Sew me softly.

Sometimes. I wear my shirt inside out.
Sometimes people notice. Other times, people don't.

"Hey Sam. Your shirt is inside out.

I can see your seam."

I think to myself:

I wish you could.

A shirt can be made out of beautiful fabric. 

But until it is sewn together, it is nothing but cloth.

It only has potential. 

I wish we could wear ourselves inside out.

So you could see the things that keep me together.

Or that can tear me apart.

All we really are, are pieces of cloth strung together hanging onto the hanger

for dear life.

Hoping somebody accepts us.

Some of us sell ourselves short, making us cheaper. 

So we persuade people by our cheapness and how easy we are to get. 

Even though we are one of the most 

beautiful pieces of clothing.

Even though the hands that made us, made us with care.

We just want to be bought. 

We just want to be worn. 

Felt love.

But the wearer doesn't really love you.

The wearer loves how cheap you were. How easily bought. 

No struggle to scavenge for money. 

The cloth we once were.

Full of color and brilliance. 

Is not appreciated. 

The time taken to sew each piece together is forgotten.

Sometimes. Never even noticed.  

If your wearer wore you inside out what would people see?

Better question is, what wouldn't they see?

They couldn't judge you because of your stretch marks or birth marks.

No longer are your scratched out names painted in ink shown.

The anger resulting in scars are no longer on display.

Just you. And your seams. 

The things that make you who you are.

Whether bad or good.

Whether uplifting or disappointing.

It is you. 

You can't cover yourself up by being the most elaborate shirt, if the shirt won't stay together.

 Customers may think you are beautiful in the beginning. 

But they soon realize what makes you, you.

Bad stitches. 

Luckily in both situations there is a chance.

A chance to be the most highly glorified shirt.

You can realize your worth. 

Go to a different store.

Be bought by people who care.

The fashionista. 

The model.

The designer.

Or you can make yourself better.

Go to a seamstress. 

Receive a good seam. 

Have beauty inside and out. 

We are all the same. 

Hanging on to the cold hanger. Waiting for a warm body to appreciate us.

But.

Somebody already does.

That little girl on the other side of the glass.

Window shopping.

She sees your beauty.

Wait for her.

In a few years she will be able to drive her scarlet bug to your store

and wear you the way you deserve to be worn.

She's there. 

You're just to busy making note of other's designs and patterns to notice her.

Start looking out the window. 

Realize that girl is waiting for you.

Saving up her money.

Wait for her.

Don't go on sale. 

Don't fool people.

She's worth it.

She wants to love you.

But she can't unless you are still there when she can drive.

Imagine the excitement you would feel.

Seeing her scarlet bug pull up in front of your window.

No longer waiting.

But it was worth the wait.

The hard work for the seams was worth it.

The simplicity of going on sale denied.

Patience.

And hard work.

That's all we need as a shirt with good seams.
Because good seams are worth it.

-The girl falling apart.

Ps.

If your name starts with B

Ends with rit

And another t.

Then you my dear. My twin. My harry potter fanatic. Need to drop that AP Bio.

XOXOXO

Pansy.

Just went tanning for the first time.
Scary? yes.

I don't like small spaces.
It's not like I'm super claustrophobic. But I feel like my fear of small spaces is getting worse as time goes by.
It's just so scary being stuck in a small spot! ahhhh.

In the last two days I've felt a little claustrophobic.

First time was yesterday at my uncle's house.

He has a brand new house. But that brand new house has a flaw. One of the bathroom doors is defective. Little did I know, but you can't lock it or you have major consequences.
So here I am trying to help Bubba wash his hands and flush the toilet. I decided to close and lock the door so that he wouldn't be peeing in front of the whole family. That's a given right? Close the door while you pee. So I tried to help the little guy out. We washed his hands and took the following picture:

We were happy. Life was great.
We're in a bathroom. He just peed. I was just a helpful sister. We love each other. So we took a picture.

I walk towards the door.
See the door in the picture.
I reach for the apparently locked door.
Wouldn't open.
Tried to unlock it.
Guess what.
It wouldn't open.
Frantically I turned the nob about a billion times per second.

Locked. 
"Ummm. We're locked in the bathroom..." I quietly yelled.
I hear an uproar of tall people laughs. Resulting in me banging my head against the door in angst. The bathroom is quite small, yet the walls are extremely tall.
We sat there for about ten minutes while my uncles tried to figure out how to get us out.
Then our picture looked like this.

Here we are. Sitting on our bums on the cold tile.
We were sad.
Bubba kind of has a "I'm eating my lip look".
I think it's safe to say I have a better puppy dog face. Even though he is super cute and if he could correctly pull off a puppy dog face he could rule the world.

A door minus a door handle and about ten minutes later we were free.
So that was small freaky space numba 1.

Numba 2?
The tanning salon.
Need I say I was only tanning for 6 minutes. I was still scared.
NO. I don't need you to lecture me on how bad it is for your skin. I know. That's why I did a special one without the harmful UV rays. Trust me. I thought way ahead.
Anyways. This isn't about my skin cancer filled future.
This is about that small little tanning bed I had to get into.
Laid down and pulled the little thing over me.
I felt like I was a astronaut or something.
Something from a movie where I was going to travel into space, or the unknown. I was scared. And those blue lights did not help. At all.
I was freaking out in there. Counting down the seconds.
And no. That automatic voice saying: "You are now about to have the best tanning experience of you life." Did not provide any sort of comfort.

Yes. I got a tiny color. But I'm at the verge of albino white that I don't think it really helps that much.

So pretty much. I'm becoming a bigger and bigger pansy as time goes by.
Somebody help me.
How do I not become a larger pansy then I am already!?

HELP!-
Pansy.

Dear, you.

Dear insert name here.

Please open up your ear.

And listen to me.

And consider my plea.

Don't do it again.

Don't hurt anymore women.

They don't deserve the pain,

Of having you explain

their imperfections and flaws

while you give them the much needed applause.

You toil with their emotions,

while you go through the motions

of a deserved love

and yet when they are down, you just shove and shove and shove.

Dear insert name here

while with you my self esteem seemed to slowly disappear.

You are a fine actor,

and please consider this small factor

before you go breaking another heart

you don't know what you start.

You said you are sorry

but it was bull, like a safari

going through a petting zoo

I didn't know what to do.

When you told me you loved me

but told me I wasn't good enough for thee.

Change this, change that

Sometimes too thin, sometimes too fat.

Dear insert name here,

Do you know what you did?

Or no, because you are just a kid?

You turned me blue,

and I could think of a lot of words to describe you.

I believe in forgiveness,

as long as you assess,

your actions

and put away those distractions,

those ones you blamed me for.

And open up a new door,

one of happiness and kind speech.

Where your life is a beach

And you can sit there in the sand,

and realize what you have done to me, Sam.

Dear insert name here,

Do you know what abuse means?

It's far more worse that it seems.

Not just sexual and physical,

those are far too typical.

Verbal abuse every heard of that?

How about emotional, or should we have a small chat?

They suck.

And each little word, they struck

a little chord inside my brain

telling me I'm not sane.

I needed you,

nothing new.

But you knew that, didn't you,

every little move was of mine was in your view

One little thing wrong

and I had to sing a sad song.

I was blamed

while you became inflamed.

And I was scared to take one step,

So I sat there and wept.

Dear insert name here.

I'm done with the fear.

I've found another,

And instead of you, I have become the conductor

of my life.

Please handle your own strife

Don't get me involved,

And learn how to resolve

with out hurting me.

And this is my last word to thee.

Insert name here,

I hope that you didn't mishear.

Something that makes you pee your pants.

Honestly. This is one of the scariest things that I have ever done. It's probably in my top two. And it would be number two. My number one happened about two months ago. But that is not something I want to be talking about right now.

Anyways.

I can't believe I did this.

It was even scarier than the time I was flashed by my grandma. Ew.

I had my heart set on never doing this.

But being a changed person, and not being a weenie and all, I said okay.

So I went to Lagoon with my family and my dear friend Quinci.

We went on all the roller coasters. My favorite? Wicked. In the first two seconds you are going straight up, and straight down. If you keep your arms up the entire time, they have a small chance of being ripped off from the pure force of awesomeness. (No, but really, it starts to hurt...)

Quinci kept on eye-balling the skycoaster, hinting that we should go on it.

I ignored her and her outrageous ideas.

Until.

I didn't.

So we bought the ticket. And I felt like I was going throw up.

We put on our little suit things.

Went out into the field.

They hooked up us.

And then the wire pulled us up.

So

Slllloooowwwwwlllllyyy.

After about twenty feet I was done.

I was ready to pull the rope.

I wanted to fall to my death already.

But no.

It went up about ten times twenty. aka. 200.

When we were going up, I was watching a tire directly below us. I couldn't move my eyes because each time I looked around I felt as if I was going to suffocate and have my head collapse. Who knows why.

At the top a lady says: FLYERS! 3-2-1 FLY. Then you are supposed to pull the strap. Quinci was supposed to pull it. SHE WAITED A SECOND! ugh. A second hanging at 200 feet feels longer than a chemistry class period.

As soon as she pulled it we plummeted head first towards that darn tire that I was staring at! I don't remember screaming at that part... Just holding on to Quinci, and dying. That's about it. As soon as the wire caught us, it was a blast.

Best experience ever.

On a side note, here are some things I learned this week:

1. Dr. Pepper Ten is a choice drink from heaven.

2. Scary movies = nightmare. Scary movies + cute boy = dream come true.

3. My room is messier than a head full of dreadlocks.

4. Beyonce is my girl. So is Taylor Swift.

5. Seminary teachers have the best stories.

6. Other people realize I am the epitome of an appalling singer.

7. Darla is the best car. Ever.

8. Every girl goes through a "bad boy" phase. Boo.

I'm waving goodbye-

Salmon.