Dear Santa...

Dear Santa, you are probably wondering why on earth I would be writing you a letter. I have to admit, as an almost 18-year old, my belief in you is about as strong as my belief in that I'll become a Powerpuff Girl one day. But why shouldn't I believe in you just because I got older? I've outgrown you, the tooth fairy, and well I never believed in the Easter bunny to begin with. If people can still believe in God or multiple gods when I don't, or at least have faith, then why can't I have faith in something that seems a little ridiculous?

I doubt that you'll have time to read this letter - after all it's already December and you're busy making toys and iPads for the kids of the world, but I still have things I want to wish for... I know you can't grant every wish - even fairy godparents can't, but I'm hoping your magic can do something.

1. I want to come out to my family and not have them judge me. They have never been rude or anything towards homosexuality, but I feel like me being bisexual would just give them more reason to be disappointed in me. I can tell that they aren't thrilled with who I've become.
2. I want to get into UIUC. It's my dream school, and I'll cry if I don't get in.
3. I want a significant other - boy or girl. I'm nervous to try being with another guy, for reasons I've blogged about time and time again, but there is this one guy I wouldn't mind being with. He's extremely confusing and random, just like all of my friends, yet still something I haven't encountered before. I know you probably can't make people fall in love, but if you can somehow erase the nervousness or ask Cupid to push us a little closer together, that would be nice - I'll try to take it from there.
4. I want my friends to be happy. A lot of them aren't happy for different reasons. Maybe you could give them all puppies.
5. I'd like a puppy too. I might have to wait till I get my own place though - my mom isn't an animal person.
6. I want to be able to spend my life without worrying if my depression will take over me. I hate feeling suicidal. I've held off from harming myself for 8 years now - how much longer can I handle that?
7. I want my mom to be... less of a pain. She has anger issues, but I'm sure that if anyone tried to tell her that, she's bite their head off. My grandma already tried telling her about it, and my mom has little respect for her.
8. I want there to be a cure for Autism. My brothers have been affected by it for 19 years now, and it's been a burden on them, me, my mom, and my whole family. Imagine the other families struggling to stay together because of the problems Autism causes for them.
9. I want to meet my father, just so I can find out why he isn't here now.
10. I know this is a job far beyond your power, but if you ever get a chance, could you help end world suffering? You know: famine, poverty, disease, bullying, senseless murder, all of those terrible things. If Pandora held a box with all the sin and evil that would ever plague the world, then why can't someone who created them and put them in the box in the first place be able to put them back? I know you don't have all the answers, Santa - I'm just wondering.

There are plenty of other things I would love to do with my life - I have career goals and ideas and such, but I'd rather do those on my own. All I'm asking for is for you to give me a reason to keep trying to get to my future. I know suicide seems like the coward's way out, but there are so many problems and questions that I just can't deal with anymore. If you could give me at least one of the things on my list, then I'll try harder to live my life.

Love, Jerica

P.S. I try to leave some cookies out for you.

Growing Up

I don't feel like Cinderella.
I feel like a miniscule, melancholic mouse.

I'm nowhere near as fair as Snow White,
but every bit as awkward as every single dwarf.

I am nothing like Belle,
but more like a brutish, misunderstood Beast.

If only I had the beauty of that sleeping maiden, Aurora.

Do not call me Tiana, because I am just a lowly, slimy frog.

I am not fierce and brave like Mulan
Or seductive and clever like Jasmine.

My curiousity just might kill me - I won't be as lucky as Ariel.

I am easily corrupted like poor Meg, only I have no one to show me the light.

I am not adventurous and wise like Pocahontas.

And oh, what I wouldn't give to be as happily naive and lovable as dear Rapunzel.

No, I fear I am not graced with such luck and faith and care.
I know my "happily ever after" will never even become a "once upon a time".

Tell Me What You Know (a poem)

Tell me what you know - I want to know all about you.
Tell me how you spent your days growing up,
moving from one apartment to the next,
settling in neighborhoods that just didn't sit right with you.
Tell me of your earliest memories,
curious and playful like a kitten,
exploring your world - one speck of dust at a time,
never sticking with the same fantasy everyday
you were a cheerleader, a ballerina, a detective, and a superhero
you were a busy child.
Tell me who your friends were,
the ones that drifted in and out of your life every year with the fall's chill breeze
the ones that never write you anymore
the ones that have outgrown you.
Tell me what your family is like
when your dear destructive brothers take on the world, one victim at a time
and your poor pitiful mother just... no comment
oh and your distant sister - is she still the normal one?
Tell me how you're feeling now
with frequent headaches attacking your skull,
teaming up with aches and pains older than I am.
Tell me, have you gotten any better?
You can't have gotten much worse.
Please, tell me all about you.
Tell me how you do it.
Just tell me what you know.

Tell Me (a poem)

How could I encounter such a problem
when the answers lie right beside my hand?
How can you say time is running out
when I still hold so many grains of sand?
How can I prepare for new beginnings
when the past is still stalking up behind me?
How can I be drowning in misfortune
when I never took a trip out to that sea?
How can I be filled with all these questions
when the answers are staring back at me?

Two Dresses (a poem)

Two dresses
Two marvelous dresses
Cut from the same fabric
Stitched together with the same blood

This dress beautiful
It is mature and lovely
It is elegant and dignified
Not a thread is out of place
It is slightly older
A cream with a golden hue
Glimmering stones cast a shining halo
It drapes to the floor
Delicately hugging curves in all the right places
And just barely off the shoulder
She, is beautiful

This dress is damaged
It is newer but styled after old
It is fragile
The fabric is torn and the buttons ripped
The dress was pretty
The dress was unique
The dress was flattering
Now it is ragged and dingy
The soft white is now grey
And smudged
with grubby brown fingerprints
It has been trampled on
by heavy, careless feet
Skin peeks through the gaping holes
She, is damaged

Two dresses
Two original dresses
Cut from the same fabric
Stitched together with the same blood

*So, this poem was inspired by my sister's recent engagement and wedding dress shopping. It compares me to her. I am not trying to put myself in a dark mood, but this is how our separate lives have been for as long as I can remember. I think the poem is wonderful, and I mean that.

Eggshells (a poem)

'Everyday I walk on eggshells, feeling every crack.
The pain is nothing compared to the sorrow of having to walk to Hell and back.
This sinking feeling, like quicksand, began at an early age,
& like my brothers' disabilities, it got worse with every stage.

'The floor now turns to lava.
To everyone else, it's just a game, but I've been burned too many times to ever think the same.
The smoke and fumes fill my lungs and send my thoughts into a tizzy.
Like I'm trapped in a tornado, I get tossed around; I feel dizzy.

'The floor is now made of glass - another fairy tale gone wrong.
I dream of a happy ending & hope I won't have to wait too long.
I twirl around in dresses, but nothing seems to fit me right.
I pray that my reflection is simply on (me) too tight.

'The floor is made of sludge - gross and sticking to my feet.
Dirty, cold, & slimy - that's how I feel every week.
It's hopeless to keep going, but I still need to say that I've tried.
Immobile, I feel nothing. Is this a coma? Have I died?

'The floor changes to clouds. Where's nirvana when you need it?
Is this heaven? Tiny molecules can't support me - my being exceeds it.

'The floor is covered with animals. Big, small, furless, fuzzy, & the like.
But there are no birds, for those who (can) fly been took flight.
Careful not to step on a furry rodent's back, I shuffle out slowly.
I don't want to be the (hippo's) snack.

'The floor is made of paper now - a (gorgeous) sight to see.
Paper balls & scribbles span as far as the eye can see.
I welcome all these papercuts, for they fill me with hope.
One day, my wonderous brain and me plan to run off and elope.

'The floor is back to carpet now. My dream comes to an end.
A household full of people, & yet not a single friend.
Every word from them makes me feel like the eggshells are back.
And everyday, I am forced to walk (from) Hell and back.

Up (a poem I wrote at 1:16 in the morning because I couldn't sleep and had nothing better to do)

I'm floating up up UP past the sea of buildings
treetops don't exist here but the roofs of my urban home are bleakly staring at me
i don't know where i'm going since i'm horrid with directions
what is g-p-s
i barely know my a-b-cs
a-d-d to the problems plaguing me
i'm crazy
or at least that's what they tell me
my brain and my body do not match
they are two separate creatures from two totally different environments
forced together in a cramped depressing shell of a life
animal control! my remote is broken
click click clack
do you see
the rhythm is wack
was i rhyming
the similar sounds send my sight into a swirl
my brain is perplexed and astounded
my eyes hurt
crossing like x's
dotty spots above the i's
g do u c
why my memory is wrong
i never talked to you
i didn't talk to anyone
i just went about my business
floating up up UP past the sea of buildings

*according to my friend, the message he got was "i'm just going to keep moving forward no matter the difficulties". My reply was "wait, there was a message? I'm serious dude, I just opened up a new tab and wrote this in like five minutes cause my brain was like 'i wanna talk pretty words at chu' and i'm so sleep deprived i'm like 'k'. But he liked it, so that's cool. And yes, the image above is from the movie Up, but that's not what I wrote the poem about. I did however edit the image above using Photobucket.com, so you got double the creativity from me today.*

Goddess

I wonder what it would be like to be a goddess.

I would be feared and respected.

Worshiped but hated.

I would be a mystery - fact or fiction? Do I exist? Where do I exist?

Would I have unlimited power, or would I just have one power, or would I just be a figure-head for my kind? Would I even have control over the power I could hold.

Would I be all-knowing, or just act like I know everything?

Would I be good or evil?

Would people even respect me? Would they imagine someone looking entirely different? Would I have to answer their prayers, and could I even do that?

Would I exist in my own mine, or just in theirs?

I'm not a religious person. I've endured many things in my life and seen things happen to other people that make me think if there is something that could help us, it must not want to help us. I don't want to worship a false being or a malevolent being. But I'm not going to say that a higher power doesn't exist, I just can't wrap my head around the idea of one existing. I respect your beliefs and opinions, they just aren't mine.

Is it blasphemous to want to be a goddess, or to disrespect whatever power exists if it does?

I'm with stupid

My mom and I fought again and she called me stupid, so after trying to argue with her and failing, I with with a mostly silent treatment, only answering direct questions. She had gone into my grandparents house to pick up Julian cause we had been there earlier but he fell asleep so we went shopping without him, but yeah she went back to pick him up, then on the way home she apologized for calling me stupid. I was so confused, but I didn't look up from my book - I just said okay.

I can only assume that she talked about our fight with my grandma and she told her to behave or something, because my uncle and I fought like a week ago and he hasn't apologized so I know he wasn't helpful.

I've also learned that my mother hates sarcasm.

She's called me stupid before, and this time, while I was giving her the silent treatment I had to scream obscenities inside my head as if I had Tourettes - obscenities that I don't even use. I guess what I'm trying to say is that she irritates me, but this situation was resolved a lot easier than usual, so I'm good.