"I'm a twin. 
Yes, really. 
*insert bored eye roll here*
Sure, it's speical. 
No, twin telepathy is not a thing. 
Have a nice day."

That is my side of the conversation I have with people 
when they first find out I'm a twin. 
The basic,
this-is-how-it-is dialogue. 
It's fine. 

But there's so much more. 

Theres the late night chats with her. 
The gossipping,
the overtired giggles, 
the laugh-out-loud witty statements we crack until three a.m. 

There's the reliability
We're always there for each other
It's almost better than just another friend
because this friend
has been there for me for my entire life. 
She gets me-
maybe a little too well. 

I'm not gonna lie: 
we push each other's buttons. 
And we know how to do it well. 
The fury and pain we can cause each other
is deeper than that caused by any other friend.

dreams are a funny thing.
so close,
yet so far. 
your mind creates images
that tease your soul
images that awaken such a passion
that slipping into consciousness 
becomes so much harder

or
dreams are frightening
you're falling into vast pits of midnight
so there, so real
you shiver and shake in your bed
and pray for morning
when you awake

there is no in between



 

make another list
name all of the things you love
sports
family
hobbies

how long will it take you
to list yourself?


 

Hey
Hey you
Could you do something for me? 
Please?
All you need is a pen and paper

You'll do it?
Oh, good. 

I want you to make a list.
I want you to make a list
of all of the things you love about yourself. 

Why?
Because I tried
I tried for thirty minutes. 
And you know what I said about myself?
You know what was on my paper after that thirty minutes? 

Nothing. 

My paper was blank. 

This should have been easy. 
I consider myself as an awesome person. 
I have friends.  
I play sports. 
I look okay. 
There should have been 100 things on that sheet. 
But there wasn't. 

Why is it so hard to love myself?

Why, 
when I find something I like,
do I squash it
out of fear of what 
someone else will think?

Is society messed up
or am I?

 

My parents have influenced pretty much every aspect of my life, but they have also left room for me to grow on my own. I make a lot of my own choices and believe in a lot of different things then they do. My firmest belief is that a single experience or moment in your life doesn’t define who you are. Society today is amazing with labels. You can’t just be you. I’m not Serena; to society, I’m a girl, I’m a student, I’m a millennial. People who are in prison for murder aren’t called “Jake” or ‘Sally” or “Maria”. They’re called murderers. They’re tied to that title for the rest of their life, but I don’t think that’s fair. I believe that one event in a person’s life shouldn’t define who they are, because a person is more than just that one event with one label. “Jake” or “Sally” or “Maria” could also be called “Chef” or “Artist” or “Mother” or “Husband”. Labels don’t define people; they confine people. I hate that. 

It was a beautiful morning, and nothing was wrong. The wind whistled mercilessly through the bare trees, but despite the bitter cold, I was looking forward to the day.  The sun shone bright and crisp, and the frost on the lawn sparkled like a million diamonds that were cast away. I slipped on my sneakers and earmuffs, strode out of the house, and started my daily three mile jog around the neighborhood.

"Good morning, Ms. Daisy!" I shouted at my elderly neighbor next door as I ran by. Ms. Daisy bent over, grabbed the paper off her porch, and waved.

What a fine day Saturday was.

Life
is like the ocean
most of the time its waters are calm 
swirling together
creating a canvas of blues and greens
so peacefully deep
that you won't want to hit the bottom

Other times
it's angry
the pure rage of the ocean ruins that canvas 
twirling the waters into a midnight oblivion

But mostly the ocean
is mysterious
the depths of the sea mingle inconclusively
a basin of secrets
forever unknown

 

First, it's the bright blues melting into yellow
golden sunlight fading
​signaling that the day is ending.
Gold swirls into pale tangerine
and tangerine into rust,
creating a symphony of color
​so bright and pure and magnificent,
​an array that ought not to be painted,
​for any piece would taint it's beauty.
​Reds mesh into rose,
and rose into violet
pastels mingling 
as darkness approaches.
Violets cascade into blues,
like the depths of the ocean,
​deep and dark,
until it's just an ocean of moonlight,
​illuminating the night.

 

Death. 
It happens. 
Most likely we all know someone who has passed on. 
But for the select few
who haven't felt this pain
you are lucky. 
But you don't realize you are.
At least I didn't. 

I was one of you.
One of the 
"of my goodness,
that's so terrible"
people who never gave it a second thought.
One of the
"That'll never happen to me" 
Just you wait. 
Your time will come. 

And there's no way to prepare for it. 

Death is a funny thing. 
Grief is even more hilarious. 
It's funny in the twisted sense that
everyone is different. 
It's so sick to think that there isn't one single cure for grief. 
It's almost as if
people grieve
while thinking about how to grieve. 

It's not easy. 
Not in the least. 

When someone close to you leaves the world
the first thing that hits is all of the
"could have beens".

hello
it's me 
i'm new here
can you show me around?

hello 
it's m-
don't walk away!

hello
it's me
can i sit with you at-
no? oh that's cool too...

hello
it's me
will you be my lab partner?
oh you're already with zack? 
no biggie

hello
it's me
would you be able to give me the homework?
i wasn't here yesterday...
...or not, that's okay, that works too

hello
it's me
hi!! i'm josephine!