Side Note

The more you get to know a person, the more attractive they become to you. Everything beautiful you see on the inside of them, suddenly appears on the outside too.

      This is extremely true. One time when I was hanging out with friends and feeling particularly crappy about my appearance, (Side note about 70% of my friends are guys, I've ALWAYS been one of the guys) my best friend said to me "Lindsey don't worry what you look like. To me once you're my friend, you're in. It doesn't matter what your appearance is, I've already accepted you."
      I don't know, for some reason that stuck with me. Its true for me too, I don't really care what you look like. I understand people have rough days, and sometimes life gest in the way and you can't wake up 2 hours before school to look like a model. I like substance over style and if you look.. Actually LOOK at people, its very easy to see beauty.
      I don't know I think the world is so full of these images of "beautiful" women and it's very easy to get weighed down when you're not that ideal beauty. But I also think it's important to remember that everybody is beautiful in a way, and to me uniqueness is the most important aspect to beauty.
      I know this is a random post but sometimes I think its important to take time to say things that are important to you. How can you truly believe something and live that way if you don't take time out of your day to remind yourself of it?

Personal Addition

Personal Addition

bound like broken birds we all go down together

Personal Addition

THE WIND CRIES MARY- Jimi Hendrix

Intro

So I’ve had this idea that’s been following me around for like.. .. my whole life. It’s about a girl.. I think? I don’t know yet, but I’m a collector. I like to collect words, and images and sounds. I save them but I’ve never had anywhere to put them. I’m a private person about some things and time seems to weigh me down lately. Anyways this is my personal addictions and hopefully the beginning of a new project.

Poem

Into Inevitability

I hung our

sweaters and socks

on the clothes line in the backyard

so that we could smell like sunshine and breeze.

In the front of our house there was a red metal mailbox,

smiling at us with envelop teeth

full of words proving our love.

A white picket fence

separated us from the rest of the world,

and the smell of sweet, apple crumble

wafted out of windows

and into our summer days.

But soon a wind blew in,

and brought with it the winter

and I forgot to bring

our button downs and bed sheets

back inside to protect us

from the thunder and hail.

The metal mailbox slowly began to rust itself shut

and the picket fence turned brown

as its paint ran down with the rain

and turned the green living grass white.

Now the only smell that ever escaped the windows

was the smell of smoke

from forgotten suppers,

as we became preoccupied with our anger

and let it seep into every crevice and corner.

Soon our perfect, pretty house became our prison

and we locked ourselves inside the cage,

making the bars out of love

and molding them together with anger.

Angry that we’d let ourselves become

the same person with the same life,

and the closeness we had once marveled in

became hated.

We pushed each other away to try and become closer,

but we didn’t know if the pushing was

helping or hurting

so we stopped.

And through it all

the clothes on the line became so windblown and tattered

they disintegrated,

and only rags hung in their places.

The mailbox closed itself completely

so that a brown hunk of metal was the only reminder

of the vowels and consonants that had once passed through its lips.

The fence began to crumble

so we cut it into firewood

to feed to the flames that had sparked from our charred, burning food.

As the fire devoured us whole

I looked out the window

and saw millions of other homes

exactly like ours

go up in smoke,

and that was the real tragedy.

-Me