All hero's cry

"All hero's cry, not because they are weak, but because they have been strong too long." 

It's okay to cry. Some of the strongest people in the world cry. It isn't a sign of weakness. It doesn't mean that you can't handle the battles you fight. In fact, it means the opposite. It means that you're strong. It means that you are, in fact, human. You are in touch with your emotional side. You're healthy. 

You can be a hero. You can be your own hero. Superman may not come come swooping in to carry you off to paradise. I mean he might. I don't know him. 
But whatever happens, don't give up. 

People look attractive when they cry. You and I are among them.  

 

For one more day . . .

Little box of color

Those were the days when things didn't matter. There was no homework. There was little responsibility. There was a rainbow at our fingertips. If something terrible happened, we always knew it would be okay. Nothing lasted forever. We could get another if something ran out. Or it could be fixed.

But not anymore.

We don't have that little box of color.
We aren't free anymore.
We don't get nap time.

Now we have homework and tests and things matter. Our worlds shatter when something goes wrong. We have to be adults and we have work and responsibility.  We have challenges and we must push on.
But please, big, hard, adult world. Give me one more day. One day to be little again and to play and create. To not worry about what people think. Just one more day. Just one. That's all I need.

For one more day . . .

Wheat bread

It seems like all the days are blurring together. I go to school 5 out of 7 days. I do homework 6 out of 7 days. I daydream about being somewhere else 7 out of 7 days. 

But there are things I see and smell that I haven't  stopped to spend time with. 
Wheat bread and worn out shoes. 

Recently, for some unknown reason, my hair has smelled like wheat bread. I know that sounds really gross, but this time it was good. It smelled like fresh baked bread. The kind my mom used to bake. It reminded me of days during summer vacation. Days when I would wake up and come down to breakfast. Then I'd hear the wheat grinder and know that Mom was making bread. I'd watch as the wheat would be poured in, then sucked into the chamber. 
When the timer rang, Mom would pull the loaves out of the oven. When they were cooled, she would cut them and make us sandwiches. 

Like a ton of bricks

I hate being sick.

My head feels like a ton of bricks. This headache just won't go away. I've taken medicine and tried to rest, but nothing seems to help.  My head just pounds and pounds. It feels like its going to explode.

My throat hurts too.  I keep coughing and I can't breathe.

I just hate being sick.

I know I'll get better, but right now I don't remember what not being sick feels like.
I have stuff to do, so I'll drag myself out of bed and get to work. I can sleep later.

I hate being sick. Everything feels so heavy; like a ton of bricks.

I won't say I'm in love

What does it mean to be "in love?"  

Does anyone actually know? Do they actually understand? 

I don't know. I don't understand. 

I've heard it described as magical or confusing; intense or slow and soft. Maybe startling or a little too planned out. 

There's loads of love stories out there. But they all seem to have to same plot: girl and boy meet. They grow to like each other a lot. They grow super close. They kiss and its really gushy and gross. Why is that kind of story so common? 

But in the end I still don't understand what love is. There is no true way to describe it. Is love a noun, verb or adjective? Is it all three? Is it not even one of those? I DON'T KNOW! 

Will  I understand it when I grow up or get older? Will I even want to understand? 

Until I know for sure, I think I'm safe to say, "I won't say I'm in love."

Opening the Book of Me just a little more

Sometimes when we talk about opening up or being real, we say that we're an "open book." And I feel like I haven't been doing that very well. So I'm gonna try it. 

• I don't think I know how to dance but other people say I'm really good 
• I'd rather go barefoot than wear shoes 
• One of my hobbies is to sit and watch thunderstorms 
• I think lightning is one of the prettiest nature phenomena 
• I despise romance novels 
• I want to go into a field that studies wild animals 
• I'm never gonna grow up 
• I'd rather listen to country music than anything else 
• I think iPhones are overrated. If you have one I don't think any less of you 
• I make cowpie clocks for fun

The hats we wear

I never really liked the idea of wearing a hat. I don't like hats. Except cowboy hats. Those ones I like. The wider brim and they fit just right. Not too snug, but they're hard to knock off someone's head. They don't come off very easily when the wind blows over the rich dark earth. 
But . . . I don't really like hats. I like my hair to be free. Rocking that wind-swept look and then it all blowing back in my face. I don't want it to be trapped under a hat. Let it be free. Going wild. Taking a chance. Who cares if its a bad hair day? I certainly don't!