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. 

Favorite Color Poem - Brave New Voices 2010

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HYaOuQJUI84

4 chambers and pumping blood

i don't think robots can bruise, or have aching collar bones from carrying the world on their shoulders. i'm pretty sure they don't have stomachs to incase butterflies, and i'm almost certain they can't ache for open arms. my heart is more than just machinery, it consists of four chambers and blood that pumps for warm spots on the carpet and late september days. robots do not have common sense but neither do i, we desire the things that will destroy us in the end. i see grey skies and long for better days, i hope and i aspire for love. i have learned that there is so much more to life than simply surviving it.

true colors

my color consists of dark hues but a beautiful undertone that if you stare deep enough it can consume your whole vision.
i am a technicolor of bright rainbows,
and blacks.
i have my good days and my bad
and i even cry sometimes.
but i smile even more.
you can look at me and decide that the hues aren't for you,
and let it ruin your whole picture.
or you can choose to see the beauty past the stain.

overlapping souls

i stumbled across my older sisters creative writing journal from when she was back in high school, i found a poem she wrote about me when i was just a sophomore.
thanks sis, i love you and i miss you..

Baby, this poem is for you and that broken heart of yours. This poem is about tears that were shed and brighter days to come. This poem is not about that stupid boy that broke your heart. This poem's about iced tea... and souls. Over lapping souls that just seem to make sense together. This poem is about the only child, with 4 sisters. This poem is about struggles and comfort, because the comfort that you seek will always be here. Sitting by me at a table with 4 legs, 2 chairs, and a gourmet meal. Because this dinner is for us. Sadness, depression, hurt, loneliness, and stupid people are not invited, they never are.
Insecurities will never break us. Age will never break us. School, stupid boys, drama, stress, differences, disagreements, will never break us. Our overlapping souls that is. Now don't get me wrong, those things will come. And I don't know if they're under your bed but they're under mine. And in the closet, and every time I look in the mirror. But you my friend, you are beautiful, your soul is beautiful, and because of your soul overlapping mine, I hope I can soak up some of that beauty, some of that brightness & laughter you shine forth. People who bask in your light will never be the same. And baby, I'm lucky enough to sit on your sun. And I'm forever changed because of you and your soul.

i'm sorry, this phone # has been disconnected

last night you called me.
and for the first time in months i heard your voice.
you sounded the same,
but time has turned us into two different people.
i think i know why you called.
word on the street was that i was happy,
and maybe it was hard for you to believe that i could be
without you.
you asked me if i ever thought about us, the old days.
but all that comes to mind is you and her blonde hair.
your taken lips kissing hers and the fact
that you never called.

 

youth

growing up, my childhood was built on a steady foundation of mac n' cheese and powder puff girls.
i played with building bricks and lincoln logs
and i thought that made me an architect.
without a care in the world, i planned to build a future for myself,
one with a king sized bed completely made out of hershey chocolate and a bicycle that no longer needed training wheels.
but eventually my mom told me to clean up my toys,
and even though i was just trying to bring an order to things,
all it did was make space.
now i'm not sure where my bricks are,
and i know that chocolate makes a mess
and my bike tires are flat.

 

warm body

this poem belongs to a friend of mine who inspires me constantly,
her blog name is suburbia go check it out.

we are becoming warm bodies.
someone living in oblivion,
wondering through thick aromas of experience
but never contemplating a passion for belief.
not setting out the time to ponder,
for it is just a mere
inconvenience,
relying on,
but never seeming to want.

a true love story

in the midst of hot summer days
there were once fireworks over our heads.
i saw you and i can honestly say
there wasn't a second glance.
nope,
it was not love at first sight.
slowly but surely
you made your way in.
passed brick walls and barbed wire fences,
you got my attention.
with city lights in our eyes,
you brushed dancing strands of hair away from my face
and kissed me.
my lips sang melodies against yours
and your calloused fingers traced fire along my spine.
throughout many other nights,
you replaced my loneliness and gave a home to something
i never knew was missing.
you kissed my scars,
and the spaces between our fingers became inseparable friends.
it was first whispered under timid stars and through hungry lips,
and i didn't say it back.
i don't know if i loved you then or if i was just too scared to say it
but the night i first let you see me cry,
was the night i realized that i did.
as your thumb left imprints on my face while it tried to catch every tear,
i managed to stutter out the same three little words
that haven't left my head since.
you're my serendipity;
i wasn't looking for you,
i wasn't expecting you,
but i am very lucky to have met you.

cobalt blue

to the girl who pulls down the rim of her hat a little lower,
we see you.
that cobalt blue baseball cap is no match for those hazel eyes you hide.
shadows cast over swollen cheeks,
maybe you think that we won't always recognize you.
you are so brave and quiet,
sometimes we forget that you are suffering.
you bury your sadness underneath the surface and wear it like a second skin,
a story behind that mona lisa smile.
we see you.

a poem for the unseen
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oxDSSd3afTk

 

strangers

like the phantom of snow in the spring,
they were gone.
people who once held me in their world
and existed in mine.
averting eyes belonging to ones whom i'd considered forever and always.
with no pulse in my voice,
i try to assure myself that i exist.
that the only reason they left,
was because i loved them too much.
it hurts to sleep;
i hate to dream about those who no longer want to live in my reality.
but sometimes it hurts more to hold on
rather than to let go.
i need to realize that it’s okay to drop people out of your life that do you no good.
they leave and i love them more,
but i've learned you can't fix people who want to be broken.

a brilliant disaster

i've never been a deliberate writer.
i find it hard to make sense of most of my thoughts,
and shamefully it's easier to believe that with only 26 letters in the alphabet,
everything great has already been said.

i choose to believe the best out of everyone
but i'm also a realist,
an extrovert who spends too much time alone.
i have one thousand two hundred and seventeen followers on instagram,
but i have yet to meet half of them offline.

 

i talk a lot,
and think even more.
diagnosed with a bad case of philophobia,
i'm afraid of falling in love.
mother said i was a brilliant disaster,
born a delicate child who grew up liking to cause trouble.

keeping my fingers close to the flame,
I've always been scared of the dark.
i'm pretty sure monsters live under my bed
but i still nap religiously.
i have more cats than real friends,
and i like netflix way too much for my own good.

i don't know what i'm looking for in life,
but i yearn for long embraces and lines from smiling.
i'll never be perfect and neither will this blog,
and i'm still not sure who dakota rae really is..
but i'm looking forward to finding out.