There are so many different things I wrote from the age fourteen to the age fifteen. This isn�t even all of them. Every time I had a crush on a boy there was something written about him. Every time I had a little teenybopper boyfriend, there was something about him in there. I realized how badly, as I was typing this up� How badly, everyone just wanted so bad to belong to someone else. To have that niche. To be right there, someone saying they love you whether they mean it or not. We are that way from when we are born until we die. We need a constant reminder that we are a wonderful person. We need that confirmation that we are all right, not bad, neat, good, great, or in some instances, perfect. We need that one person to seek approval from. And from the age of 10 or so for the rest of our lives, we are looking for that one person to connect with. That one person that we are going to grow old with, have children with (if that's your bag), and marry (and if that's your bag). Love unconditionally� Who will love us in return. Aren�t humans an amazing thing?
Looking through my old journals I spot at least 10 � 15 different poems about how I �loved� this guy, and how I �loved� that guy. I was so easily turned down as a young teenager� I would get scarred for a day� Then find another guy to chase after. That�s how girls become �boy chasers� and �boy crazy.�
This is just inner thoughts from the current me, being twenty years old, looking back at my early teen years. I realize how much everyone just wants to belong to someone else. We won�t be satisfied until we find that person we unbelievably love with our whole being and they love us in return.
It�s just amazing� It blows me away. Typing up all of these old writings of mine makes me analyze myself. I was very depressed, it�s obvious. I was more concerned with what other people thought of me than what I thought of myself. And I always wanted to belong. It didn�t matter who I belonged to. Just that I belonged. I had this secret life to me, I was a young crappy poet, which died when I started falling in love with my piano. Which if you think about it, music is the poetry we don�t need to understand a specific language to enjoy and understand. I still consider myself a poet, but I�m also a shoddy writer.
Homeless; That the Way to Be
Wendi Lynn
Stargazing
A Heart Full of Wishes
Ocean Breeze
Suicide; Lack of Love
Love - Truth or Folly
Fire
Rage
Mature or Immature
