10:30 pm on a Friday

Dear World,

I think I'm mad. I think I'm mad and sad and happy and hopeful and I'm feeling a little let down.

I think my soul is smoke. Not the Las Vegas smoke, more like the Wyoming fog. To be honest, I don't know if Wyoming gets foggy, but when I think of my soul, I think of the Wyoming fog. I think of how some times, it's so thick that you think you can hold it, and how other times, you'd hardly ever know it was there.

When I think of my soul, I want to imagine it open. It's so open, that everything comes flooding in. You'd see words like music and pictures like books and everything would blend. I mean everything would blend.

But yet, here I am. I'm mad. I'm mad at him. This is a poem so old, that it doesn't even deserve to be written. I'm in the same position I was six months ago. A year ago. Three years ago. I've been here a lifetime. And yet, everything has changed. A year ago my soul was chained. Nothing blended. The pictures were nothing more than pictures and the words didn't sound anything like music.

But yet, here I am.

If change happens in inches like time happens in months, this will pass. If I need a yard stick to separate my heart from his, I have to accept that a foot comes before a yard. This will pass.

Much love (I'm trying to put that out in the universe these days),

Baylee

The steps I took to learn to breathe

1. Say what you want to say when you need to say it. This will only produce positive results. (And if something drastically terrible comes from it...well, sorry.)

2. Be more like a snail. No, don't be slow, just appreciate the little things. (Unless being slow works for you, then be slow.)

3. Don't be afraid to let people in.

4. Don't be afraid to let people go.

5. Remind yourself: I'm always exactly where I'm supposed to be.

6. Repeat the previous step multiple times.

7. Be confident. Be bold. I'd rather have you do that than tear yourself down everyday because you don't want to be cocky.

8. *cliche* Just allow you to be you.

9. Remember, I'm always exactly where I'm supposed to be.

10. *another cliche warning* (hey, cliches are cliches for a reason, amiright?!) Don't listen to the haters, or the bullies, or the down-putters, Their opinion only matters if they love you as much or more than you love yourself.

11. Love yourself. Hey, look at me. It's okay. It's okay to love yourself. If no one has ever given you permission, I'm doing it now. Love yourself.

12. It's okay to make mistakes. Be mature. Learn from them. Apologize. Have patience with yourself.

13. Lastly, suck in the air around you and let it fill up your lungs. Let it out. Repeat.

The feels and the tears came back

If my heart were a mat,
Would you use it to lay over a puddle?
Like gentlemen of older days,
Would you hurt my heart
For the benefit of others?
There is a certain beauty to that,
And you know I'd let you do it.

If my heart were a mat,
Would you use it to wipe your feet?
Your wood floors need never suffer
From the storms of God.
That, I would gladly let you do.

If my heart were a mat,
Would you frame it for all to see?
Give it blood for its thirst?
Put it by the fire,
That it might continue pumping?
Treasure it so much that,
Should you be evacuated,
It's the only thing in your hand
As you watch your home curl in the flames?

What hurts the most is not the footprints on my heart,
But the truth that lays in my bones.
The truth of this poem.

I'm 18 years old and I'm sorry, I didn't have anywhere else to write this down.

It's 10:46 and I'm 18 years old.
My brother has a good job
and a wife
and a baby.
I'm 18 years old
and maybe it's the Arizona air
but I'm crying
because my brother has a good job
and a wife
and a baby.
Don't get me wrong, I like all three of them
but I also liked when my brother made pizza
and had a guitar
and brought his friends home.

I'm 18 years old
and I'm going to start playing the piano again.
And maybe it's the Arizona air
but the poetry is suddenly coming again.
Maybe I accidentally blocked it away
cause it's spilling out every pore
but I think that's okay.

I'm 18 years old
and I'm still crying
because my brother has a good job
and a wife
and a baby.











(Please don't get me wrong I really love my niece and my sister in law and this isn't part of the poem and I kinda feel new to this again,k? Not that anyone is going to see this because I'm 18 and don't go to high school anymore. Did I mention I'm 18 now? I think 16 was better on me.)

I haven't written in a really long time because I haven't felt much in a really long time. And I'm grateful and angry for that all at once.

I think I like Thursday nights because they make you think. They make you think about how your sister's last name was Dodge, and now it's Peacock, and about how much neater your handwriting is now that you're a school teacher.

I think that most the time God smiles. I say most the time because frowning isn't futile, and He knows that. I think that when He smiles, He's laughing at us. Not the mean kind of laughing, the kind that you do when you remember something particularly wonderful.

Like where you were when you first heard I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers, or whatever your equivalent is, because I think we all know what I'm talking about. If you don't have an equivalent, you can claim I Wanna Get Better because I've always been good at sharing. Except, not people. I'm really bad at sharing people, because when you walk into my life you automatically mean something, and I don't know if that's good or bad. For you, I mean. No, wait, I take that back. I think I really was talking about me.

Saying goodbye wasn't hard, because I couldn't understand how impossible life would be without you.

my rant on music/life in general

"You've probably never heard of them."
Okay, cool. Introduce me to them, then. What's wrong with us liking the same music? Why is one band or genre of music specifically yours and "Thank God I don't have to share it with the whole world because that'd be just..."?

I get it. You can really empathize with this song, and it feels like yours. It's a little alarming when you find out that other people feel it the same way you do, and you don't want them to. (I recently went through this feeling pattern with the song I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers. Then I came to this realization:) It's really stupid to get your self worth from how many "underground artists" you know. It's kinda ridiculous to be pretentious about your music taste. And, I really don't care if you "found them first". Do you realize that music is what these artists are trying to do for a living? Don't you want them to keep making good music? Don't you want them to get paid? Yes? Alright, then share their music. I'm sure they'd love that more than anything, honestly.

You know, it's okay to like mainstream music. There-I'm saying it. YOU CAN LIKE MAINSTREAM MUSIC AND STILL BE A HUMAN BEING. It's not like you're some kind of animal if you're shut up in your room listening to Katy Perry. You don't have to be ashamed because lots of people know your favorite band because "Ugh, they're so mainstream."

Yes, I think some of today's music sucks. I don't like listening to certain radio stations because the music doesn't mean anything to me. Personally, I take it as a "hate the song, don't hate the mainstream" kinda thing, if that makes sense. Hey, guess what? My favorite band is Fun. Yeah, Fun. The guys that sing Some Nights, and We Are Young, but...wait a second. THOSE SONGS ARE SO MAINSTREAM. OMG. CALL 911. SHE LIKES MUSIC THAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE AND THAT'S PLAYED ON THE RADIO AND IS MAINSTREAM AND OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG NOOOOO. Okay. I still like them no matter what songs they play on the radio. Because I like them for them. For their music. For their lyrics. For the feeling I get when I listen to them. It has nothing to do with their image, I like them for them.

I think that relates back to people, too.

My favorite band is Fun.
And the Beatles, I like them a ton, too.
And I listen to Beyonce.
And I listen to Paloma Faith.
And I really, really like Bleachers right now.
Queen is always a good option.
Terri Clark is cathartic in an alternate universe sort of way.
American Pie by Don McLean is my all time favorite song.
The Avett Brothers...so good.
I listen to Panic! At the Disco.
And I listen to Elton John.
Some days, Keith Urban is just really my jam.
Simon & Garfunkel, though, am I right, or am I right?
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I still don't understand why.
I listen to Creedence Clearwater Revival.
And I listen to Walk of The Earth.
And you might have heard of these people, and you might have not, but you should go listen to them.

And I can't wait until we (or me, still deciding what I really mean here) get over this whole solitary thing, because I think if we try to just really genuinely care about everyone then we really genuinely care about ourselves, too. And genuinely caring about yourself is a rare and a beautiful journey.

That girl in the airport has really bad anxiety around people she doesn't know (and even sometimes those she does know, even sometimes her best friends) because she feels like she constantly has to be an expectation, and the airport just made it go haywire and she's really really nervous about flying alone and she wants nothing more than to quite literally die in this very moment, and it's not because she's dramatic, it's because she's being honest with herself, a skill she's mastered through the years and it's a scary and breathtaking talent of hers. So please, please don't yell at her next time, because she already knows she's not doing life right.

And, being honest, I'm really hurting because she's really hurting and I get it and I get that there's nothing I can do and that really hurts. But I think it's a really cool thing that somewhere in this world, maybe someone actually cares and wants to be there for me, even if they're 1900 miles away, and even if they can't make the pain go away, and I still don't know if this is a lie, but it still makes me want to push harder and harder.

And this all made sense to me, and ties in with each other, so I hope it did with you, too.