in my Cambridge sweater. However, I take off my sweater because it was getting a little warm–he notices. Of course. Now you ask if I mind all of your stuff everywhere. So, a 26-inch waist and DD’s interest you? How funny.
I am glad when the trip is over and I land in Newark. My hip is hurting and so is my nose. Plane smells. People smells. Nasty drink and food smells. And someone is sick. Or going to be. When I get off the plane and into the air-port I ask a Continental Lady where my gate is because my pass doesn’t say. She tells me it’s gate 114. I’m at gate 86. I go and start speed walking to my gate and, yes, a few laugh when I continue my speed walk on a moving side walk. I don’t care because all of them, honestly, looked like Humans on Display. Blank faces and zombie-like.
As I am walking I realize my tampon is on it’s last legs. Oh, joy. Wait. Oh, shit. I walk faster and find my gate and I find the nearest bathroom.
Once back to my gate, I find it’s moderately filled with little league baseball boys. Since they talk quite loud I determine some things: they’re quite dull, several of their names, several of their phone numbers, and that they are forgetful–that bit was thanks to their coach. Good going, coach. While I wait I listen to the Gate Calls,

“Mr. Gordan your non-stop flight to Beijing is boarding, please go to gate 78.” They said this thirty times and I was about to go look for Mr. Gordon myself. I was sitting alone, contemplating this when I small and I mean small–thin,  crush-able looking body–girl sat some seats away from me. She had the average hair butchering: emo hair cut, sandy blond, and fake high-lights. She must have woke up this morning and decided that wearing all gray was awesome. Gray skinny jeans, gray converse that were attached to feet that wouldn’t stop movinggray wolf shirt with red rhinestones for the eyes, and she was kind of gray skinned herself. I couldn’t determine her height until the plane started boarding and when we did… Guys, compared to me, she looked ten. She couldn’t have been, though. Her face was more mature. She was tiny and she made me look twenty-six. Her face all made-up and shit with bright little eyes and scar free skin. While I have shadows, discoloration, darker eyes, dark hair and no make-up. Her mother then arrives, making her seem even younger and smaller. I then find out she has a birdie like voice; oh, boy.
Once we bored the plane I find that I am in the very first seat–1A. I am on a very small plane with a lot of very loud boys. The Flight Attendant gave me an apologetic smile.
My hip drove me crazy. I couldn’t hold a position for more than a minute. Literally.
The flight it finally over and I walk into PA Air-port with one last thought,

“I hate people.”

Double Standard.


This image popped up in my feed on Pinterest along with the subtitle/author comment “and you might be ‘tolerated'”. I am angry, well, more irritated but my point is that it hit a nerve. I see a lot of this type of stuff and I’m sick of it. My first thought when I saw this was, “Oh, but it is perfectly okay to flaunt it if you’re otherwise?  I am getting real sick of seeing shit telling me to keep quite because I’m white; keep quiet because I’m Catholic; keep quiet because I’m straight; keep quiet because I’m not Democrat or Republican. Get your head out of your ass. I’ll flaunt whatever I am.”

Ladies and gentleman, this attitude, on either side of the spectrum, is called having a double standard. If you’re of the popular or what is accepted by those you value, flaunt it but if not, you hardly matter and you need to pretend to not exist. This needs to stop because if we claim to be of forward thinking, then we need to abandon double standards. This goes for everyone. Yes, including you, LGBT peeps.

\I’ve actually seen a lot of bullshit from them, which is strange because they say they’re all for speaking out about who you are and yet, I’m more afraid of being judged by them than anyone else. I support them, though to be honest, they are just as judgmental as their Conservative counterparts. I don’t understand how anyone can claim to be forward thinking of they can tell another party to keep quiet about who they are. Oh, yeah, that’s right, they can’t.

Want to be forward thinking? Drop all double standards: racial, economical, religious, political, sexual, mental, age, etc. Drop it.