Scribbles
"Scribbles" is my section where I will be sharing short little compositions on varying topics! I hope y'all enjoy!
People used to say that I was an outcast, a wild one, a wander… and they said it as if it was a bad thing. I did not morph into their society, and I did not belong. I would never belong.
That was the best thing I’ve ever known in my life.
The Society, as they called themselves, consisted of everyone. At least, they thought they were everyone. Then I came stumbling into the picture with my fiery red hair and vivid violet eyes. I was not beautiful. I was not stylish. I was not what everyone wanted me to be.
I was power and confidence and that scared the crap out of them.
I have seen many things, and gone to many places in my twenty years, but The Society was one of the scariest things I’ve seen in my life. They were everywhere. They had convinced themselves they could do anything and that everything was within their greedy grasp.
How wrong could someone be?
You see, members of The Society dressed, ate, and lived according to “the latest thing.” Want a translation for that?
They ruined themselves and lost who they truly were underneath layers and layers of plastic surgery, tattoos, piercings, makeup, and of course anorexia. They thought that after all of that, they had become beautiful, when really they had become the demons that raged war inside them. What The Society didn’t know was that everyone they looked at was a completely different person when they were alone. They had no idea that when the members of The Society sat in their
showers, they were rocking back and forth wondering if they’d ever be good enough. How they would cry and scream inside as they slipped on next to nothing. They would secretly wonder if this sort of life was… wrong.
And they hated me for proving it.
I lived the way people were once meant to live. I was free and happy with myself. I ran barefoot and dressed comfortably instead of stylishly. My hair had never been even dyed, and I only had piercings in my ears. So when I walked out of the wilderness and into a city, people drew back with a quiet but derisive hiss. It’s sad but funny how some even looked the part of snakes with their surgically spilt tongues.
I’m one of the rare few who will climb to an overlook so that I might see shapes in the clouds. I sometimes think that I may be the only one who even knows that the clouds exist. Everything in The Society is so abnormally fake, even what they call “nature.”
I don’t care about the looks I get when I start up what was once a beaten trail long ago. I’m proud of the fact that they clearly think I’m a crazy, wild thing. I mean, after all, I’m the only one getting the most out of this life simply because I do not bow down.
I refuse to bow to The Society.
That was the best thing I’ve ever known in my life.
The Society, as they called themselves, consisted of everyone. At least, they thought they were everyone. Then I came stumbling into the picture with my fiery red hair and vivid violet eyes. I was not beautiful. I was not stylish. I was not what everyone wanted me to be.
I was power and confidence and that scared the crap out of them.
I have seen many things, and gone to many places in my twenty years, but The Society was one of the scariest things I’ve seen in my life. They were everywhere. They had convinced themselves they could do anything and that everything was within their greedy grasp.
How wrong could someone be?
You see, members of The Society dressed, ate, and lived according to “the latest thing.” Want a translation for that?
They ruined themselves and lost who they truly were underneath layers and layers of plastic surgery, tattoos, piercings, makeup, and of course anorexia. They thought that after all of that, they had become beautiful, when really they had become the demons that raged war inside them. What The Society didn’t know was that everyone they looked at was a completely different person when they were alone. They had no idea that when the members of The Society sat in their
showers, they were rocking back and forth wondering if they’d ever be good enough. How they would cry and scream inside as they slipped on next to nothing. They would secretly wonder if this sort of life was… wrong.
And they hated me for proving it.
I lived the way people were once meant to live. I was free and happy with myself. I ran barefoot and dressed comfortably instead of stylishly. My hair had never been even dyed, and I only had piercings in my ears. So when I walked out of the wilderness and into a city, people drew back with a quiet but derisive hiss. It’s sad but funny how some even looked the part of snakes with their surgically spilt tongues.
I’m one of the rare few who will climb to an overlook so that I might see shapes in the clouds. I sometimes think that I may be the only one who even knows that the clouds exist. Everything in The Society is so abnormally fake, even what they call “nature.”
I don’t care about the looks I get when I start up what was once a beaten trail long ago. I’m proud of the fact that they clearly think I’m a crazy, wild thing. I mean, after all, I’m the only one getting the most out of this life simply because I do not bow down.
I refuse to bow to The Society.
Here's to the Girls
Here's to the girls who aren't afraid to eat a fry. Here's to the girls who are always ready and willing to have some fun. Here's to the girls who are willing to ruin their makeup for a water fight. Here's to the girls who just aren't afraid to break a nail. Here's to the girls who know how to catch a football, and if they don't, then here's to the girls who learn.
Here's to the girls who always call shotgun. Here's to the girls who like the windows rolled down. Here's to the girls who put their feet up on the dashboard. And here's to the girls who are always good sports. Here's to the girls who like a cook out on a summer evening. Here's to the girls who will wear a t-shirt so they can wrestle with the little ones. Here's to the girls who light up the room by just walking in.
Here's to the girls.
Here's to the girls who know the difference between navy and soft baby blue. Here's to the girls who know how to do a proper manicure. Here's to the girls who cheer on the sidelines. Here's to the girls who know ever top bun, side bun, and half bun there is. Here's to the girls who know what you need and when you need it when you haven't uttered a single
word.
Here's to the girls who run the lemonade stands with both pink and yellow to choose from. Here's to the girls who can come up with all sorts of games and crafts at the drop of a hat. Here's to the girls who can swing sweetly and laugh loudly. Here's to the girls who like the fancy restaurants and filet mignons. Here's to those girls.
Be ye tomboy, be ye girly, or be ye both.
Here's to the girls.
Here's to the girls who always call shotgun. Here's to the girls who like the windows rolled down. Here's to the girls who put their feet up on the dashboard. And here's to the girls who are always good sports. Here's to the girls who like a cook out on a summer evening. Here's to the girls who will wear a t-shirt so they can wrestle with the little ones. Here's to the girls who light up the room by just walking in.
Here's to the girls.
Here's to the girls who know the difference between navy and soft baby blue. Here's to the girls who know how to do a proper manicure. Here's to the girls who cheer on the sidelines. Here's to the girls who know ever top bun, side bun, and half bun there is. Here's to the girls who know what you need and when you need it when you haven't uttered a single
word.
Here's to the girls who run the lemonade stands with both pink and yellow to choose from. Here's to the girls who can come up with all sorts of games and crafts at the drop of a hat. Here's to the girls who can swing sweetly and laugh loudly. Here's to the girls who like the fancy restaurants and filet mignons. Here's to those girls.
Be ye tomboy, be ye girly, or be ye both.
Here's to the girls.
You Do Not See
There many days when you look into your reflection and you think that you can see. You grimace at your nose, and sigh at your ears. You despise your chin and you worry at your smile. You avoid the scale, for when you step back off, you allow the numbers to define you. Hating what you think you can see, you walk away from the mirror with slumped shoulders and a bowed head. You let your low self-esteem hide you away, because you believe you saw everything.
You saw nothing.
You do not see when your smile lights up the room. You do not see your graceful helping hands easing a task. You do not see the loving looks cast your way. You do not see the way you grin at a child’s joke. You do not see when you laugh loud and long.
You do not see.
You do not see when you curl up with a book and a cup of tea. You do not see when you watch the sun rise above the trees. You do not see when your cheeks are cheerfully flushed after a snowball fight. You do not see when you’re dusted
with flour after baking the Christmas cookies and a pumpkin pie.
You do not see when you sing a little song. You not see when you run, jump, and shout “Cannonball!” You do not see your eyes brighten when something inspires you. You do not see when you rock a baby gently to sleep.
You do not see.
Do I need to go on? Have I made my point? Because there are so many other happy little things.
I’ll share more just to make certain you know.
You do not see your joy spilling out of you. You do not see the love shining in your face. You do not see when you get that mischievous twinkle in your eye. You do not see all the love that is flooding for you.
You are beautiful for all the things that you do not see.
You saw nothing.
You do not see when your smile lights up the room. You do not see your graceful helping hands easing a task. You do not see the loving looks cast your way. You do not see the way you grin at a child’s joke. You do not see when you laugh loud and long.
You do not see.
You do not see when you curl up with a book and a cup of tea. You do not see when you watch the sun rise above the trees. You do not see when your cheeks are cheerfully flushed after a snowball fight. You do not see when you’re dusted
with flour after baking the Christmas cookies and a pumpkin pie.
You do not see when you sing a little song. You not see when you run, jump, and shout “Cannonball!” You do not see your eyes brighten when something inspires you. You do not see when you rock a baby gently to sleep.
You do not see.
Do I need to go on? Have I made my point? Because there are so many other happy little things.
I’ll share more just to make certain you know.
You do not see your joy spilling out of you. You do not see the love shining in your face. You do not see when you get that mischievous twinkle in your eye. You do not see all the love that is flooding for you.
You are beautiful for all the things that you do not see.