i bought me a nice journal

from a bookstore and everything.

it's beautiful, and a little

expensive,

and my mamma woulda gotten

mad at me for buying it.

she'd say you write just the same in a

cheap, plain journal.

i bought it because

i need to write. i need

a record of my life.

i need to find myself, somehow.

maybe a book of my life will

help me find out who i am outside of

school, and cross-country, and soccer,

and whatever adults tell me to do.

i read all the time now. my mind

can't stay in my world.

it needs to leave all the time,

to sneak into the skin of

a character, and live their life

instead.

I know what my daddy thinks

about dykes.

They're batshit crazy.

They're just too ugly to get a man.

They've been abused by a man, so choose to date girls.

They're man-haters.

They're mentally ill.

Because they're batshit crazy.

I don't really understand

what he means

by dyke.

But I heard a girl in the grade above me

says she likes girls

how we're supposed to feel about boys.

My daddy tries to make sure

I don't turn out a lesbian.

I'm only nine, and I

just don't understand how

two girls could like each other.

It sounds too weird. I think my daddy is right.

I'm a daydreaming high school girl. Romantically, my experience is limited to one girlfriend who broke my heart a year ago, a current crush on a straight girl, and plenty of straight boy's numbers.

So romance isn't quite right for me as a teenager. But love? I'm not even sure where to start, so I'll just write all my thoughts.

Thinking of all that I love: my little brother, my sisters, my mama, my best friend, my cross-country friends, my soccer friends, reading in class, my English teacher, crocheting, baking, the book "Toil & Trouble: 15 Tales of Women and Witchcraft", the teddy bear I haven't been able to sleep without for a decade, my coworker who's like an older brother, Taylor Swift albums, my green and white sweatshirt, my weighted blanket, my letterman jacket, the library, autumn air, summer air, winter air, spring air, rainy air, sun-soaked air, salty air, even humid air, my bulletin board, stealing my sisters' clothes, wearing a watch, writing, feeling like I belong, talking about my feelings, learning Spanish, making too many Spotify playlists, running 8 miles so hard that I forget everything except happiness mixed with pain.

There's so much more, more than I could ever write, more than I could even remember, but that list seems to be a microcosm of my life, if you will.

I suppose the next step to answering your question would be to figure out what all those things have in common. Let me think. None of them are ground-breaking or unique, they're just the things I surround myself with. Maybe some of them wouldn't be so special if I didn't love them. Maybe it comes from me; me being a lover first, and everything being loved second. So maybe love doesn't have to be that deep, and it doesn't even have to be about the thing being loved. It can be about you, the lover, having so much love in your heart that you'd fully love something as simple as a ladybug on the bleachers.

I hope this makes sense. I just started writing and I have so much to say. Thank you for reading <3

I just feel dumb.

She's my friend,

but I act crazy around her.

Crazy!

After our cross-country meet,

she gave me a hug.

Said I ran an impressive race.

Said she's proud of me.

My legs didn't hurt anymore.

She doesn't like girls anyway--

She's spent all week talking about a

BOY.

When we were goofing off,

she kissed my hand.

Now all I think about is

how soft her lips are.

She complimented me.

She loves me.

At least I've got that,

even if it's as a friend.