dear my beloved parents


Dear Parents,

                  I will always have the hardest time formulating my feelings into words for you. It is like stepping through a field of land mines when I try to talk; one wrong word and everything blows up. It surprises me, how scared I am of you. I do not trust you, not because I feel as if you are not loyal, but because I feel that you judge, that you assume. I feel that once you believe something is true, even when it’s not, there is no changing your mind. You have caused me countless secret tears and frustrated screams. You have caused me to slit my own wrists and believe that I am not worthy of joy. I am lonely. When other girls speak of going shopping with their moms and getting their nails done, my stomach sinks just a little, because when I try to go shopping with you, you repeatedly comment on the price. When girls go home and cry in their dad’s chests about some boy hurting them, I close my eyes, and feel the pain by myself. I am not even allowed to experience my youth. It is school and then soccer and then school and then soccer. A never-ending cycle. I want to kiss a boy and go on a date and hang out with all my friends. But I cannot. You do not believe in that. I have been a worker in this job called life. That is not how it should be. And I am sitting here, crying as I write this, because I feel so claustrophobic in this box you call a home. I am so trapped. Let me be free. If you are reading this, you may begin to think that I loathe you, that I am disgusted, but I am not. I am contradicted, because we have had bad times but we also have had the good. I just needed so desperately to let out these forbidden thoughts that have been kept inside, never to be spoken.

This letter is never to reach you. I fear what would happen to me if it ever did.




you cannot force yourself to write something amazing.

you have to let it happen, and when it does happen, it feels as if the words are oozing out between your teeth, desperately laying down on the paper. Oceans and canyons and mountains and sunsets and sunrises and everything in between is put into words.

when the words ooze, I feel free of all troubles and my hand is hard, gripping the pen.

writing is beautiful in way nothing else is.

a threshold not of mine

As the red hot flashes infront of my eyes

I lash out my fist and yell.

I am trapped inside a cage with darkness all around

where am I?

I am in someone’s threshold

desperately trying to back out,

but I cannot.

I am bound to this place and to your commands.

My opinion? That is nothing.

I do as you say

and I live in horrid confinement.

someone’s love story

She’ll compose a million melodies

and one hundred stories

about how she fell in love.

She’ll whisper in the wind about once upon a time

and she’ll yell into the night about what could have been.

she’ll forever remember the way you walked;

head up, confident.

She’ll reminisce in the smooth sound of your husky voice

and indulge in the thought of your arms around her.


already a queen

Treat me like a treasure, because I am

and look at me as if I am the most beautiful thing in the entire universe, because I am.

If you love me, understand that I am already a queen,

and that you are just another jewel in my vast palace.

You can be my king only if you lift me up higher than I already am, and help me grow.

You can only be my king only if you understand that I am already a queen.

what do I want to be when I grow up?

It’s a euphoric feeling when you realize what you want to do for the rest of your life. After all, the main question since kindergarten was, “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Of course, you can’t decide when you’re gown and all, you have to know early and start working towards it.

My parents have always told me to find something that I loved, that I truly enjoyed and turn it into a job, and if I did that, I’d never have to work a day in my life. Granted, I am only 16 and still in the pits of high school struggling to pass my next math test, but it’s worth starting now. I want to be a writer, no, not a novelist or a big name author, but a quiet columnist humbly reporting both the tragic and incredible moments of life. So as you are reading this, my dear reader, I am merely an inexperienced and unknown student with no income whatsoever, but soon I’ll be making money doing what I love.


I have rewritten this about a million times, and each time this text has started out with me telling you that I want to yell into the sky and lock myself in an infinite place of solitude, but I decided not to.

When I am upset, I usually sit and think about what upset me and make myself angrier. But today, I am not going to do that. I am going to focus on the things that I love.

I love:

-the warmth of the sun

-seeing old couples sitting together in a restaurant

-going to the beach, feeling the sand between my toes

-waking up with the greeting of the sun

-fruits, lots and lots of fruit

-smiling at strangers and them smiling back