something else

yes,
there is something else.
i'd like to apologize for all those times
i was hitting snooze or forging late notes 
when i could've been a front row joe 
in my first period creative writing class.
i could've tried harder,
could've written more,
and could've actually submitted on time for once.
the bag strapped to my back and the bags under my eyes
both weigh the same.
filled with papers and books and things
that i'm ready to set on fire because 
nelson doused us in gasoline.
i'm sorry i appeared dead most mornings 
when i spent most nights telling myself
one more episode of gossip girl wouldn't hurt.
maybe the hand-me-down shoes i was trying to fill 
didn't leave me enough space to write the words my bones
actually wanted to say,
because this semester i've been diagnosed 
with a bad case of writers block.
my blog was never nor will be perfect 
and i may have never made it on top five
but at least i'm still dakota rae
and that'll be a name i remember.

nostalgic nights

i remember summer tree houses 
i remember silver tacomas
i remember cold wind, messy hair, and dirt
i remember boutonnieres and corsages, four of them to be exact
i remember tight hugs, and white teeth
i remember panda express fortune cookies and the way you would wrap your arm around me while driving.
i remember big sweatshirts
i remember love
so much love 
i don't regret any of it
but it's time to look forward
and close this chapter.

The suburban insomniac

it's easy to feel alone
when it seems like the whole city sleeps
but you.
her eyes burned their usual holes into the ceiling
and those cotton sheets were as restless as ever.
perhaps her mind had run off again
and gotten lost.
but her eyes remained on the sky,
waiting for morning to come and to see the whole city
bleed gold and pink.

a map only the heart knows

"Perhaps home isn't a destination
some dot on a map
or geological location
maybe it's not somewhere
a body goes
but rather a place where you are loved
a sacred space
your heart already knows"

90 more minutes

i'll never forget the early mornings
and the late nights.
won't forget the broken bones, rolled ankles,
and the blood/sweat/and tears
that stain fields everywhere.
i'll never forget the glimmer of the trophies and the medals,
even the second place ones.
the sore muscles, aching feet
and the humbling experience of facing defeat.
but i'll also never forget the victories,
because who would?
i'll always remember the 15 other girls
that i consider sisters
and the crazy bald dude who thinks coaching
is 90% yelling.
i'll remember that i love them.
i'll remember car drives, plane rides, and seattle trees.
turf burns, barca drills, sprints,
and the sound of the ball at my feet.
after it's all said and done,
90 minutes will never be the same.

fashionably late

yeah i know. 

i'm late.

i kinda suck

but this is me.. 

i'm never on time

my priorities are messed up, 

i sleep in,

and maybe eat too much.

i ask so much of others but hardly 

give in return.

i'm selfish,

callous,

and a little self critical.

but this is me.

and i'm real

i'm an open book.

someone who will never wear a facade

just to please you.

i've made mistakes

i make mistakes

i'm not perfect

and no one should be.

but in despite of all my flaws 

i take pride in being me.

i'm lucky,

lucky to be loved 

and lucky to be so passionate about 

caring for other people.

i love those around me

and even the ones who have hurt me.

so yeah, i know i'm late

and i kinda suck

but this is me..

and i wouldn't wanna have it any other way.

Madison Renee Peterson

detachment

What I am afraid of is never being able to fit in anywhere. Not fitting in as in being the same as everyone else and disappearing into the background, but finding a setting where I can naturally express myself and feel like home. Or finding the people who understand me and I understand them, and the feeling of connection and safety that forms between us.

Because despite the friends I’ve made and the brief moments of joy I experience when I am in contact with others, I always feel a sense of detachment and loneliness. Like I am always on a different wavelength and too odd to quite comprehend the way others think and feel. I might even feel judged for who I am and that makes me unable to even open up. I’m never really there with the others, never present in the situation, no matter how hard I try to push myself closer.

I am afraid that I will keep looking for that feeling of being at home… but will never find it. And at the end of my life, when I’ve tried so hard just to keep myself afloat, I’ll realize that there never was a home for me. Maybe I was simply thrown into this life to wonder around, looking for something that couldn’t be.

Or maybe this is just high school.