They're just words,

I tell myself as I write furiously in the black book

They're just words,

I tell myself as I run from the boys who call me ugly and the girls who call me a prude

They're just words,

I tell myself when I hear my parents scream at each other in the night

They're just words,

I tell myself as I try to tell you how I feel about you and fail

They're just words,

I say as I lay down and asphyxiate myself with this enormous lump I kept in my throat

STAGE ONE:

• I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN I ARRIVE AT CROSS COUNTRY PRACTICE IN THE HEAT OF JULY. MY GLASSES ARE SLIPPING OFF THE BRIDGE OF MY NOSE AND I LEFT MY PHONE IN THE CAR. MY HEART CLENCHES WHEN I REALIZE I AM THE ONLY FRESHMAN. 

• MY HEART CLENCHES TIGHTER WHEN I FALL SO FAR BEHIND I CANNOT SEE THE RUNNER IN FRONT OF ME. 

• I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD AND I AM SO FRUSTRATED WITH MYSELF, I CRY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. IT IS THE FIRST TIME I HAVE EVER CALLED MYSELF A FAILURE. 

• I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD AND NO ONE KNOWS WHY I CAN'T RUN. I AM ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE. I HAVE NO ANSWER. 

• I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD AND NOTHING IS WORKING. MELATONIN DOESN'T HELP ME SLEEP. CAFFEINE DOESN'T KEEP ME AWAKE. VITAMINS DON'T GIVE ME ENERGY. I AM YELLED AT WHEN MY PARENTS REALIZE MY GRADES ARE DROPPING. 

• I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD AND THERE IS A NEEDLE IN MY ARM, A LAST RESORT TO UNDERSTAND WHY I FEEL AS IF I HAVEN'T SLEPT FOR A WEEK. SO MUCH BLOOD IS DRAWN THAT I ALMOST SHRIEK, BUT THEN IT'S OVER AND THE DOCTOR SMILES AT ME. I DON'T SMILE BACK, AND I TELL MYSELF I WON'T UNTIL THEY FIND OUT WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME. 

• I AM FOURTEEN AND THE DOCTOR CALLS IT 'ANEMIA'. I QUICKLY LEARN THE MEANING AND THE SOURCE OF MY MISERY. IT COMES FROM MY DAD'S SIDE OF THE FAMILY, IRONICALLY THE MOST RELIGIOUS. 

• "GOD ALWAYS DELIVERS," THEY TELL ME. 

• "THEN WHY DID HE WAIT SO LONG?" I ASK. 

STAGE TWO:

• I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN A RELATIVE DIES FROM AN ILLNESS WORSE THAN MINE. FOURTEEN IS WHEN I AM OLD ENOUGH TO REALIZE WHAT THIS MEANS. 

• I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN A TEACHER ASKS WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GROW UP. I ANSWER "A WRITER" WITHOUT HESITATION AS MY EYES FLICK TO THE EMPTY SEAT OF THE GIRL WHO'S BEEN OUT SICK FOR A WEEK. 

• I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN A FRIEND LEAVES MY PATHETIC BIRTHDAY PARTY WITH A NASALLY VOICE AND TISSUES SCRUNCHED IN HER HAND, HEADS FOR HER MOM WAITING IN THE DRIVEWAY. I AM FOURTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN A FRIEND BLOWS OFF MY PARTY ENTIRELY. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN I BEGIN TO START DOUBTING PEOPLE. 

STAGE THREE:

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN THE EBOLA OUTBREAK MAKES NATIONAL NEWS. THE NEWS ANCHOR REASSURES ME THAT I AM SAFE AND NOT TO WORRY. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD AND THE DISEASE HAS SPREAD THROUGH BIGGER CHUNKS OF AFRICA. I AM MESMERIZED BY THE DOCTORS IN WHITE SUITS THAT LOOK FIT TO COMBAT RADIATION. THE APOCALYPSE, EVEN. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN I FIRST HEAR SOMEONE YELL "EBOLA!" WHEN I COUGH. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN I REALIZE THAT NO ONE HAS THE CAPACITY TO TAKE THINGS SERIOUSLY. I SEND ANOTHER PRAYER FULL OF FALSE HOPE TO A GOD I'M TOLD EXISTS AND RECEIVE NO SIGN THAT HE HEARD IT. 

STAGE FOUR: 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD AND I AM KEEPING TALLIES ON MY BULLETIN OF THE PEOPLE IN MY CHURCH WHO HAVE CONTRACTED CANCER. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD, AND ON THE SAME DAY I REALIZE GOD IS UNFAIR. ON THE SAME DAY I QUESTION IF GOD CARES. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN I AM TOLD ANOTHER RUNNER ON THE CROSS COUNTRY TEAM HAS A BROTHER WHO TRIED TO COMMIT SUICIDE. I THINK OF THE HORIZONTAL SCARS ON MY SISTER'S WRISTS AND HEAR THE PSYCHIATRIST CALLING HER "SICK IN THE HEAD" AGAIN. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD RUNNING AT AN INVITATIONAL MEET. I FEEL LIGHT AND MOVE LIKE LIGHTNING AND RELISH IN THE FACT THAT I'M NOT SICK ANYMORE. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD AND I SEE A GIRL WITH DOUBLE BRAIDS AND A PURPLE HEADBAND CLUTCHING HER ANKLE IN THE MUD. SHE CRIES OUT FOR HELP AND HER FROWN DISTORTS THE FRECKLES ON HER FACE. 

• I AM FIFTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN I FIND OUT THAT IF A RUNNER HELPS ANOTHER PERSON CROSS THE FINISH LINE, THEY ARE BOTH DISQUALIFIED. I LEARN I AM NOT ALLOWED TO HELP PEOPLE ANYMORE. 

STAGE FIVE:

• I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD AND STILL TRYING TO HELP PEOPLE. I FINALLY REALIZE THAT NO ONE IS ACTUALLY TAKING MY ADVICE. I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD AND I AM NOT PREVENTING ANYTHING I PROMISED MYSELF I WOULD ONE, TWO, THREE YEARS AGO. 

• I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD, BOMBING CHEMISTRY, YET STILL ANSWERING "PATHOLOGIST" WHEN ASKED WHAT I WANT TO BE WHEN I GRADUATE FROM COLLEGE. 

• I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD AND ASKING MYSELF, "MAYBE GOD LEFT US HERE TO FEND FOR OURSELVES?" 

• "MAYBE GOD LEFT US?"

DEATHBED:

• I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD AND EVERYONE IS SICK, INCLUDING MYSELF. PEOPLE LOOK AT ME LIKE I'M AN IDIOT AND A FRAUD WHEN I TELL THEM I DON'T KNOW HOW TO FIX IT. 

• I AM SIXTEEN YEARS OLD AND I AM ALWAYS ASKING MY FRIENDS

"WILL YOU STILL BE HERE

WHEN THIS VIRUS LEAVES ME CHOKING,

WHEN THIS SICKNESS LEAVES ME DEAD?"

Here lays a girl

With stars in her eyes

With fragments of lilacs and cherry blossoms

This girl had a soul to share with the world

Each drop of love spilling out of her

Now she lays

Fragile still as she waits

For the midnight call of an aurora

It spreads through the sky like wildfire

Feeding on the whispers from this sacred child.

First of all,

anger and fear and pain and depression are all apart of life. Just because you don't like reading about it doesn't give you the right to make us feel guilty for feeling the way we do or for writing those emotions down.

Second of all,

you could have wrote a challenge that stated "write about the last time you were happy" or "what is one of your happiest moments"

Some people prefer a more depressing or saddening approach in literature and you don't have to like that. Don't read it then. Or you might find something that'll open your mind to the fact that life can suck and we can write about it. Happiness shouldn't be forced.

Third of all,

we can fucking cuss all we want, dammit. Just because you don't like reading it does not mean fucking anything. Now, you could have submitted a challenge that stated "write about a moment where profound language would most likely be used but instead of using cuss words use amusing words" so then everyone could have a laugh instead of some (perhaps only me) wouldn't be offended.

{now for the happy part}

I never knew my name could sound so beautiful until those syllables tarnished your thin lips.

Those eyes of yours are truly capturing, captivating, and I never thought they'd actually be gazing upon me.

Your body heat rushes through my skin and becomes apart of who I am and that is one gift I don't ever want to loose.

I wish I could forever smell of you but then I wouldn't get to hear the words, "I just want to breathe your scent in," flow into my ears.

god, you make me laugh and when I'm with you I am content.

the first time you kissed me

I mean really kissed me

I cried

it was unexpected

uncontrollable

instant

I wasn't ready to let you see

my broken bits

as they stung my eyes

so I let them stain your shirt

unquestioning you held me

though later you admitted

your confusion and concern

convinced it was your fault

even though it was anything but

my sadness was a sunflower seed

planted in my lips by his

bursting forth with the wet of yours

you broke the heart I had

tirelessly taped back together

accidentally reopening

a thousand infected wounds

breaking though thorns

in search of greenery

and I think this

was the moment

that people speak of

when I let you love me

(it wasn't til two months later

I let myself fall for you)

I am carelessly gentle

spending every saving

on gossamer and wool

I felt naked

unearthed

a bulb unblooming

plucked from the bosom of my bed

made to spread

unformed petals

in hope of strengthening

the shine of my eyes

I do not think you were sent here

to save me I think

you did that

accidentally

Remember that you are perfect. Remember that there is a happy ending in store for you, despite all the sadness your soul may feel. Remember that the soul, unlike the body, can heal any wound instantaneously. Remember that feeling of pure wonder, joy, and thrill you once felt as a child. Remember that you are a perfect soul, and therefore cannot truly be sad.

a gallon of fresh air

someone else's jacket

three cups of hot tea or coffee

one pair of earbuds

an hour of honest music

that book you've read a thousand times

wool socks

time to spare