I used to think 

I was the smart kid. 

Yet insisted I was not

defined my grades. 

Now I know 

I am defined by God, 

Kept strong by faith, 

Redeemed by the cross, 

Beloved as his child,  

 called to make a difference in the world. 



All that was heard
As I sobbed
And you listened

No words were said
As I cried
And you sat silently
Next to me
Just being there

No words
Could have done the justice
Just silence
And your presence

Yet in the silence
I knew your love
And that was

It’s Not Just You

The Daily Dahlia

Confession: probably my biggest pet peeve on the planet is when people start a question with “Am I the only one who…?” No. You’re not. You’re not the only one who writes that way, reads that way, likes that food, likes that band, thinks Benedict Cumberbatch sounds like a Game of Thrones character or looks like someone squeezed Spongebob and stuck googly eyes on him…you’re just not. But. There’s a different kind of “Is it just me?” feeling, and that’s the stress of when you’re drowning in something and nobody’s talking about it and you feel like everyone’s got it together but you, and so you don’t wanna say a thing, and it all snowballs until you basically wanna curl up and die. I know that feeling. It’s why I wrote this post after splitting with my first agent. So in case you are wondering any of these things, I…

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You would never know

You would never know
That the compliment you said to me
Made my day excellent

And the smile you gave me
Light up my world
In a way I could have never imagined.

You would know
That that the good morning text you sent
Dwelled in my mind the entire day

And the thought of it
Caused a huge smile to cross my face.


Hard used to be getting A+ in a honors class, running a marathon, and AP exams. That was before May 20, 2014. Now hard is getting out of bed and walking in my sister’s room , even though I know she is not there and breaking down crying because half of me died with her when they buried her in the ground. Breaking down because she will never see me graduate college or get married or see me smile again. Because her boyfriend drove too fast and she perished, but he lived.

This is not my story, it is the story of a speaker who came to our school for a SADD assembly.

Being Poor

So powerful


Being poor is knowing exactly how much everything costs.

Being poor is getting angry at your kids for asking for all the crap they see on TV.

Being poor is having to keep buying $800 cars because they’re what you can afford, and then having the cars break down on you, because there’s not an $800 car in America that’s worth a damn.

Being poor is hoping the toothache goes away.

Being poor is knowing your kid goes to friends’ houses but never has friends over to yours.

Being poor is going to the restroom before you get in the school lunch line so your friends will be ahead of you and won’t hear you say “I get free lunch” when you get to the cashier.

Being poor is living next to the freeway.

Being poor is coming back to the car with your children in the back seat, clutching…

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Stress is like a rainstorm
Sometimes when I stand in the rain
I hide under a umbrella.
under the umbrella of Instagram
And games
And distractions
To ease the rain.
Just a little bit.

But always the umbrella breaks
Eventually it pours down
Except this time just a little harder.

Often then, I hide under a different umbrella
But soon it too breaks.
And it rains harder and harder every time
I hide.

And finally
I go out
Into the rain
I tackle each little problem
And it lessens
The rain

Only to start again
Another day.

And every time I vow to change
And sometimes I fail
But I get back up
And try again
Knowing someday the storms will stop
And my sky will be just a little bit sunnier.

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