luna blue

it sat on a hanger for 2 weeks.
see, i was scared to touch it, because i didn't want it to disappear like you did.
i was scared if i touched it, i would look down to find empty hands craving your touch.
i looked down to find, empty hands coated in touches.
touches that you, you said were mine.

I Love You.

but love has a funny way of working its way out of people.
from their heart to their head from there head to their mouth their mouth
to my feelings.

you hand me boxes of touches each one labeled with why you can't have it anymore.
none labeled with why you still need it.
guess you don't need me.

but please stop, stop trying to give the touches back
stop trying to give all of it back.
i gave it to you, its yours so wear it proud or give it to someone else.
but please don't give it back, i can't use something that was only meant for you.

once you give something away its hard to give it back.
once you give away your love you can't just take it back.
I know I've tried.

so for 2 weeks your shirt sat on a hanger.
because if I touched it. you might try to take it back.
and thats exactly what you did.

Here's to the girls who don't call themselves a clique, wipe that $30 Mac lipstick off your fake smile.

To the hipsters I guarantee no one's going to care that you wore black every day and died your hair purple.
Here's to the girl in my A2 class.
Here's to the lunch room eaters, and the sweatshirt wearers.
Here's to the 4.0 kids and I'm sorry I didn't come kids.
Here's to the jocks and the stance socks.
Here's to the 2 AM bedtimes and the 4 PM cry times.
Here's to the kids alone in the hallways.
Here's to the football, basketball, soccer and baseball players who sit by the knight.
Here's to my seminary teacher... I'm sorry
Here's to the boys who hold their heads high in the hallways, look around you're, not as cool as you think.
Here's to the friday night football games and baby powder.
here's to my A4 class
And Mr. Nelson...thank you
He's too my best friends, and my fake friends.
Here's to the classrooms and the commons
the dances and black lights.
Here's to knighting and trucks.
Here's to my unmade bed.
here's to the dirty looks and the I promise I didn't steal your boyfriend.

Heres to Hunter
And Terick.

Here's to writing and rewriting and seeing.
Here's to the kids in the front row of our class, keep your heads down because I bet if you looked up something would change you.

Here's to the half of you who hate me now, a third of you who despise me, and a few who want me to write stories on the back of your eyelids.

Here's to you, I love you.

And here's, here's to me, because if I didn't say it who else would?

Here's to this, here's to high school.

Real talk.

I was born on December 28 1996
And I hate my birthday.
I sometimes feel forgotten because there is another's birthday that we celebrate who is a little more important to me.

Real talk
I'm not as depressed as some of my blogs make me sound.
But I am in love with the boy in all my posts.

Real talk he still doesn't love me back.

Real talk I was born in Califorina and I want to go home so bad.
Utah is great but califorina is just better.
Real talk I hate when people who have lived in utah their whole life, and go to califorina once a year say they love califorina more then utah.
Real talk you don't know califorina like I do.

Real talk my family is more fun then yours (I'm guessing).
Sorry sounds mean but if you knew them you'd know what I'm talking about.

Real talk singing is my life.
I sing constantly.
Real talk sometimes I make my life into a musical, because I feel like high school musical would be way more fun the lone peak.

Real talk, there are days when I hate myself and everyone else.
If you catch me on one of those days don't feel bad.

Real talk I love to laugh.

Real talk I'm not really into this post because I want to be wrestling with my brothers.

Real talk i like kissing, and my nick name fits me.

Real talk if you know me you should already know who this blog belongs to.

Real talk I love you for reading my blog.

Real talk thanks for making this a great first part of senior year Nelson.

Real talk life is good, so keep writing.

Love,

Luna blue

When the only music I listen to is the 1975.
I walk the halls dragging my personality with a rope hoping no one smiles at me.
The humming of peoples voices is too much for my ears.
Times when the broken clock is a comfort.



Tears rim my eyes as I stare at the piles of homework that will never get done.
When the teacher reminds me of the test I kindly let escape my thoughts.
Almost rear end 13 people driving home from a cold uneventful weekend night.

My friends clap in front of my face, helping me escape from the prison of my mind.
I trip on the stupidly placed stairs in the commons.

The days when the word vomit doesn't come, and a brain freeze is not just a figure of speech.
My mom yells at me to do something I will never remember.
Days when "I will be logged out do to inactivity."
When i'm to tried to even push snooze.

Days when I say throw another because the loads already too much and one more won't hurt.

When reading with the rain isn't enough.
No matter how many times I try and say it, it gets caught in my throat and becomes mixed with all the other unneeded words.