That kind of love

​I want passion. I want romance. I want a love that people tell stories about. The one that we fight for no matter the consequences. The move half way across the world for you kind of love. The kissing in the rain kind of love. The two crazy kids chasing each other through the street full of grumpy business men kind of love. The lets take a road trip because I’m a not happy with my parents kind of love. The stupid crazy love. The one where their is still rough times. The screaming matches outside the house you built for me kind of love. The my life is a crazy mess but you still love me kind of love. I want that kind of love unless it’s with someone else. I don’t care what kind of love it is then. I only want love if it is with you. You are what I love. You are who I love. You are the kind of love I want. That kind of love.


You love me.

You love me. It’s the thing that amazes me everyday. I’m not something to love. I don’t deserve to be loved. I’m bad I don;t mean to be, but I am. I push everyone away. I ruin everyone I touch. I’m difficult. I don’t try half the time. My hairs a mess and my skins greasy. I dress for comfort not to go out. I am a mess of emotions. I am a ticking time bomb of emotions. I yell and scream for no reason. I cry a lot. I hate everything about me. But, you don’t. You tell me I’m beautiful and how I’m the best thing to ever happen to you. The thing is when you say it. I believe you. Even if I can’t see what you see you make me believe it. Why? Because you love me. And I love you. I believe you because of love. You love me. Thank you for loving me.

The thing about depression

The thing about having depression is you have days, weeks, months even where everything seems as if it will be okay. It seems like you’re getting better, you start loving yourself again. Then out of no where it will hit you like a truck. The exhaustion, self hatred, disociation, and the thoughts. It’s like you never even had that recovery. It’s like you be just been depressed this whole time you just chose not to notice it. Then the second you do its like a door closing. All you can think about is how you couldnt even stay happy. How you couldn’t even stay happy for them. The thing about depression is it never really goes away just sits waiting for you to notice it. The thing about depression is it’s one of the most addictive things that will happen to you. You will feel bad about being happy, The instant a bad thought even enters your mind you go crawling back to it. You will do anything in your power to get back to that place where you were comfortable. You were comfortable in your depression. The thing about depression is you never leave it behind.

Outraged. We should be outraged.

I was raised a Christian with many family members being white supremacists. I could of turned out like them hating anything different, being rude towards people for things they can not change, and reacting to things that are different with the same fear that turned to hatred. The thing is I always had this voice in my head saying it wasn’t right. They would scowl at people of color who checked us out at grocery stores. The cashier would always try to act kind to them and they would walk off rolling their eyes and I’d always stay back confused before apologizing for my family’s behavior.

When I was seven I moved to a bigger town in southern Illinois I went to my first day of school there and came home more excited then ever. My mom says I came home telling her of all the “different” people I had met. An Indian girl that had the “red dot” on her head, a Jewish boy who went to church in a “circle church”, a group of Mexican boys who taught me Spanish words I can no longer remember, and a boy from Germany he was “like a prince but he talked funny.” That is word for word what I wrote in the journal we had in 2nd grade.I loved learning from all of them about new cultures and religions. I learned that some of the friendliest people could be “different.”

What i’m trying to say hatred is never okay. You do not learn it from family. You can’t be raised into hatred. There is no excuse for hatred. No excuse for violence. There is no excuse for what is happening in our country. We need to be outraged. That in this day and age we still have Nazis wanting to rid America of “Jews”, or KKK members still sending violence to POC, or white supremacists turning towards violence to “cleanse our country”. It is wrong. They are wrong. We are wrong for not being outraged. Outraged. We should be outraged.


You were art

We sit on your bed laughing about that time we made out in the hospital bathroom. My little sister asks “What are you doing?” and I quickly think of the stupidest excuse”Checking each others eyeliner”. We were always doing stupid things like that…

The first time we meet it was Biology we were watching some movie about volcanoes which really had nothing to do with Biology  in my opinion, but that’s not the point. You seemed so nice god you were beautiful I had no idea what the feeling was…I hadn’t yet “came out” to myself. I just thought it was how every girl thought of other girls. I made a stupid joke about some weird scientist and you laughed. God it was beautiful the sound made my heart flutter. I would give anything to hear it everyday for the rest of my life.

The day you asked me out I ended up asking you out at the same time. Our friends both knew we were going to do it, but no one mentions it to us. You made me a painting of penguins my favorite. I still have it hidden so I wouldn’t think about you…I still thought about you. Art was always a big part of our relationship making each other random drawings or paintings.

I never took art that serious until I meet you. You we’re art. I wanted to make every detail perfect from your dimples when you smile to ever changing colored hair to your nail art. I tried so hard to draw you. It was never my specialty writing was…So here I am writing you into the art that you are.

Your hair is a beautiful mess of curls which are currently purple but they’ve been dyed many times and it is almost always down. Your eyes are beautiful sometimes a pale cloudy sky other times a dark stormy ocean. They show your emotions even if you try to hide them. Your dimples they show up when your face lights up with joy and happiness. I try to make them show up whenever I can because then I know your really happy. I love every curve you have even if you don’t. They are part of you and any part of you makes me happy. You will always choose converse over any other shoes. You like to wear t-shirts with purple on them. So here’s my painting of you. You the amazing work of art.

Open Letter To My Something

Dear my something,

We’ve dated so maybe your my ex. The thing is you still tell me your going to marry me. What does that make us? I know what it makes me. Stupid. I believe you every time. Your a complete dick to me sometimes. I don’t care though because when your not a dick your everything. You make me smile and laugh. You make me the happiest person but then you also make me feel like complete shit. I’ve given you everything. Really I don’t think you understand. You and your stupid laugh and smile. The way my heart flutters when your name pops up on my phone.  I hate everything about that.

You control me even if you don’t know it. You could ask me to rob a bank with you and I would go willingly. I’m head over heels, but more like Mount Everest over Badwater Basin.  It’s all because you made me fall in love with you. Why? Why would you do that to me if you didn’t plan on loving me back?

The thing is I can’t do it anymore. You can’t break me anymore. This is the last time. I can’t let you break me again. So to my something…I love you. Please just don’t make that happen again. Don’t make your stupid promises. Don’t laugh around me. Don’t ask me for anything. Let me live. Let this be the last time I love you.


Your Nothing


No Rehab for Love

My family has always had an addiction problem.

Mom was a drug addict and alcoholic.

Grandpa was an compulsive gambler.

Auntie had a sexual dependency.

The list goes on, but the thing is I promised I would never get addicted. I would stop myself. It wouldn’t happen to me.

Then I saw you my whole world collapsed. You were like mom’s first drink. Grandpa’s first big win. Auntie’s first time. All rolled in one. All I could think of was you.

You put the biggest smile on my face, but when you we’re gone it felt like everything was falling apart. All I wanted was you. You god you my drink. My first hit. My big win. You were it.

You were….are my addiction. You we’re love. Even if you weren’t in love.

The sad thing is there is no rehab for love.


Deeper and Deeper

Standing on the beach. You say “It’s alright.” My mind screams “It’s a lie.” I stay there the water coming closer to me. I start to panic as it hits my feet looking to you. “It’s alright” you reply calmly from the hill. “It’s a lie” The voice in my head screams again. The water starts getting deeper. I look to you “It’s alright” You say as you move farther away. “It’s a lie”The voice screams trying to get me to move. I stay the water is deeper reaching my waist now I look to you as you start to climb up the stairs to the road “It’s alright.” “It’s a lie”The voice tries one last time. The water gets deeper now to my shoulders. I look to you only a dot in my line of vision”It’s alright”Your voice is faint and it echos down to me. The voice in my head doesn’t speak up now. The water keeps getting deeper and deeper. There is no voice trying to get me to stay, but there is no voice trying to draw me out.

They aren’t you

We meet years ago and I had a crush on you from the start. You choose to flirt with my best friend that whole trip. It crushed me. Two years later you message me. Confessing your love for me. You liked me from the start you say. I believed it. That first year was heaven. Then the fights started. I tried to move on talk to other people, date other people, kiss other people. The thing is they all were in someway you, but they still weren’t you. You the boy who anytime something is wrong you can talk me out of my panic. You make me laugh and smile like no other person could. Why you may ask. Well, simply they aren’t you. Everything is better when it’s you, but they aren’t you.

What are you?

What are you? The question I get asked almost every day.

My answer I’m Savana.

I know that but I mean What are you?  They ask again

The thing is if I tell you “what” I am they look at me different like my sexuality changes me

I am no longer Savana I’m that “sinner” or “confused girl” or “homosexual”

But the thing is I’m no different I’m still me. I just love whoever I love no matter their parts.

I fall in love with peoples minds not their sexual parts.

How does that make me different than you the person who fell in love with you wife’s creativity or the way your husband laughs.

I don’t try to label you for that but you still ask What are you?

You may like labels for yourself but don’t try to force your labels on others. I am 

me. I am a seventeen year old girl who loves love. I am Savana. I am me.