My belongings are fingerprinted with black cherry lipstick. My skin, is paler then usual, but still soft. I’m waiting here in a mini skirt, with lace ruffles and my hair is in my eyes. This room is holding my math class, where kids are parasites, hosting off the knowledgeable. Laughing at intellectuals, we sink lower in our grade. Teeth rotate; sugar frosted, talking about the life they lead, or maybe the life they follow.


The soles of my shoes are worn with emotion. Dirt and band names written in black bic adorn the rubber with pride.

I kick my knees up against the back of the school bus seat. Its 7:45 am and I’m already bored. My legs stick to the plastic in the humidity, so thick you can almost see it. I stare down at my outfit which I’ve so carefully planned the night before for the daily fashion show of walking down the high school halls.

Shirt: Ripped band t-shirt hanging off my shoulder. I am convinced that shoulders are the sexiest part of the woman’s body. Sure to get me in detention, but defiance is a friend of mine.

Skirt: Handmade lace number; frayed at the hem. Sure to shed threads on the floor of homeroom; but I’ve always wanted to leave my mark on the world.

Hair: Tortured. My ethnicity hidden by self induced chemicals and morphed into short spikes that fall over a fake flower clipped behind my ear. I’m a fucking teenage Billie Holiday. 

Makeup: I want to be a cat. My eyes are painted with precision to extend their natural slant. I must look evil, promiscuous, knowing. 

I carry a handmade handbag with ‘Love Sucks’ painted on the front; a message questioned by my mother as to its allowance on school grounds. However, rules prohibiting self expression are, in my humble sixteen year old mind - frivolous.

This is the first day of junior year of high school. Torturous, because its so close to the end that I anticipate with baiting breath, but lovely for all that I will endure in the upcoming months; years. Teenage insecurity, teenage arrogance, expression, punishment, music, danger, rush, friends, enemies, first love, self love, wishing for love…

Every day from sophomore year until senior year, I documented my desires, secrets, doubts and angst in these journals, and never kept them private. I’d always allow my friends, lovers, and strangers to take a peek inside my thought process. For whatever it was worth to me. Always being shy and soft spoken, it was a way for me to feel raw, uninhibited. This book marks the passages that we all take in our adolescence, the self questioning and experimentation that eventually leads us into our paths, and shapes our mentalities.

Looking back, although it seemed at the time that those days would never end, and that the mundane quality of a suburban town life was inescapable, it was that attitude that drove the motivation to create, and to become the individual that I am today, with the dreams and ambitions that I strive for everyday: to live in everlasting expression.

Picture this: I roll my eyes and crack my gum, scribbling rambling poetry in a notebook and this is what it looks like: