Are you a writer,

or a person who writes?

A miracle of God's love, who lives, breathes, cries, tells stories, and paints lies

that in the end of the day can only utter one small thank you for the complete miracle that is life-

for our dependance on one another, not just our economies, no our souls- no chain can hold unless every link in trying its very hardest

the explosions-

the Big Bang that created your neurons, protons, electrons, your flesh and blood, the little freckle on your finger-

and your mother.

She was, you are, hers,

and the only one who knows what her heart is like on the inside, 

and your father: strong, and brave, and he works, to keep you little heart, safe at night

and I know I'm fourteen, and I'm not tall enough to ride that roller coaster yet, 

but I can run. 

And dream, and hope, and be who I want to- I don't pay taxes yet.

God is the producer, you are the artist, compose and album all your own.

If life were a movie, wouldn't you want yours' to win an Oscar?

So leave a trail all over the world, don't follow someone else's,

because even though the sticks and stones might hurt you, the places that trail will take you are so much more beautiful, because only you've been there,

no one knows how a song makes you feel, 

so let your heart play loud, 

louder than the silence-

the long nights when it seems like no one can hear you

well on those nights, just remember that the boy you dream about loving someday is sitting in his room, dreaming about the day when he'll meet a girl like you.

So run to sister night, no more to toil under master sun

we, so few, so free live on under her cloak

we are the kings and queens of our own destinies, 

never to be tried in the popular's court, 

because you're only top 40 if you listen to it, 

and our fingers, our fates, fit like lock and key to a heart that is literally made from stardust- so sprinkle yours' everywhere!

Because nobody is Gracie, like how I'm Gracie.

I'll keep on forgetting I've made tea, keep on wondering what it feels like when you realize you're in love for the first time,

and I know my knees aren't symmetrical and my teeth aren't straight,

but that's okay, because I'm an old soul, and I've been here before, and my best friend, she's a young one, and she knows more about boys than I do, but that's okay.

Because our imperfections are our most beautiful features, our torches, drawn into our outstretched hands by the golden pen of God,

reaching up, and floating off, to set the stars on fire.