i don't think that's too much to ask.

 i left my creative writing journal in the kitchen and my mom read it last night.

she read every single swear word, every word about him and my brother and she read the page titled "my parents don't even love each other."

she told me she was sorry that i've never known if she loved my dad.

she told me sorry for all the mornings their screaming woke me up.

and she told me sorry that i'd rather be in my car than be at home.

even though the heater makes the interior smell like i'm roasting a burnt marshmallow,

i'd rather sit in there than sit under a roof of yells and fake love. 

why does love stop?

when does love stop?

the book stops at 408 pages

the marathon stops at 26.2 miles 

the song stops at 3 minuets and 15 seconds. 

the movie told me that love never stops

it's always constant

always there

always beautiful

never dying

never ending

my best friends parents were high school sweethearts 

they couldn't spend a second apart 

but somewhere along the way their love died

they're divorced now

he has another wife

a new kid

she's been married twice 

searching for someone to make her feel the way he did

but she's alone with a box of hand written letters from him signed with hearts and the words "I'll always love you."

i have a box of hand written letters under my bed signed with your name ending with a cursive y,

17 and in love,

of course that's going to end, right?

but i never thought i would be alone with a box of letters that i can't seem to throw out.

i threw away that sweatshirt because it smelt like you

but the letters feel like you,

and i can't get myself to let go.

my biggest fear is ending up like my parents

i don't want my kids to learn the f word when they're 7 because they heard it being screamed at 3 am.

i don't want to feel the need to read my daughters creative writing journal in the middle of the night to see if she's hurting

and i don't ever want to read the words "my parents don't even love each other." written in scribbled pen and signed with tears

i want a love that never dies
you know, the deep kind
the dance in the kitchen kind
the slow kiss kind
the laugh line kind
the crinkled noses kind
the fingers always laced together kind

i'm only 17 but i find myself on my knees begging god that i won't end up like my best friends parents, and my parents and all your parents that didn't make it,

"i just want a love that's going to make it god."


"i don't think that's too much to ask god."

airplane window.

I've always wanted to be kissed on a rooftop,

overlooking all of the lights.
i think i want to be kissed on a rooftop because it's closer to the stars.

i've never been afraid of heights

and i think that's why i love the sky so much
and the stars and the moon
and heaven and all of the angels.

I believe in angels more than I believe in god.

And I think that's because in first grade when Mrs Peterson asked me what super power id want to be I said, "id choose to fly like an angel." 

I've stuck with that answer ever since.

I remember the first time I rode on an airplane and I got the window seat. 

(Well actually I was assigned in the middle seat but I cried and begged my brother to switch me)

I remember watching the sun go down and the moon come up and I don't remember blinking once.

I remember thinking that I'm literally flying. 

And while everyone slept I stared out that window and swore I could see angels with long blonde hair blowing in the wind. I imagined they looked a lot like me. 

When I turn 18 I'm going to go sky diving.

I don't want to go for the rush or to go to just say I've been sky diving 

I want to go to breathe in the same air as the angels,

I want to go to see the clouds from their point of view.

I've always loved blowing dandelions and watching the pedals float to the sky,

I've always loved letting balloons go because I imagine someone catching it when it gets to heaven.

I believe in angels more than I believe in god 

I talk about angels more than I talk about god 

I think about angels more than I think about god 

And I think that's because on my first airplane ride I swore I saw one out my window 

And I've never sworn I've seen god 

but when I do see him, I'm gonna tell him thank you for creating the angels 

Because they are what keeps me going.

And I'm gonna ask him if he ever saw any of my balloons

And even if he never did,

I hope he knows me well enough to say, "I caught one." 

i'm never going to leave.

i'd like to thank polly baker for her beautiful words and how much i related to them.
and jane q. porter for making me feel like i'm an incredible writer,
and cornelia boom for making me feel something over and over again.

i'd like to thank sgt. pepper for his creativity and flat stanley for making me want to be real. i'd like to thank caroline owens for her honesty, jane doe for her bravery, tom lansek for not caring what people think and writing with a meaning and elsie grace for writing from her heart. 

i'd like to thank sam durrant for not being afraid to be who she is, alice s. Blackwell for taking my breath away, hancock for his nice comments and celeste cobain for writing with so much passion. 

and to mr nelson.
i'm sorry i'm always tardy.
some days waking up is just too much.
but you truly have changed me and inspired me.

and to all the others,

thank you so much.

my mother dreamed i would be a dancer. but i hated the tutu's and the tightly slicked back buns gave me a headache.
my dance teacher told me i didn't put enough sass and personality into my movements. 

i've always been quiet
i always was in the back row in the dance recitals
and i've never liked attention drawn to me,

so revealing my pen name is terrifying.

but here it goes, 

blonde hair and green eyes with light brown eyelashes that she wishes were a little longer.

she listens more than she talks
and she especially likes listening to passionate people talk about what they love.

she will always love the snow more than the sun
and the rain more than the rainbow.
maybe that means she's depressed.
she's not quite sure.

she can fall asleep faster than you can and the bathtub will always be her favorite place. 

she's horrible at making eye contact and she doesn't know how to yell. 

she still counts on her fingers in math class
and she still doesn't know how to type correctly

she's a nail biter

a knuckle cracker

embarassed too easily

and lies in bed till 2 am overthinking.

she's never had any huge dreams
and she doesn't know who the hell she is yet

but she's always dreamed of going to paris

and now that she's finally here

she's never going to leave. 

                  

               --kailee hogge.

blisters.

my fingers have blisters.
they have blisters from plucking the strings so loudly
and so hard.

the strings of my harp
and the strings of my heart.

i imagine hearts like a harp.
the c strings of my harp are red. 
the c string is the heartbeat. the string you hear the most. and the string that starts it all.
c d e f g a b
we all started with a beating heart.   

the f strings are black.
the f strings are the heartbreaks, the deaths and the hurting.
the string that catches the sounds of sorrow, making it dark and black.

the d string is all the things you feel.
the d string comes right after the c. it comes after the heart beat.
because after we hear a heartbeat we touch it to make sure it's real.
we place our hand on heartbeats because it reminds us how to feel.


the e string is the love. because love ends with an e. the e string catches the sound of love.
the e string catches the kisses
it catches the sound of the first time he said "i love you."
it catches all of the fingers being laced together.

the g string is the regrets.
the things we wish we hadn't said.
and all the things we wished we would have done.

the a string is the happy.
the a string catches the sound of laughs
it catches all the smiles
smiles are happy and smiles are white.
the a strings on my harp are white.

the b string is the everything.
the string that comes last and the string that puts everything together.
it catches the sound of heartbeats
it catches all of the feelings
it catches the sound of the first time he said "i love you"
it catches the heartbreaks

it catches the regrets
And the sound of laughter.

my fingers have blisters from plucking the strings on my harp so loudly and so hard.

hearts are like harps.

they are both full of music.
But if you pluck a string too loudly and too hard it breaks.

just like a heart breaks.

your fingers must be covered in blisters because you have plucked my heart too loudly

and too hard

and it's broken. 

but it helped.

my uncle took his own life at 20 years old.

his brother hasn't stopped drinking since the day his best friend took a gun to his forehead. 

my mom was 17 and she said a part of her died that day.

my grandma lives with her sons death every day of her life.
been on 20 different types on anti depressants.

but anti depressants don't fix a life.

the pills may help for a moment but a few hours after the shallow the pain comes back again.


one life taken messes up many lives that are just trying to live.

i'm not saying it's selfish.

i'm saying it hurts.

a few hours after the swallow the pain comes back again.
but a few hours without pain is better than no hours.

my grandmas pills don't fix all her pain. 
but they help.

smiling at someone in the hallway sure doesn't fix their life.
but it helps.

i woke up with a bloody nose at 3am last night.
my dad got out of bed and hugged me and i can't remember the last time he did.
his hug didn't stop the blood from sliding down my throat.
but it helped.

and i didn't know him.
i never talked to him once.
i just knew he had long blonde hair and he smiled at me in the hall one morning.

and i remember because the night before was a rough one

and his smile helped that moment in my day,

it helped.  

the sister I never had.

when i think of death.
i think of her.

black hair with brown circles above her eyes.
she had 4 legs and shook her butt with attitude when she walked.

she was sort of a brat.

but the kind of brat the boys fell in love with.
the kind of brat who's fun to gossip with.

she ate everything.
she at all the gifts left on the front porch
my glove
my black heels
that bag of rolls
and she ate my reese's peanut butter cups from trick or treating.
every single one. and there was more than 30 because those are my favorite.


she was fat.

and i know she liked herself that way.

she got annoyed with my other dog.
she bit his face literally.
they were like brother and sister but she was embarrassed of him.
he was 2, she was 7.
and she was the queen.

she knew how to shake your hand and I would show everyone.
even the fed ex guy.

when i tapped my shoulders she jumped up and i held her paws as she danced on two legs.

she tilted her head when you said her name.
she tilted her head when I told her I hated my mom.
she tilted her head when I told her I kissed my friends ex.
she tilted her head when she wanted more treats.

she fell asleep on my lap everyday
 and we lied together on the pavement like we were sisters.

she was the sister i never had.


and that's what I miss most.

I didn't grow up with a sister. I grew up with a dog.
and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

she died peacefully.
on the backyard grass in her sleep,

the way i hope to die.

and yes she was a dog.
and yes i know you have lost your mom.
and you have lost your dad.
and your brother and your sister
and your best friend.

and my dog doesn't compare to any of your stories.

but she's my only experience with death.

and I'm scared for the experiences to come,

because i lied with her dead body 2 hours after she stopped breathing

hoping

as my tears fell off my cheeks and landed on hers that she would breathe again.

But sadly I learned that doesn't work.

                    

                 

addicted.

let's let the sun illuminate our skin.

let's walk on the beach barefoot and watch the sand fill the cracks of our toes. 

let's let the sun kiss our noses
let's get addicted to the sunlight.

let's drink caffeine because that's the only thing we can drink.

let's get addicted to it.

let's sneak out at midnight and gaze at the specks of silver in the sky.

let's fall in love.

sneak out at midnight and let him wrap his arms around you.
let him hold your cheeks and let yourself close your eyes as he kisses your lips that taste like cherry chap stick. 

let's get addicted to love. 

we take adderall cause we can't focus

we take accutane cause of the zits on our young faces

midol for the cramps

advil for the headaches from the words our mothers scream at us

Zzzquil for the sleepless nights. The nights after heartbreaks from the love we got addicted to.

aloe vera for the sunburns and the sunlight we got addicted to

cherry chap stick for the next boy
the next heart break
because we all know we will get addicted to love again

over 
and 
over
and over 

again.

more aloe Vera because the sun light helps us focus
the sun helps us live.

let's drink more caffeine because that's the only thing we can drink.

let's hang out with all of our fake friends 
let's drive the fast cars our parents bought us.

we can't get addicted to being young

because one day we're going to be old

we're going to have our own kids

and they will have their fake friends

and their own fast cars that we bought them.

their lips will smell like cherry chap stick
the smell of heartbreaks and addictions.

you'll scream at them and they will take advil for the headaches

midol for the cramps

accutane for the zits

adderall to focus

zzzquil for the sleepless nights

and in between the screams you will remember that your lips once tasted and smelled like cherry chap stick

and you will look down at the diet coke can in your hand and see that you're still addicted to caffeine

and that you were once like them

and that you are still 

just like 


them.