Author has written 8 stories for Young Adult, General, General, and Love.
I tried so hard, and got so far.
I'm the girl you'll see all alone, at the end of the hallway in her small school, sitting with a notebook on her lap, staring out of the door that leads to the softball field. I don't like softball in the slightest, but the view from the softball window is better than the view over the big, empty hill-ish thing that was supposed to become a track and a football field. I have one notebook that I write my "normal" poetry in, and another, labled insomniac, that I write all my "other" poetry in. Most of the time, it's the normal notebook that's propped in my lap, but on certain days, when I feel like a challenge and a rant, it's the insomniac notebook I'll be scribbling in, in between glances out the cobwebby window.
Yes, my school is in such disrepair, after only ten years or so of existence, that the janitors find themselves unable to take down the cobwebs or clean the locker doors (which is apparently now the students' responsibilites--tell me, have you ever tried to clean yogurt off a locker? It's much harder than it would appear to be). Aside from the cobwebs and the okay-but-not-great-view, my school isn't too bad... but I could think of about a million ways to improve the place.
On the outside, I look like a "normal" teenager. On the surface covered by clothing, and rarely make-up, I look like just another face. Under the clothes, I hide my decent-but-not-wonderful body. I'm not going to make things up, my body is not perect. My stomach is only flat when I'm in a state of minor anorexia, and my thighs are something else--granted, they don't jiggle like an earthquake in Tokyo like some other girls I know. My skin is scarred by years of self-abuse and -mutilation.
My life is much more complicated than most people tend to believe. I don't think there's anyone in this world that understands me whatsoever, but I let poeple try. The only thing I truly ask of you, the reader, is to consider everything I write as if it were your own. You'd want to improve, right? You'd want good, helpful feedback, right? You wouldn't be happy if someone flamed you or if someone insulted your work, religion, or your family. All I have in this world is my many thoughts and dreams. Please do your best to not ruin them completely.