Doesn’t End Like That

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You never got the chance to know me
Packed it up and crossed the state
You left behind more than memories
Now when I sleep I’m only dreaming of your face
You never got the chance to hold me
I learned to love your selfish way
I still believe in you

So wrapped up in your selfish ways, taking and taking, leaving me spinning round and round, unable to touch the ground. Whenever I treated you better than you could understand, you’d leave me wondering how kindness could hurt you.

You said you were my friend, holding out your hand to help me off the ground, offering to dry the tears that streamed from my shattered heart. And yet, after you bandaged the wounded organ, you shattered it with it into a hundred parts, leaving me bleeding alone.

How did I love your selfish way? Why do I still believe in your flawed nature? Why do I see all the good things you could be if you just let the light shine through your firm barricades?

And in this burning room
I’ll suffer through the pain

Left gasoline on my walls before you peaced out, telling me it was my problem that I was the way I am. Lit a match and threw it behind you, burning my soul inside the metal walls I built for my own protection. You say I’m not worth attention, so I’ll sit alone and suffer through my emotions.

You told me I was weak to feel pain, fear, and pitiful to let the tears free. I should be the bouncy, happy girl I used to be before. Years ago when I first met you?

Darling, listen. Time wears away the childlike joy you felt at ten. It takes time to find the joy given by the Spirit within. It takes time to find out who you are, despite the pain that’s shaped your life.

Oh no, got me low, how you gonna leave like that?
Oh no, got me low, you’re gone and I want you back.
Oh no, down so low, feeling like I’m under attack.
Oh no, where’d you go? You’re gone and I want you.

Instagram posts have pulled at my defense, your comments are destroying my stern vision. How are you gonna ghost me like that? Last year we were together and talked about forever, being friends until we’re both old and toothless, laughing about our teenage stupidity.

Now I’m alone, sitting on the floor, wondering if I’ll feel the same at fifty. How are you going to leave like that? If you came back, would I let you in?

I never wanted you to change
Call me up and I’ll be running
Loose my breath calling out your name
(Leave Like That, SYML)

I sent texts, DMs, and letters. Hoping you’d forgive my stupid blunder. But if my blunder was being a good friend, would I really want you to forgive me for caring? Would I really want you to forgive me for sharing my love, my time?

Were you really the people I needed? Or were you only taking up the place of people who love and care about the real me, not the me they’ve created in their heads. Maybe the best thing for both you and me was for us to part.

So I could find me. So I could be me.

Without feeling guilty for not being what you want me to be.

And now I can smile and sing the song that I can only sing while reaching for the stars. I now have people behind me who love me, despite what I can be or will be. They smile and laugh with me over my stupidity, understand when I tell them seriously about my worries, and hug me when the darkness in my mind is louder than all of reality.

People who care.

Even when I pretend that I don’t need them.

Because I do. We all do. We need people who love us, we need people to support us, we need people to push us, and we need people who understand us.

God’s been so good to give me people who do all of those things. And to them, I’ll forever be grateful. ❤

~~Amie~~

I See the Sun

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I see the sun through the evening shower

I know the sun in spite of this midnight hour

Each day it’s there, warming my heart

Even though it’s so hard to see in the dark.

I have been telling myself I won’t let myself grieve. I won’t mourn, I’ll be fine. Just keep moving, looking to the next day.

But last week was one of those weeks that just called for a lot of sorrow, mixed in with a strange type of joy.

Last week I was supposed to be seeing my friends. Hugging them, laughing with them. I was supposed to stand next to one of my favorite people as she pledged her life to her love.

But I sat in my kitchen instead, watching a screen.

There are so many things we’re all missing out on because we’re trying to stay safe. We’re trying to show Christlike love, by putting other’s health and safety before our own. And I’m so happy that I get to do that, that I get to stay home, and that I’m able to keep myself alive for years in the future.

But it’s also okay to be sad.

To grieve.

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So many lives lost. So many memories not happening. So many people we miss. So many hugs we’ve lost. So many moments of laughter that we’re not having.

It’s okay to curl up on your bed and take a deep breath, to let the tears free. It’s okay to hurt, to wonder why. It’s okay.

But always remember that there is a sunshine behind the clouds, and a tomorrow after today. Maybe not this year, maybe not now. Maybe it’ll never be like you thought it should, but you will have something good in the future. Maybe I won’t be hugging my friends this year, not laughing with them, or rooming with them at a writing conference.

But next year.

Next time.

Tomorrow.

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It’s still empty and full of possibility, full of hugs, full of companionship, and worth waiting for, worth going through pain today.

As someone once said, “A moment of pain is worth a lifetime of glory.”

A year of loneliness is worth a lifetime of health and companionship. And for that reason, I’m going to stay home, wishing to be with my favorite people. For that reason, I’ll be Skyping instead of hugging. And for that reason, I’ll be letting myself cry.

Tomorrow still has sunshine,

~~Amie~~

Say It Louder

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White silence is violence.

I am white, I have remained silent, I have wondered, questioned, disbelieved.

I am part of the violence, one voice that has stayed silent, because my skin wasn’t targeted. Because I was continually told that I was privileged.

And for a long time, I thought that was an insult. But I have since learned that it is not. It is truly a privilege and an opportunity.

I wish they would only take me as I am
— Vincent Van Gogh

One of the people I admire the most doesn’t share my skin color. My co-workers don’t share my skin color. To me, it’s never mattered. To me, that made them prettier than I am, it made me marvel and admire our diversity.

The beauty and uniqueness of life.

But not to others. Others see my friends as less. See them was lives that don’t matter, lives that shouldn’t be lived.

I’m here to say that life matters.

Black lives matter. Asian lives matter. Unborn lives matter.

We all live with the objective of being happy; our lives are different and yet the same.
— Anne Frank

I will never know what it’s like to not have the privileges of a white American girl. I’ll never know what it’s like, but that doesn’t mean I should stay in the shadows, hiding. It doesn’t mean I should doubt what’s happening.

It’s been happening for hundreds of years, to so many different colored skins.

I’m here to say that being white doesn’t make me better than anyone else. It just makes me sunburn. There is nothing about me that makes me better than you, nothing.

I’m human. I bleed the same color of blood. I breathe in oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. I get dirty, I cry, I get angry, I get hurt.

There’s nothing that makes white people better than black people. Nothing. There’s nothing that makes white people better than Asians, or Hispanics, or any other kind of ethnicity. Nothing.

Can I say that loud enough?

“We are not to simply bandage the wounds of victims beneath the wheels of injustice, we are to drive a spoke into the wheel itself.”
― Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Murder is never okay, regardless of who does it to whom. Murder is condemned in the Word of God, and so we must not only give comfort to those hurt by this injustice, by this tragedy.

We must confront the root of the problem, we must stand and be heard. There is no time for us to wait around and see. No time for us to wonder at this tragedy.

It has happened. It has continued to happen. And it won’t end if we don’t stand together, regardless of our skin, and point out blatant facts.

Racism is wrong.

Discriminating is wrong.

Murder is wrong.

And why?

There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.
— Galatians 3:28

 

For God shows no partiality.
— Romans 2:11

 

Whoever takes a human life shall surely be put to death. You shall not murder.
— Leviticus 24:17, Exodus 20:13

Now is not the time to be silent, for whatever reason you might have. Now is not the time to worry about hate comments, about what others think about you, or even your stats. Now is not the time to wonder what your friends will say about an awkward conversation, or worry about how this will make you look.

If you do not speak, you are guilty.

Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.
-Dietrich Bonhoffer

We must speak, we must act, we must resist silence. We must stand, face the problem, and work with those who are trying to eradicate it.

Regardless of your skin color, you matter.

Regardless of your ethnicity, you should stand.

Regardless of your privileges, you should speak.

Because all lives matter.

Because black lives matter.

I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality…. I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word.
— Martin Luther King, Jr.

~~Amie~~

It’s My Story

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I’ve been growing. 

I’ve been looking back at my past and seeing how it’s changed me. Seeing why I am how I am, and how I can change myself. Not because I don’t like myself. No.

In the past year, I’ve begun to love myself. No longer hating the pain and anger that sits inside of me, no longer hating the face that was given to me, no longer mad about the body that I call mine, no longer ashamed that I’m me.

I can go back and read past blog posts, smiling at who I was then.

And I can go back five years and tell myself it wasn’t my fault. I shouldn’t feel guilty for refusing to see my grandfather four days before he died. I shouldn’t feel guilty for not hugging him the last time I saw him. I shouldn’t hurt because at his funeral I didn’t cry.

God and my grandfather know that I loved him. And I’m proud to be his granddaughter. Proud that I had a grandfather with such a story.

Instead of feeling the pain of my twelfth birthday, I can remember the beauty of the bouquet my father brought me. The moment I hugged him, soaking in his warmth and the clean smell of the hospital. He had made it, he was here to celebrate, even if it was a only for a few hours.

Instead of basking in the things I missed on that birthday, I can relive the tears that rolled down my cheeks when people from my church surprised me. Because they actually cared, because this was a good reason to let all the tears out, a time I didn’t have to be strong.

I’ve been patching up the relationships I destroyed in my desperate attempt to control my life. I’ve started releasing my fears. They aren’t all gone, and it’ll be a lifelong journey. But in the past year, I’ve been taught one thing.

I’m not in control.

I’m just in for the ride. So why hold on with a vice grip, when I can just lean back? I know that my God is only planning things that will be good for me. Sure, the good might hurt at times, it might bring tears. It might even feel like too much.

But God always gives you strength. Sometimes that’s only enough strength to lie in bed, sometimes it’s only enough strength to sob on the floor. Sometimes it’s enough strength to get up and run. And sometimes, it’s enough strength to soar.

Comparison should never be allowed to enter your mind. Because your journey, the amount of strength God sees fit to give you is uniquely yours.

God has written a unique story for each of us.

I would never wish to have someone live my past, and in order for you to be me, you would have to have that. Never compare yourself to me, to others, to the people around you. You don’t know what they’ve gone through, and it’ll only ruin your own story.

If you don’t have both eyes on the road, you’ll never know the difference between good and best. Live your story, my friends. Embrace it, love it, understand the beauty, and do your very best.

Your past might be sad, your future might be rocky, and the present might be dark, but God promises that though there are tears in the night, joy will come with the morn. ❤

~~Amie~~

We are Complicated

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I am a collapsing star.

The night sky whirls around me as I fall, creating a unique masterpiece behind me, wishing something would stop my breakneck descent. Wishing someone would understand, that underneath all the fiery gas, there’s an ice cold heart that needs some love.

I am a flickering flame.

One moment alive, one moment strong, the next vanished from sight. Oxygen is needed, but also feared. What if I grow? What if there’s nothing to fuel the fire that is my soul? Will I always warm people, and yet keep them at a distance? Is there no way to subdue my soul? Is it’s always all or nothing?

I am a dripping stalactite.

Moist, cold, dangerous. Any moment able to collapse on someone’s head, always reminding them of my presence by a ceaseless drip, an annoying patter. Hidden from the light of the sun, embracing the darkness and living with others of my kind. Yet, solitary and growing, not letting the silence bother my own song.

I am a slice of mica.

Beautiful to those who take the time to dig through the grime to find me, yet not precious to those who look towards what the world says. Thin, fragile, yet strangely resistant. Reflective, showing the world a screwed picture of itself, hoping that someday it’ll see that it’s opinions aren’t always as they should be.

I am a diving eagle.

Swooping, talons reaching. The water skimming beneath my feet, the prey firmly clamped. Food, freedom, and fresh air growing my feathers and my independence. Selecting my certain friends, but still soaring alone, there is no reason for me to be afraid. I am the the top predator.

I am the mole.

Hiding away from the real world, embracing the grime, worms, and darkness of the world in which I live. Squinting when I reach the sunshine, wondering why anyone would want to live in the harsh light. The dirt is so soft, so cool, it is everything that I am used to. And yet the sun still has a certain, burning charm.

I am the rain drop. 

Falling far and fast, landing softly on the parched earth, allowing myself to be totally soaked up. No longer my own person, no longer free to breathe, too busy trying to help heal your pain. Lost, parched in the process, too moldable, too eager to fill your empty cup.

I am the guard dog.

Sniffing out danger, protecting my people. Hating when they don’t listen to my warnings, hurting when they’re hurt. Silly people, if they just trusted my nose, we’d all be happy. My bark is silent, my bite devastating, don’t push, don’t pull. Stay away, no one will be hurt, no one will feel the strength of my jaws.

I am the whispering wind.

All my problems, too shy to tell those around me, so I’ll just move the leaves, whispering through them. Can you hear the plea between my words? The pain beneath my jokes? Are you soothed by my gentle words? How did I find the words to say to ease your pain if I have not been through the pain myself?

And yet, though I am all those things,

I am still

~~Amie~~

Does It Get Better?

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Dear little Amie,

Does it get better?

Yes and no.

Yes, the hatred you feel will stop burning in your veins. The anger that causes you to tear your hair in the closet won’t follow you any longer. The anger that constricts your voice and kills all those around you will no longer poison you.

No. The pain will still be there, just morphed and changed. It’ll still squeeze your chest and cause rants. You’ll still lie to people and tell them you’re fine when you’re dying inside.

Yes. The people that used to hurt you so much will no longer cut holes in your heart. No, you won’t get along with them. Yes, you will be breathing freely, but no. You won’t be the olympic athlete.

Yes, you won’t have to spend each morning trying to swim through your own mind. You’ll be better, you’ll be able to run, you’ll be singing and laughing again without a cough.

But no, you’ll still be up at two in the morning, wondering why you’re alive. You’ll be asking your body to just give up the fight, but unlike your mind, it’s not a quitter.

Yes, you’ll have people supporting you, pushing you back up when you fall and swear to yourself that you can’t move again. They’ll be there, and no, they won’t always know what to say.

But sometimes being there is louder than any of the words they’ll ever be able to say.

No, you’ll still wonder at times if this life is worth living. If the stars are worth seeing. You’ll wonder if the Word is worth reading, and the songs worth singing.

But yes, someone will look at you and say I love you. And you’ll realize that you’re important. Why? Doesn’t matter. To some people, you’re important. Some people need an Amie in their lives.

No, some people will still be unable to understand you. People will still say things that burn, do things that hurts, and refuse to let you through. But you will learn that they aren’t worth your time. They won’t take their words back, but you don’t need them to do that.

Yes, Amie. Overall, it’ll get better. You’ll have relapses. You’ll sit on the floor, wishing you could cry the tears that simmer underneath. You’ll be on your bed, silent because the thoughts in your mind are too loud for music. You’ll refuse to talk to people, you’ll neglect food.

But each time you’ll come out stronger. More determined not to let your mind to take control of your life. Each time, you realize that you’re a fighter. But you’re not the only one fighting.

There’s One that shines through, stronger than you. One that can fight better than you do. One that won’t let you go through with the lies that are whispered to you.

So fall apart, but don’t let the fragments shatter.

Because remember, it’ll be better.

Perhaps, it’ll get worse before it’s better. But always, in the end, it’ll get better.

Chin up, future Amie. You’ll get through.

~~Amie~~

Safety

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Hello, folks!

I was supposed to write a post yesterday. And I was supposed to write a post Monday.

*looks  at the sun and sighs* I am sitting out on the front porch, soaking in the warmth and sunshine. I’m not allowed to go any farther, due to this awesome season in world history, but at least I can get some vitamin D, and hopefully avoid sun burn.

To be very honest, this whole thing has been hard for me. I see so many amazing encouragement posts by so many different people, but most of them mean nothing. Except for the ones that say “stay safe.”

By saying stay safe, they’re not assuming your emotions, not assuming what you’re experiencing, not putting you in a box of panic stricken humans, or guessing that you’re an angsty rebel.

They’re simply asking you to protect yourself. And by protecting yourself, you’ll be protecting others.

I think something that we often forget is just that. In a way, by taking care of ourselves, we’re taking care of others. In a way, even mental unhealthiness can be spread to others. Tension, anxiety, fear, and even joy are contagious. Concern and care for others is also contagious, and I think that’s what we need to remember through this scary time.

Spread joy and love, not fear and anxiety. Fill the house with dance music, not silent tension. Your mental health will be so much better during quarantine.

Maybe after it’s all over, I’ll write a post about what my personal experience with quarantine was like. If y’all would like that. But right now, as some of you are just practicing social distancing, remember.

Stay safe.

I don’t know your mindset about this, I don’t know what you’re doing, how you’re feeling, or how this effects your schedules. But I do know this. I want all of you to stay safe, I want the death rates in the US to stay as low as possible, and I want this to strengthen and mold our characters.

So yes, I’m skipping this week’s women of history post. I don’t know if I can write another history post at the moment, I’m struggling to write anything at all.

And that’s okay.

So now I’m going to announce the giveaway winner!

The winner is . . .

Natalia!

Congratulations, Natalia! I’ll be emailing you shortly with all the details. I hope you guys all enjoyed the blog tour, and if you haven’t checked out Jana’s post, or Jo’s post, or Esmeralda’s or any of them, check out this post here, which will have the links to the different blogs.

Like I said before, stay safe. 😉

~~Amie~~

If You Listen to Lies

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I was teased by almost everyone I knew in real life. I was teased by people I should have expected to be loved and accepted by. I was twitted for my clothes, my speech, my height, my interests.

I was told I was a loser, I even had a large, huge L painted on my face. Kids younger than me would look at me and whisper loser loud enough for me to hear. Kids older than me would ask me painful questions, and when I would fumble for an answer, they would always go, “Oh, right. You’re a Woleslagle.” As if in being born into my family, I was put on a lower pedestal than them.

Friends snooped through my personal belongings, constantly critiquing my height, telling me that my accomplishments weren’t really anything in the big scheme of things because “oh you know, so-and-so is wayyyyyyy better than you.”

My hair was the wrong color, wrong texture, wrong length. I wore the wrong shoes, I said the wrong answer to their stupid questions, I would stand up to them and tell them what I thought.

Until I had enough.

There’s only so long that you can go on confronting a lie until it overwhelms you. Until you believe that you’re ugly, because every girl you know has told you so, and the boys agree, and so does the babies in the nursery. It’s just the adults that roll their eyes and ask you if you actually believe it.

Because yes, you do.

I decided that if I couldn’t be with them without being hurt, I wouldn’t be with them at all. It came to the point that I was crying myself to sleep after seeing these people. I would avoid church luncheons, hiding in the sanctuary and playing piano while everyone else played and talked.

One time they came to taunt me while I played, and I ran out the side door without looking at them, words of hatred following me. I threw myself down in the field and cried, because in that instant I knew I was a loser. I knew that my piano skills were trash, I was trash, and they were right. What place did a loser have on this earth?

It was reinforced at home. Siblings telling me I was a liar, what would people on my blog and my friends think if they knew who I was? How would I like to lose all my following? I was mean, cruel, a loser, and a liar, and no one should ever spend time with me.

They wished they could throw me in a trash can. My siblings told me to be quiet, to go away if I had a problem with what they were saying. And so I did. I spent a lot of time upstairs in my room.

My parents couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to go to church. Why I didn’t want to see certain “friends.” Why I spent time in my bedroom. Why I seemed miserable. But I didn’t tell them everything. Because didn’t they already know the truth?

Their daughter was a loser, a misfit, she was stupid, ugly, too tall, a liar, and her accomplishments were failures in the big scheme of things.

I was to be quiet about something that hurt so much. I couldn’t refute the lies anymore, and in a way, the lies had become a part of me. When anyone said anything to contradict the lies, they seemed to be the ones that were lying. Everyone in my small world agreed that I was a terrible person that didn’t deserve to be here.

Thank goodness my world grew. You see, people drift in and out of your world. The ones that seemed to be the only people you knew kinda get smaller when your world gets bigger, and you meet people who look at you and see the real you. Or the you that you could be.

And you never know what real friends are until you have lots of fake ones.

At this point in my life, an adult started trying to figure me out. Not as a “little kid” or a “teenager” who had problems. But as a friend. She wanted to understand what made Amie run, what thoughts hid in her reserved body.

And it didn’t take too long for me to mention some of the things that happened, jokingly of course. Because it’s hilarious to be told you’re a loser.

“Do you believe them?” Such a straight forward question, with such a hard answer. Because the answer was yes. I did believe that I was a loser. She asked if I had told my parents about this, and yes, I had. They knew, the kids’ parents knew, everyone knew. But what were they to do?

That’s the question. What are we to do?

In my own experience, it just continued to spiral. Those lies that I was told took root deep inside, and pushed a darker thought to my mind. If I was all of these things, why was I even alive?

I wrestled with this question for three years. About six months ago, it was stronger than ever. Being left by one friend, ghosted by another, being ignored by my peers at church, and having lots of the adults at church ignore me as well, I felt as if I didn’t matter.

If I had fallen in the forest, I wouldn’t have made a sound. No one would have known, or cared. Just another hopeless girl hopelessly gone. Good thing we got rid of the weak, right?

But then, people were annoying and destroyed my plans. One random person kept nagging me, wanting to be my friend. Another friend would send me email after email to make sure I was okay. One friend asked me to her birthday party, dragging me out of my little hole. Because they wanted me.

Didn’t they know I was a loser? Didn’t they understand I had nothing to offer them? I would scar them, hurt them, they would go running from me like all the other friends in the past?

One word sentences, monosyllables. If I can scare them away before I care about them, then we’re all good. Just more people to confirm my theory that I don’t matter in this world, because I’m stupid and I suck.

But they didn’t run because of my meanness. They stayed. And they’re still here. I’m going to be in one’s wedding, and the other one literally just texted me and oh God.

The little girl who was so lonely has friends.

The one who sat in the middle of the field crying because she wasn’t wanted. The little girl who sat on the swings alone and told herself it didn’t matter. The one who used to whisper to herself that she would prove the bullies wrong.

She now has friends who say it for her. She’s going to prove those bullies wrong. 

And so this post is to thank my friends. Thank you so much, for helping me. For loving me even when I was unlovable. For being there, even when I wouldn’t talk. For talking to me, for making me laugh. For giving me virtual hugs in place of real ones. Or, in some cases, keeping your distance and giving me pats. 😂

For you reading this post, please remember that the stupid things you say to people stick. You might have been kidding when you told your friend she was too skinny or too fat, but it sticks and stays.

I’m not saying my friends are perfect. In fact, I could tell you some of their faults. XD And I’m not saying I’m perfect either. My friends could tell you all my faults, which are many. O.o I’m saying that we have a friendship, founded on our love for each other and our love of God, which keeps it strong. Even when we get upset with each other.

If you have been bullied, or are dealing with something I mentioned in this post, please contact me through the contact button. I love hearing from all of you, in the comments or in emails. So please, please, please, don’t be shy. Talk to me.

Let’s prove the bullies wrong

~~Amie~~

Dreams

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Dreams

Sitting by the window, taking in what you can see, watching the raindrops as they flee, your heart swells as you realize, dreams aren’t free.

The breath stays inside you, as you wonder what it costs to dream for eternity. What is the price as we sit here and think, chasing the dreams that beg to stay with me?

Sometimes dreams seem closer in my life than all the real things that touch my mind. Dreams seem to laugh and play, encouraging all that I find.

Dew drops turned to gold, voices of tales long told, Food neglected, friends rejected, my dreams weave me down an objected path

To all that has been overlooked in the past. People wag their heads and say, “Someday, someday, this girl will wake up and see that the sun doesn’t shine all day.”

That day has already come, some have been with me when that day had thrown all my wildest dreams back in face, daring me to smile in spite of its ways.

And so, some people say that I’m a romantic, others declare I’m a realist, while some snicker and charge me as a cynic.

Ah, can’t they see? I am simply a disappointed dreamer, straddling the brink between reality and everything I dream.

They say that the world isn’t how it seems, no one can change it to their impossible dreams. They say I’m insane, simply because I don’t want it to stay the same.

Shh, don’t rebuke a dreamer’s rights. Shh, don’t yell at a doer’s tries. Yes, the leaders have to stay tight, but that doesn’t mean you have the right

To bash down our doors and yell in our face, to share our dreams and laugh at our disgrace, to wag your head as you scream and say

“Dreamers will never be worth their weight. Artist can no longer be the ones to save the crumpling earth, those tearing apart, or those who hide their pain in their hearts.”

I tend to disagree, for you see, dreamers see beyond the veil that realism has discovered and vowed to keep there. We can see tragedies without seeming in overwhelming degrees

That broken hearts are beautiful, that people torn apart have the chance to be whole again, that those who vow to never see, are stuck like that for eternity.

Dreamers won’t push you on your knees, we’ll simple smile when we see a kindred spirit wandering around, wondering if they’re as wacky as they sound.

Listen, lost dreamer, your soul is worth keeping. Listen, lost artist, don’t give up what you’re seeing. The world might reject your wonderful work

But there’s always people like you in the world, people who will find you if you don’t hide your soul.

Bare your soul, don’t give it up. Smile, and take rejection with one look.

Because, artist, dreamer, friend, you’ll be grateful in the end, when you realize that the world doesn’t have the last say,

And without dreaming, there wouldn’t be a way

For you and I to be here today.

~~Amie~~

P.S. I thought of a fun thing to do. XD I’m renaming my website Amie Anne, and I’ll be redoing the design as well. So here’s the link to the form to sign up. I would love it if you did join the party.