brooklynbrock
preschool up until the fifth grade, what kind of backpack i had was a HUGE deal. i had to have the coolest one, with the coolest characters or designs. and my lunchbox absolutely had to match. i was a nerd.
i have a montage of pictures from my childhood up until now all over the walls of my bedroom.
i cherish my memories more than anything else i have. they help me remember where i came from and what changes i've made to become the person i am.
i remember the tire swing i used to have and pretend i was a superhero with my brother.
i remember wanting more than anything to grow up to be the purple ninja turtle.
i remember getting my two front teeth knocked out at the same time by our tire swing.
i remember when i was more like a little boy than i was a girl.
he carried his half-empty, silver canteen with him as he trudged down the dirt path. he knew that when his water was gone, he'd have nothing left. he was most likely to dehydrate and die. but he kept his head up and continued on like there was nothing that he should be holding him back.
she waited patiently on the blue park bench for absolutely nothing. next to that blue bench was a bright yellow telephone booth that caught her attention. it was probably the last one left in town.
store bought pretzels.
homemade pretzels.
chocolate pretzels.
cheese pretzels.
pretzel crackers.
pretzels and ranch dip.
cinnoman pretzels.
domestic violence.
domestic assault.
domestication.
domestic partnership.
domestic policy.
the biggest characteristic that sticks out to me on a witch, is her mole. a witch isn't complete without a big, nasty mole on her nose, cheek, or chin.
i'm tempted to do exactly what i'm forbidden to. i'm tempted to give in to everything i've been holding myself back from. the consequences do not scare me anymore.
lonely.
alone.
unknown.
lost.
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writing since 2011 · 48 entries · 48 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Brooklyn showed up.
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