One year of experience

I have one year of college under my belt and it was different, different from what I ever thought college was going to be. College was stressful. I never had time to stop and admire anything around me. I guess I shouldn't have expected so much, especially as a Cellular and molecular biology major. Quite the mouthful is it not? 

People say "College, now those are the years you remember!" Honestly, I think they were exaggerating. I kinda hope I don't remember it so far. I only told two people this but I miserable. And my grades reflected it. I don't want to go back at all, but I kinda have no choice I don't know where else to go. But if this second year goes just as bad, I'm gonna have to call it quits and transfer out. 

I wish I could say I had an amazing time, but I would be lying to you and most importantly, myself. I met great people don't get me wrong but it's not enough to make me happy. I cried like all the time, I have never been so unhappy and displeased with my life. I'm usually a go getter, optimistic, always laughing. Everything this year felt forced, a facade so people wouldn't ask me what was wrong. 

I'm scared about this second year, well more like completely terrified. I'm trying to not be, I want to look forward to this upcoming year, but it's hard. I really, really hope it goes well. 

Moving On is Hard.

Getting over you is the hardest thing to do.
You don't seem to care for me.
I fell for your smile, your laugh, your intelligence, and most importantly how comfortable I felt around you,
But you don't care for me.
How could I wait around any longer for something I knew wasn't going to happen?
I tried to be myself around you, but I didn't feel accepted by you.
I fooled myself into thinking we had some special connection,
But I want to thank you for opening me up to love,
I didn't know I could care for someone like that.

If in the future you do grow to like me, or even love me,
I hope it's soon, because I'm ready to move on,
And once I move on I won't look back.

Self-Portrait

I found a poem yesterday at the library in downtown Oklahoma City.
It's called Self-Portrait by Robert Creeley.

He wants to be
a brutal old man,
an agressive old man,
as dull, as brutal
as the emptiness around him,

He doesn't want compromise,
nor to be ever nice
to anyone. Just mean,
and final in his brutal,
his total, rejection of it all.

He tried the sweet,
the gentle, the "oh,
let's hold hand together"
and it was awful,
dull, brutally inconsequential.

Now he'll stand on
his own dwindling legs.
His arms, his skin,
shrink daily. And
he loves, but hates equally.