Right and wrong


“This is wrong”

I thought I got rid of my mother voice from my head, but yet it was still echoing through my brain. It was muffled, but it was not silenced. At 14 years old I felt like my mind had been ignited. I wanted to know everything. I wanted to try everything.

Brush your teeth, clean your room, do your homework, clean the dishes, and other orders ingrained in me from childhood had finally stopped running through my skull. But one phrase had stuck: “This is wrong.”

Wrong means bad! Wrong means a BUNCH of red x’s scattered across a test like confetti. Wrong means your sinning and going to hell (But I stopped believing in that stuff). But, it still scared me like hell.

“This is wrong!”


Wrong is the look of confusion and pain in the eyes of the boy who slipped a note through my window at five in the morning because he wanted to know if I was thinking of him. And that he was thinking of me. Hes the boy who sat through ten showings of harry potter the day after my grandmother died. Even though neither one of us was really enjoying the movie. But there was a part in the movie where Maggie Smith’s mouth tips up to one side, just like grandmas did. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stop grieving until I could watch that part with a smile, and not a sob.

Pain and confusion is covering his face. The pain of facing rejection, confusion and he can feel my body tense,  his hands are shifting restlessly, everything is moving with a want. How is it possible that a mere whisper is holding me back? He some how yanks me back into reality with no blinders to hide the darkness clouding his face.

This is wrong

A gradual change is happening.

A bound body is wrong, not the movements it might make is unshackled.

A silenced tongue is wrong, not the feelings it wants to express.

Hurting someone who loves you is wrong.

The words have not changed. But my consciousness is preserved, the influence destroyed.

“This is right!”


Have you ever?


Have you ever just –

Stared out- onto a lake-

Or even a sea?

Ever wonder what’s under there? –

What don’t you know about?

It looks so peaceful- calm- a mystery world.


You never know- the fish could be looking at you.

Would they say the same?

How do I?

Right now I feel this fits my life pretty well. I had my first speech in my public speaking class today. I only had to talk for one Minute (About my name). Well, when I was done talking I was shaking so bad I wanted to cry…… I felt like I was jumping right out of my own skin……Public speaking anxiety to the max!


All I have ever wanted- was to be heard.
I want to sing with pride- like no one’s listening
But I’m too afraid.- I’m too scared.


I want to stand up and speak out- on what is right and wrong.
For others and myself.
But, I don’t want to get knocked down- and be told to learn my place.


I want to change- I want to be heard
I’m tired of hiding in this shell
Of being the shy girl no one notices


I want to show the world who I am- What I can do- What makes me—me….
I want to be heard- and I want to be seen!
I want to be me, even if society doesn’t want me too…..






I trace the blue veins on her hands
like skinny rivers protruding from the crevices of her skin
This pattern of flesh is reflected in her face;

in her bony arms.;

in her delicate hands.
These wrinkles don’t tell me about the arthritis, 
or about the pain of tumors in her breasts. 

They take both of us on trips: 
back to her standing on her parents’ doorstep-

Coming home for vacation from college.
Being on her tiptoes-

to reach the lips of her first kiss. 
She cradles her firstborn child
and shares an appreciative moment
in the arms of her lover. 

My fingers chase her wrinkles
as she shares the experiences which define her very existence. 
All the memoires that have carried her to this elderly state. 

Each of her wrinkles is unique; 
each has a voice-

and a story to share. 
They are beautiful-

she is beautiful.