The issue I have with regrets in life is that once you recognize it as such there is no retribution. You can’t go back to the moment and change it and you cant move forward in the same fashion as you would have when you first committed the regrettable action. And for me personally it fosters this deep sadness that not even a prrfect day can shake. So why does it hit so hard? My only answer is that potentially its a physical response to the moments purposely missed. I don’t miss the person I was but I do miss when she had no regrets. I despise growing older and more responsible, holding my tongue, and subduing my adventurous urges. Im grateful to be alive but Im lost and my brain is lost and Im trying to find her agai.

If you ever want to see your precious smile again you’ll follow these demands and these demands only. Any variation could result in the lifelong pain of a smile that never reaches the eyes. If you‘re following along… firstly, you’ll open your journal and write 100 times, “ I forgive myself.” Did you do it yet? If no, stop here because you’re not ready. If yes, welcome to step two. Get up and make your bed(time of day is your last worry). Wash your face brush your teeth and… SMILE. Did you like what you saw? If not we’re getting there be patient with me. Ever heard the term “touch grass”? Yes. you’re out of touch so next we’re gonna cross that off our list. Leave your shoes by the door, they‘re not necessary quite yet. If the ground feels weird stand firmer close your eyes and when you say this envision anything and everything all at once don’t be scared of the clutter and scream out loud, to yourself if you‘re not ready but be loud “I forgive you” say it hmmmmm 25 times that should suffice. If you’ve made it this far keep your phone handy for when I arrive with the next demand.

The fairy in my closet must hate me! I thought, as I put on the third pair of jeans at 3:30 this morning. “I have to be at work by 5 can you fix that inseam in about 30 seconds”, I called out to her. She loves my pants specifically, I’ve seen her shop for petes sake! Scraps of denim lay throughout the floor you’d think it was originally blue, but it used to be black before she took the waist in on all my dresses making them impossible to squeeze in. I must admire her craftsmanship however , because once every blue moon I find myself pulling out the shorts I bought in 2018 and they slip over the curve of my hips so smoothly it must be magic. Right? Wrong. I caught her! My favorite print button down was sat in the very back of my closet after months of non-use and when I slipped it on I found that the pit of the sleeve had been taken in by over an inch. Who does she think she is?! Does anyone else have a closet fairy? I think it’s time we all take a stand.

My parents loved each other when they created me but they loved the worst parts of themselves when they created me. Im humble when I feel like it but overall im gluttonous, for everything. I need a lot of everything and Im not ashamed to feel that way. I want success, money, greatness and one conversation with mom or dad would solidify . The only difference between us is i want to learn how to be great. I have room for mistakes but not for failure and I’m not quiet enough to let it be quiet.

When I was seven, I thought that I knew everything.

If you were to ask anyone who knows me, I'm probably much the same.

But the difference from now and then is, then I wasn't afraid to practice what I knew.

One Sunday morning, after a rambunctious sleepover with my best friend Karen. We woke to my mom making us breakfast. The smell of pancakes and bacon summoned us to the round table in our little apartment. Patiently waiting my mom rounded the corner, “I’m running to the store, don’t open the door for anyone.” At 7, the excitement that grappled my body at the opportunity overcame me. On the surface I was calm, internally I was bouncing around at all the possibilities of being home alone. The moment the door locked I was on a mission to find anything left askew to get into. But my mom, the early childhood educator was meticulous. Everything locked, I decided to venture into the kitchen, everything in its rightful place but a bowl with a frothy yellow mixture just sitting by the kitchen sink. Little black flakes floating around, my eyes lit up. “What is this?” my brain searched for answers to no end. “Karen! Come look.” Karen a few years older than me at 10 floated around the corner always interested in what I had to say. Questions in here eyes. “Watch.” Taking the palmolive detergent squirting the heaviest amount I could without it being noticeable. Karen watched. Worry in her eyes, but no words exiting. “Its just cleaning stuff.” I stated with the confidence of someone who does this for a living. The moment I'd swirled everything together, the lock began to turn, and as swiftly as we'd found it we departed. Into my room we escaped into the many worlds we’d created. And for the next 30 minutes life was bliss. “Ivory Lee, it's time to eat.” The melody of my moms voice hard but loving rounded the corner. Me and Karen ran into the living area plates steaming in our usual places. Always a meat before carbs kind of girl Karen started with the bacon. Her face lit with glee at the perfect crunch, the grease that engulfed her mouth and the seemingly endless piece of meat before her. On the other hand I dived into the eggs, fluffy, slightly burnt and when I finally allowed my brain to process what had happened… Soap. All I tasted was Soap. The panic took over me, my eyes wide I wanted to yell “THROW IT AWAY!” but the instant shame I felt overtook my body. I sat silent, watching Karen as she scooped a forkful of eggs into her mouth, chewed, sighed, and swallowed. Hmm? My brain tried it's best to process. Looking into the kitchen where my mom stood fixing herself a plate, she gave me a look as if to say “are you okay?” Not wanting to give myself away I turned back to my plate, finishing the soapy eggs, then the bacon, and finally the pancakes. Walking Karen home later that afternoon as we lived in the same complex I swore I saw a bubble escape my throat but I quietly left it to fate and never told a soul about that day. Except you my dearest reader, you now know one of my many shames.

can I maximize my love for you without ever vocally saying I Love You.

words are words, actions are actions and I love you but I can’t say it anymore. I’ll show you everyday if you want me to but I’ll never know what it sounds like unless you allow me to. I love you, I love you, I really do.

Everyday that I wake

I must do what I say

but I consistently keep in mind

How exactly I would like to spend my time

There is truly no rhyme no reason

my actions are truly based on the season and whether the sun is shining brightly and if it rains I do not ponder on my pain but the beauty that surrounds me, the life that grows sublime and the infinite place this all holds in time.

when I close my eyes and open them no more I will know that I always did what I felt was right

not the Tim Pope song but an actual tree.

I’d preferably like to not be able to see.

Why? Because I want to be still

To not be transported and not feel like I have to constantly transport me.

Similar to the melody I’d like to sway and passively watch the day pass away.

To be rooted and understand what it means to be dead, alive, old, young, a sprout, a seed.

A threat to the humans who live under me but a life supply to the ones who bow down.

To be seen only by chance in a forest that’s never burned down but the most beautiful thing to ever be.