Sunshine in her smile with oceanic eyes so deep you could dive in and be introduced to a world of sea life. A mind so cosmic and overwhelming, you will find her sunbathing on Amalthea. While her mind is filled with bad thoughts, the attic of her mind lets her retro-futuristic aesthetic take care of herself. She lets the planets and the stars orbit her brain despite her little knowledge of space and astronomy. She marches to the beat of her own drums, quite literally, as she reminds everyone that she must practice her rudiments. She's a short, cosmic librarian.

It's been a while since I've felt pure, unconditional joy. Fighting depression has been hard for me, but I've been able to see the light at the end of the tunnel. I've moved states and my personality has changed nearly completely. But here I am, feeling rather happy in the midst of things. Oddly enough, I try to be as joyous as I can. It feels strange to smile for the first time in a year, but it's just what's been happening to me. I love those around me and I love who I have become. I'm a very happy human being nowadays, but I feel the sense of dread constantly creeping over my shoulder. It's a terrifying feeling because I never know where life will take me next. I never know where to look because I'm unclear on where things will go. Will I end up a happy human full of smiles, or will I cry myself to sleep once again? I love that I'm in a new state, and I feel happy. I feel happy to have made friends and happy to have formed such tight relationships. I stare at my friends, my boyfriends, and my incredible mentors, and I smile, knowing I've accomplished something amazing: joy. I'm a joyous person now. It's hard to be this way, and I do have to work at it. But I seek joy by looking around at where I am now compared to one year ago, and I smile. I smile.

I am, due to dearest unfortunates, a hard lover. I mean two things by that: I am hard to love, and I love hard. Even with people I didn't fall in love with, I found myself clinging to them and speaking to them every day. With that said, I've grown up believing I am not easy to love. The love I got from my family was seldom, so it's not like I'm used to it when my boyfriend tells me he loves me, and says it with every string in his heart. It's a terrible thing and a great thing. I know I should keep my distance from people because I don't want to cling on too fast, but with that said, there's the thought that they don't even love me. If I'm too hard to love and I love too hard, then I'll face a terrible future. I will have no one. I'll have to keep my distance and change my personality just so they can love me a little bit. I scared off men I thought I would end up falling in love with, but here I am. I wish I wasn't like that because I still do it. I still love too hard. I wish I could let go of all of these feelings. I'm too much for too many people. They think I'm fun, then they realize that I'm both clingy and annoying, so they leave. It's a mixture I have, and while it's valuable, it's broken my heart into millions of pieces and I don't know where to begin picking up.

I've always been a writer, but I never really knew I would write films. I thought movies were overrated and that books were the best thing to come to life. I admired that pages far more than I did the screen, but I found myself going to the cinema with my mother and ascending into a completely different world when I was roughly 14. For me, it was a different world than writings books. It still is. I was watching the Oscars the year Bohemian Rhapsody won for Best Picture. I remember watching the screenplay awards and thinking to myself "I can do that". I discovered Matt Damon and Ben Affleck were the youngest winners at 25 and 27. I told myself I would do it even younger. Everything in me knew that I was a great writer and that I would kill it in the world of film. So there I was, the summer of 2020. I was 15 at that point, still wondering how to write a film perfectly. But nevertheless, I did it. I wrote almost 200 pages in that time period, and when I finished one draft, I would move on to the next so I can narrow this piece down to perfection. For me, this film was everything. I'd listen to the same artists over and over again, the same albums playing on my Spotify while I saw in the park, and people-watched while I write. My new dog would sit at my feet on my front porch on a chilly morning as I wrote pure poetry. I fell in love with the thought of writing a script and seeing my characters on the silver screen. Pages upon pages in a book is one thing and something I truly love, but film writing was my calling. I could envision absolutely everything, and it was perfection from top to bottom. This film is about music and politics, as they go hand-in-hand, especially in the 1960s. Alexandra (Alejandra) Mendoza is a depressed teenager who does not see a bright future for herself. When she discovers she has the ability to go to 1969, she doesn't pass up on the opportunity. She finds herself a groupie for a Led Zeppelin-like band but sees the similarities of the modern era and the Hippie-era. I created unique characters, like Poppy Rose, a drugged-up Hippie whose mind is a rainbow with colors never-before-seen, and Robert Marsdon, an arrogant alcoholic who believes he is a good person despite being more sexist than he realizes. I wrote pure romance and poetry between characters like Alexandra and the main male, Charlie Gastrell, the lead singer of the band she follows, along with a Groupie named Summer and Robert. In this film, we follow different paths on the same road, with a diverse cast involved. This is my first completed work, but will most definitely not be my last, as I have several others in the works.

I want to break barriers for women in film. No, not acting. I don't care to be in front of the camera, but I do care to be behind it. I don't want to be a director, I want to be a screenwriter. I want everyone to know my name as if I'm Martin Scorsese or Quentin Tarantino. I want everyone to see that a girl can write better than a man can. I'm already a great writer, I just have to prove it to Hollywood now. It does hurt to know that more men are picked for these jobs than women. Roughly 20% of screenwriters are women, and when The Independent did a study in 2015, they found authors were more likely to publish a book under a man's name than a woman (hence why people have pen names). I want to prove that women deserve a spot at the Oscars, and that we can conquer anything that men can. Women are incredible writers, and we award all of these men for half-assed films when we write true poetry. I want people to see Keeley Curtis-Verdeja and know that a woman, more so a Mexican woman can achieve what seems impossible: beating men in writing.

The math doesn't lie. I worked 40+ hours a week this summer, working at $15 an hour and collecting a total of just above $3k. But that money can only buy me so much. The average cost (after aid) of Southern Methodist University is $36k. So though $15 an hour seems "radical", it can't do much. "But inflation," someone argues. The average apartment cost in 1990 was $447 dollars, and in 2021 it is $1,104 according to "iProperty Management", which is a 146.98% increase. The minimum wage in 1990 was $3.80, and it is now $7.25 in the state of Texas, which is a 90.78% increase. While, in all technicalities, we could SURVIVE with $15 an hour, we'd find ourselves stuck in a dilemma: food, recreational, bills, and more. College students do not have time to work. They are drowning in schoolwork and research papers that will leave them in $70k of debt. It's quite an interesting research because there are politicians fighting for this. There are claims from left-wing Congresswomen that these bills to increase the minimum wage are sitting on the desks of higher-placing politicians. Yet here we are, still working two jobs at $11 an hour, only to be yelled at by some man for giving them their wrong order, when they ordered it that way. How are we supposed to function if the world makes money everything, and we have everything but money?

Sometimes I think of the boy of my dreams. Tattooed, a thick accent from Latin America, and a knack for getting into trouble. Then I look at the boy I am with; 5'5", a soccer goalie, a thick accent from a decade and a half of being bilingual and having to translate everything for his parents, who never gets into trouble and would never consider a needle touching his skin. And at the end of the way, I want him over anyone else. I look at him, and I realize my happiness is him. My happiness shouldn't be a teenage boy, but it is. It is someone who won me a giant teddy bear at a fair event where I told him I loved him for the first time. It's the boy who asked my mother for permission to date me. It's the boy who has never even touched me without asking. It's him, and I know it is. I love him, even if it's stupid. I know I'm young, and the odds of us making it to a year are small, but I can't see my life without someone like him. Though he is Christian and I am not, though his family speaks Spanish and I don't, and though he wants an army of children and I'm hesitant, I look at his baby face and I know I love him. He makes me the happiest person I've ever been. I look at this boy, who I am madly in love with, and I know my happiness lies with him and his 5'5" height.

"Sometimes it feels like I've got a war in my mind/I want to get off, but I keep riding the ride/I never really noticed that I had to decide/To play someone's game, or live my own life/And now I do,/ I wanna move/Out of the black (out of the black)/Into the blue (into the blue)" I hear at the end of the "Lust for Life" album by Lana Del Rey. In this song, she sings about taking her own path and living her own life. She gets to make her own decisions now. Instead of following anyone, she may take the path she wishes to take, which may be the one less traveled. She has a song from about 5 years before, entitled "Ride" in which she sings, "Don't break me down/I've been travelin' too long/I've been trying too hard/With one pretty song/I hear the birds on the summer breeze, I drive fast/I am alone in the night/Been tryin' hard not to get into trouble, but I/I've got a war in my mind/So, I just ride/Just ride, I just ride, I just ride." This is the sequel to Ride. Now, she talks about how she doesn't ride along with others. Now, she takes her own path and doesn't let the war in her mind get to her. We can see the sincerity and happiness wrapped in her warzone of a mind, and as the song fades away with the sound of waves crashing in and seagulls singing, we can feel the transcending emotion of how she has crossed the threshold (the first lyrics in the song) and how she has become a better, happier human being. It inspires me to fight my depression every day and to cross my own threshold, leaving the war in my own beautiful, scared mind.

"Tell me you wish you were Mexican without telling me you wish you were Mexican," a friend said when she caught me listening to a song sung by a Dominican and a Mexican. I am Mexican, but I don't "look" the part. I don't fit the stereotype. My hair is ginger instead of a dark brown or black, my skin is ivory and not olive or honey, I don't have as prominent hair sticking from my arms like my Abuelo or my boyfriend. On top of that, I don't speak Spanish. I was raised in the Midwest with a White father and a mother who did not speak Spanish. No one around me, including friends, knew a word of Spanish. I'm the " yo no sabo kid" in my school now that I live in Dallas. But I AM Mexican, by my blood. My Abuelo did not make 7 attempts to enter this country, only for his grandchildren to be told they're not Mexican. Even when I come to him and tell him I don't feel Mexican, he assures me "Verdeja is your last name too. Maybe not by law, but by blood." He's right, too. I have my father's last name, but everything in my power wants it to be Curtis-Verdeja so I can embrace being Mexican in a way that people understand. I am a Mexican, even by fractions. I sit at a measly 1/4, but it's higher than anything else in me. Maybe 1/19 Irish (despite what people think off my appearance) and 2/41 Native, mixed in with who-knows-what. But I am a Mexican, by blood and my word. I'm a no sabo Mexican, but I could never be more proud of my empowering last name of Verdeja.

"And the Oscar goes to... Keeley Curtis-Verdeja!" I hear in my dreams. No, not because I'm an actress. I'm not half-bad in front of the camera, but I have no interest in rehearsing lines and putting on a costume. Instead, I make films. I don't direct, but I write. I'm a screenwriter, it's just that there is no film that anyone in the industry has produced. I write films and I'm working on a Telenovela, and every day I picture walking down that red carpet in my Tatarabuela's dress (to show the diversity of Mexicans and how we are NOT lazy), ready to accept my award for the best film written this year. But of course, it's hard when you're a woman. If I was to write a film, someone would insist it would be directed by a man and he would get all the credit. If the film was about feminism, everyone would boast about him being so progressive when really the film was all my idea. No one likes to picture women in control, so a woman writing a film is the worst nightmare of Hollywood. They see us as actresses in a role that supports a male, not, "The greatest writer of our generation." But I know how I write. I know that I have written better films than men have. I see my name in the lights strictly because I have written more and more every passing day, and I won't stop until I achieve that. I won't stop until I prove that women can write. And every day, I will strive in writing until I hear, "And the Oscar goes to... Keeley Curtis-Verdeja!" and I thank my family for letting me add my Tatarabuela's last name to prove Mexican women can do this, too.

"Be a lady," everyone said. Look pretty but not too pretty. Dress well but don't try too hard. Sports aren't for girls but don't be a girly girl. Don't be angry or sad, but show your emotions. Live a little bit and stop taking yourself seriously, but don't be a child and have too much fun... that's for boys. When I was roughly 14, I decided I was done. I was done living by what men told me. I would dress how I want and how I cared. Comments of men do not make any difference to my life. Showing my shoulders and sternum or covering my body, I'm doing it by my own rules. If a grown man looks at me and says I need to cover up or show off, I hold up the middle finger. This, oddly enough, is bravery. I risk getting yelled at or attacked strictly because I have decided it is my body and my choice. For too long, the patriarchy has controlled women, and even men, and I was done with it. I wanted to wear my sweaters and long pants, then wear a fishnet crop top and heavily ripped jeans (that make my grandmother say "did you get that half-off"). It's my body, it's my choice. Bravery is risking getting attacked for standing up for what you believe in. I've never climbed a mountain, I've never sailed the ocean, I've never got stranded in the desert, but I'm a woman with an opinion. That in itself is bravery.

"I got my papers in the 70s," my Abuelo would tell me after informing me of the hardships of immigration. Years of entering the U.S. and being walked back to the border and left there, he was "legal" before my mother was born. I didn't understand, at the time. Since then, I've learned how hard the immigration system is. My Abuela still does not have all of her papers after being here for nearly three decades. For me, I've seen how hard immigrants work, and I've seen first-hand how hard Mexicans work. My boyfriend is a first-generation immigrant. He is terrible at messaging back, simply because of how hard he is working. At just 16, he's fixing his neighbor's roofs and lawns, and he trains every day for soccer, as the goalie is arguably the hardest part. He works hard, just like his Mexican ancestors before him. I want to help immigrants get their papers, specifically Mexican immigrants. They're the reason I am here and the reason I am happy to be alive. I want to be a successful person with a lucrative career, not because I want a mansion, but because I know money helps with getting papers. I can't do a lot right now, but I want to help my friends and family. For all I care, I may marry someone to help them get papers. I know they need it, and it doesn't hurt me. I want to help immigrants, because I know immigrants have built this country.

I've overcome a lot of problems in my life, one of those being terrible, aching depression. Unable to leave my bedroom, unable to complete schoolwork, unable to write a single word in a story I thought so deeply on. I was in insufferable amounts of pain, drowning in my breakdowns and tears. It was easily the worst time in my life. At only 15, I was sobbing in my bedroom and yelling to God, begging my mother to take me out of school, and crying myself to sleep. It felt like the pain was constant and it simply couldn't stop. There was nothing I could do to help myself. I talked of suicide as time went on, and my mother decided she had enough. She took me to see a doctor, who gave me blue and orange pills to help cure my depression. It's not that it all turned around instantly, but my life began to get better. I wasn't napping as much and my motivation for schoolwork was back. I was back to writing my stories and back to reminding myself that I am worthy of feeling great and that I do not deserve the depression that was given to me. I am a much happier person now, and I feel grateful for this turnaround.

Find what you want to do in your life. When I write films, I think about life in my head. An alternate reality of my own, perhaps. I sit here on my laptop and type away. How different would my life be if I was to take that older man's phone number? Or if I was born in 1947 and spent my teens years in the Hippie movement? WOuld be life be any more difficult if I could time travel? To live my long life where I am happy, I look at all the possibilities. I smile when I wonder what my life would be like in an alternate universe, and I write. I find myself happiest when I write. With all of these ideas in mind, I keep going and I write. Though, sometimes I do wonder what I am meant to do. Do I want to be a midwife in Mexico, with lots of children and living on a ranch with my husband and Abuelo? Do I want to be famous and a screenwriter? What do I want most of all? Fame, fortune, prosperity? A simple life, easy, calm? I don't know what I want sometimes, but I know that if I keep going the way I do, I'll keep being happy. The best way to live a long and healthy life is to find what you want to do in your life and keep it up. Don't settle for anything else.

Save. My father used to watch Mad Money when I was little, and I'd walk in on him looking at his computer, studying what I believe was the stock market. I didn't necessarily understand it at the time, and I'm still confused about it to this day. While I understand why he was watching, I still think of Jim Cramer yelling on my screen. My father always told me to save. He also always told me to invest in books. My dad never read many books, unlike I did. But his piece of advice was to gain an education. My father, without a degree of his own, had always told me to study up and to read what I loved. Even if it was reading Lord of the Things, he always told me that reading would take me hard, and that other than that, I should save. Though I can't remember the celebrity, he once showed me an article of someone saying they believed in investing in books. I was a young girl when he showed me Cashflow. I didn't understand it then, and I haven't played in years. But, I'm sure it was a game of capitalism and money-spending. When I try to find the board game, I notice the board my dad got was darker and more adult-looking, as if he was preparing us for being adults. My father is a good man and I love him, and he taught me the quality and saving and investing in an education.

I'm good at just a few things. I can manage to take photos of sports players, I know how to carry a beat on my drumset, and for whatever reason, I could walk you through the process of childbirth. But most importantly, I'm a writer. No matter how much I enjoy childbirth or how much I love to drum to David Bowie, I can write like no one else. I've always had a gift for writing. Even when we had to write short stories when I was a little girl, I always wrote more than anyone else. For me, it felt better than running around or playing with friends. All I wanted to do was write, and then I learned the first of typing. I didn't need an eraser anymore, and I wouldn't need to see my wretched handwriting. While I'm happy to know about photography, childbirth, and drumming, what I NEED is writing. They always say, "communication is key", and that's where writing comes into play. It's more important to write than anything else. Even non-writers, always say it's one of the best qualities a person can have. It's not that I taught myself how to write. I began learning when I was a toddler, but to be a good writer, I just went with what was in my head. And to my luck, it's turned out quite well for me. I love writing essays and stories and even reviews. To me, writing is my everything. I wouldn't be anywhere without it. If I couldn't write, I would probably be slacking in every class I have, not caring about my grades or my future. When I write, I see a future. I see myself in my happiest habitat nuzzled up by all of my writings. I would rather be a rotten corpse rather than live without writing. I wouldn't be able to understand any Quentin Tarantino movie, and I wouldn't be able to see the TRUE magic in the Lord of the Rings series. If I couldn't write, I would be lost. We're all lost without writing. It's the truest form of magic. We vision through writing and we feel deep with writing. We're all lost without someones' writing, even if it's our own. I'm proud I'm a good writer. I'm proud I'm a great writer. I'm proud I know how to ignite a fire in the minds of mankind. It will help me in the future every second of every day, because, without writing, I'd be lost.

I'm motivated by my goals in life. I have goals in my life to do certain things with the people I love. Do I want to live in Mexico with my family and my boyfriend, and give birth to roughly 6 children in the comfort of my own home? Do I want to keep writing and become a famous screenwriter who was won Oscars? Do I want to just go ahead and get a degree in Finance to play it safe in life? I want to write. I want to live in Mexico. I want stability. But with all of that said, I want to be happy. I am motivated by what will be best for me. With all my goals, I am doing what is for the best. From telling my friends I love them to take my dog on a walk, I am motivated. Even just from reading a book or an article, I feel my motivation grow. I never had a lot of motivation until recently in my lifetime. I take anti-depressants every night before I rest my head, and thanks to those, I can be motivated. I want to do good with my life and I want to see the world with new eyes. I am motivated by what I want to do in my life that will make my future bright.

Every day I attempt to grow. Though, I sometimes fail. This weekend, I was forced to reconnect with an old friend of mine who wronged me back when we were roughly 13. But the thing is, I know she's not sorry. I know she doesn't regret any of the mean things she said to me that would end of scarring me directly before COVID hit. I made a rude comment about her on my social media, something of which I regret doing now. My friends said I was rude, but I felt it was fine because she awful to me. She constantly made fun of me when we were forced to speak again. But I couldn't handle myself when I made the mean comment. So, I messaged her, just this morning. I don't want to be a mean person. No matter how much she hurt me, I don't want to hurt anyone else. Even if she apologises, I don't want to be the bad person. I informed her that she did hurt me, but that I was still sorry for what I had said may have harmed her. It felt like personal growth and like I had made even myself happier. She still hasn't seen the message, but I hope she does so we can talk again and sort things out. That in itself is growth. Talking things out after never talking is growth. I plan to keep this growing mindset without potentially hurting anyone else.

"Stay weird, stay woke." I was 15 when I first heard those words grace my ears. I was at a debate tournament, watching several students speak before me. I feel guilty because I don't remember his name, just the words he was once told. "Stay weird, stay woke." I suppose I've always been strange. Even nowadays, mentors to me call me a "strange breed" for various reasons. Some call me poetic, some call me strange, and students at my old school could called be a libtard, not that that really bothered me. To me, I suppose I'm just a small individual with a gargantuan opinion. Even so, I like to stay weird and woke. I've never really "fit it", not that I pay much attention to it. It's a subconscious thing, really. I know my looks aren't all there, which I'm not bothered about. But, my personality has always been unmatched by children my age. I've always had this obsessive, connective behavior. I get attached to things like lyrics or poems, or even people. I create scenarios in my head, so far as to believe them myself. It led me to the point of believing by 21, I'd be a single mother to a newborn boy named Peter, with my ex being an abuser. I'm still not sure what led to that, but all the songs I listened to seemed to take me there. I'm still weird and I'm still woke. I don't like to exaggerate, though. I don't force myself to stand out and I don't force myself to do anything that would make me seem "pick-me", as the youth of today call it. I just like to stay as I am. "Stay weird, stay woke," said the man with a larger-than-life afro. And I listened close and followed.

I look back, quite alarmed. I’ve nearly fallen in love, but it’s tough for me now. I can’t kiss him on the lips or let him hug me for too long. I can’t stick my head in the crook of his neck. Christian Dior bothers me. I don’t talk to anyone who has the name, first or last, of my former lover. But lover is a strong word. He was just another man from my past, who happened to scar me just a little bit. I worked at the mall, at a kiosk in the center. I hated it. It was boring and consisted mostly of cleaning. I sold soap, which was something no one went to the mall to buy. There I was, more bored than a dog home alone. And after just two weeks of working there, I saw him. I saw this man walk up to me, and I couldn’t help but wonder why he was staring at the flowers at my kiosk without saying a word to me. The soap shaped like flowers would make me swoon, as they did with most people. He was smiling, and he kept eyeing me. “How much are these?” he asked as he pointed at the smaller red roses. “Small red and pink roses are $50, while the bigger ones are $80,” I answered. The way he carried himself, the way he stood, even his voice, reminded me of someone. “You carry yourself with the same attitude as someone I know. A guy I once knew in Mexico.” “Oh, is that your husband?” he asked. I laughed a little. “No, not my husband. I’m sixteen, and we don’t talk anymore,” I said, looking back on my days with an old "friend". He just nodded, thanked me, and left. I started looking at the time, noticing that it was just a couple hours until my shift was over. But he walked back up to me, and asked for clarification on the prices. I reminded him of what I said earlier, and flashed a smile with my newly braces-free teeth. When he left again, I found myself chuckling. And when he walked up a third time, I smiled again. He asked for my number, and when I asked his age, he lied. I told him I knew that he was lying, and he told me how old he really was. Or, what I think his real age is. So I messaged him that night, and we went through quite the conversations. He told me he wore Christian Dior perfume, and he told me his career. I told him a little about my life, and my former fling in Mexico. I knew that this man was Mexican, but I don't think he knew I was. So we talked, and after a short while, we kissed. He lifted me up, his hair was pulled back, and he was wearing a black hoodie. I regret it to this day, and we haven't talked since. And nowadays, I wonder what the hell happened in life. I wonder... why? I'm not pretty. I'm just... small. I'm shorter than most middle schoolers. And he told me, "never grow." Maybe that's why. I guess I'll never really know, because we haven't talked in months, and I don't want to talk to him. I can't kiss my boyfriend, I can't smell his cologne, I hate hair pulled back... I can't even think of him correctly. How dare he? He kissed me when I was too young for him. I know he knew. I know he knows.. And I can't forget.

Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Lily, and Dunkin, Ruined... So many great books and great series manage to run through my head. But, the one that I thank for all of my feelings, for all of my inspiration from, is one that I wrote all those years ago. No, it is not a published book. I first created it in 7th grade and proceeded to work on it up 'til 11th grade. After that, my school deleted the account that I'd written it on, and it was never seen again. I wrote a dystopian book entitled 'Bornaway,' in which it was a country with a wall splitting the rich and poor side, and everyone that lived there was immortal. It all started with a small idea of a boy and a girl speaking, who would be simply friends. I started off with a boy named Alex, who was on the poor side, and would be the utmost courage of people, and a girl named Hailey, who was too smart and too quiet for her own good. I had plot twists and magical powers and just a few lovers here and there. I felt on top of the world, writing the second book with simple ease. I had Gods and dictators and all sorts of different regions that were unknown and would come into play. I had far too many people in my life that meant everything to me. I remember that I had never really had friends, so these characters were my everything. I wrote the book I wanted to read, and I'm devastated I can't see it again. I want to go back to is, and imagine my characters doing exactly as I had planned. My favorite book was never really completed.

I think schools should be more open to talking about mental health. In 9th grade, I had a teacher who told us he wished us positive mental health. Now, I have a teacher who tells us every day that we are important and that we matter. But, it seems as if the school admin does not take us seriously as teenagers. When we say we're burnt out or we ponder suicide, we are shown to shut it out. The newer generations are more prone to take about mental health, seeing as most of us have realized our mental health is poor in comparison to older generations. It seems as if principals and even counselors can't wrap their heads around our own personal reality. They don't look at us as serious beings. I think that far too many people look at teenagers to be stupid and that we never listen. Really, we're just aging and questioning the world. We are all hormonal and don't know what changes we are facing. I think if schools were to start later in the day, and even give us more resources to take care of our mental health, we'd find lower suicide rates, or even lower depression rates. Maybe if schools acted like they cared, we'd feel more care. We may feel more worthy in our school systems and we'd feel as if we're useful. Some of us are facing abuse or gaslighting, so now we're stuck in this reality of schools don't even care about it. So if schools were to provide more resources, we'd be healthier.

Sandy West. Sandy West was the drummer of the pioneering all-girl band The Runaways, where she spent four years behind her kit. She started with the band at the young age of 16, drumming relentlessly on stage. I can't help but wonder what it was like for her when no one recognized a woman as a drummer. Nowadays, no one expects a girl to be a drummer, but they recognize women like me, who enjoy drumming. But no one expects hits like 'Cherry Bomb' to be by women, and songs like 'Secrets' and 'California Paradise' to be written by that same drummer. In The Runaways song 'Dead End Justice,' West drums like she's being chased. The way she goes through a military-esq drumming style in different parts of the song, all the way to a carried beat, the carrying the whole song in the end. With her snare roles showcasing her abilities as the song finishes, she proves she is not to be messed with. There aren't many women to be recognized as drummers, so I don't have anyone to look up to in my musical world. But with Sandy West, I've been able to listen to a powerhouse absolutely crush every man that stepped on the stage before her. I find it so interesting that other members of The Runaways were able to keep up with their success after the band ended, but Sandy West was left in the dust. She had dreams of being the best woman in ROck N' Roll, and she just about had the chance, but when the band disbanded, she was left working in construction. Sandy West, real name Sandy Pesavento, died in 2006 of cancer. She didn't know how many people truly idolized her and how many girls would look up to her.

I like to verbally support. I've always been the "therapist friend" out of my friend groups. I feel the happiest when I'm helping my friends. A lot of my friends, like me. have mental health problems. When I see them sad, I want to talk to them to make sure they're OK. Whether it's a message or sitting down and talking, I know that they need someone. While I like to pick up trash and talk to people on the street, I personally enjoy helping my friends. They're my everything, so I want to help all I can. When they're down, I want to pick them up. When they're sad, I want to dry their tears. I want to be their therapist. I let them all know, it's OK to talk to me. I'm always open to messages and I'm always open to talking. Even if I don't know someone, I want them to talk to me so I can help to the best of my abilities.

Standing on the beach in Cancún, with the black-haired beauty in front of me. His broken English was obvious, but he was trying. The way he asked about my family and my life, and the way he said I was cute. Boy, was he handsome. His voice was sweet and precious, and his golden-brown skin was shinning. I didn't know we'd go on to talk about stereotypes of Mexicans and how we were both affected, both being Mexicans ourselves. He was kind and considerate and he made me smile. He made me feel a fire in my soul.

I haven't cried to a teacher in several years. But when I was in 1st grade, my teacher was pregnant and left when she had her son, and we were given a sub who let us call her Ms. R. Ms. R had short, pixie-cut red hair and looked somewhat like Brett Dennen, and she was oddly welcoming. When I was young, my parents never really liked each other, so when they were divorcing, I needed a teacher to go to. I had no aunts or uncles, and none of my grandparents lived nearby, so I felt I had no one to talk to. As a little girl, I hated my home life. I didn't care for an education, but I never wanted to stay home. When Ms. R would teach, I felt happier than I ever did at home. I hated hearing my parents yell, but my teacher never raised her voice and never showed a sign of dislike. But she wasn't like most teachers. I told her once that I had lost my energy and that I "wasn't in the game" for that day, and she let me relax. She seemed to care for my mental health, which I didn't realize would be a big deal until I got older. I left that school in 3rd grade, but I don't recall seeing her while I was in my 2nd grade. Perhaps she had been transferred or maybe left to sub for less than a full-time gig. I don't know where she is now, or what she's up to. But she helped me feel better about school, and even home. I don't even remember her real last name, but I'm eternally grateful for her.

When I was a little girl, I knew something was up with me. Something made me different, and I didn't know what it was. It wasn't until I was 9 years old, and I was contemplating suicide, that I suppose it really hit me that life was fucked up. I was too young to kiss someone, but I was already questioning my own life. Surely, something was wrong with me? I didn't know. I didn't know what to think at that time. No one ever talked about mental health. I just heard that I had to be happy, and that was it. I never felt happy, and it seemed as if everyone was ignoring what I was saying. Then it seemed to hit me as I aged... I had problems. I was breaking down as I got older. I was on the brink of sobbing every day, and I did most days. I would cry myself to sleep, I would cry when I showered, I would cry in the bathroom at school. My life was breaking down, and I didn't understand. My family knew I was sadder than my siblings, but we never thought too deep. Despite a great-aunt with bipolar and long lines of alcoholism, it wasn't like there were any mental health problems in my family. On March 5, 2020, I felt sick. I wasn't sick with the virus, thankfully, but I was physically sick. A dear friend of mine that I'd known over 10 years informed me that she hated me (roughly 6 months before this event), couldn't stand the thought of me, and that I was a waste of 10 years. All of my friends still hung out with her, and they all got to eat lunch together. I looked at them, still sick, and I kept crying. I cried hard that morning because of the time I had to wake up every day, I cried over her, cried over feeling sick, and when a teacher I missed having told me 'hello' in the hallway, I began sobbing relentlessly in the school restroom, tormented by drawings os hearts and the initials of a couple who wouldn't last another month. I kept crying that day and I messaged my dad to tell him I was sick, and I suppose he understood, because he always told us to "just poop" when sick, but he told me I needed to rest when I got home. I remember crying all that day and feeling sick, and it felt like that was the last normal day. After that, the virus got worse. I felt scared and terrified that the world would only burn faster. I didn't want to risk the lives of any of my friends, so I never went back to school, unlike most of them. My mental health declined, all so that I could keep my friends and family safe. I was breaking down every day, staying up until 2 A.M. When my dad moved in the summer of 2020 to the city that is Houston, I permanently moved in with my mom (who'd been divorced almost 10 years to the man who was my father). I was around just my sister and my mom, and no one else. I was always on my phone, watching shitty television shows and counting the days left until I thought I may be able to die. With all of my breakdowns, despite the new dog we got to help, I went to a doctor. Not only was I not eating well, but I'd threatened to hurt myself and even my sister. I talked about wanting to die and drop out. I cried and wanted to stab myself, and I just know my mom hid some sharp knives so I couldn't. When I saw the doctor and took some tests, she informed me I had depression. I knew I did, too. I understood. Even as a little girl, I was sad. But as I aged, the sadness was worse, and I knew it was a big deal. But this was the breaking point. I truly broke myself. I got on anti-depressants, and I began to feel bits and pieces of happier. In the summer of 2021, it was decided my sister would go to Southern Methodist University, and my mom would move to Dallas with her. I spent the summer in Houston and I got a job, meaning I worked +40 hours a week at a kiosk, and met the strangest people I'd ever seen. I remember Jonathan, the man from El Salvador who got paid half of my did despite being the manager. I remember the security guard Torres, who wanted to be a detention officer. I remember all of the grown men who flirted with me, and I remember my first kiss at the kiosk where people tried to steal from. I remember the stalker I had who told me biblical verses, and the best friend I had that was in his 30s and tried to block off the pedophiles because he knew how messed up it was. I felt myself rising. I was a happier person, it seemed. My mental health experiences all led me to these moments. My haunting life was finally turning to roses. In Dallas, I met several friends and I've found myself happier than ever. I've never laughed more and been so motivated to get work done. I enjoy my life and I like going to school so I can see my friends and my teachers. I wear a mask every day, and best yet, I smile. Bets yet, I feel happier again. Though I came to Texas with myself, I'm the happiest a girl could be. If not, far happier.

Friendship means love. I've had my ups and downs with friends, but to be quite frank, I've been lucky in the friendship lottery. I didn't have many friends growing up, but I have lots now. I've met my friends from sitting in class, talking about our families, getting paired up to do a project, and more. To me, friendship means love. I felt unloved for many parts of my life, and when my friends were all saying someone and I was 9th wheeling, my friends still invited me to hang out with them so I could feel the love. Now, my boyfriend is one of my best friends, something I am eternally grateful for. I see friendships every day. I see two little kids giggling together, I see an old man and an old woman laughing together, talking about his husband and her two kids. I see two moms talk about their babysitters and a group of teenagers skateboarding and scarring their knees. For myself, I see my friends text me even while we're doing schoolwork or when we're supposed to be in bed. My closest friends, my family, love me. I feel the love. I can hear it in their voices. Friendship means love and making memories, and I'm happy to have made memories with those I love.

being patient means having the courage to wait on people. I worked in sales once in my life. I was the girl who worked at a kiosk. I never tried to lure anyone in by ignoring them and keeping on talking. I let them go whenever, and rather let them come to me. I hated my job. I hated the number of people who didn't understand I sold soap in the shape of food, not food. I hated the way I had to be patient. When a man called his wife, he would stand there and look at our soaps, telling her all about them. I was impatient when it took too long for the cards to scan, when the customer was clearly a pedophile who bought the most expensive thing to try to impress me. I hated when people would strike up political conversations with me I did not agree with, but I had to keep going in order for everyone to buy the product. After some time passed, I learned patience. There was a deaf man with a friend of his who knew sign language, and with that, I thought more. While he was not interested in soap, I couldn't help but wonder how patient he had to be. I myself have shared troubles and have had to have surgeries, but I have never had to learn ASL. So I thought to myself, 'How patient must he be?' It hit me then, that patience means understanding and having the courage to wait on people. Near the end of my job, I learned to wait on men who called their wives, and I struck up an even friendlier conversation than normal. For me, patience was everything. Now, it still is.

"Now it's been a few years since I left New York/I got a kid and two cats in the yard," Lana Del Rey sings in her song "How to Disappear." I sometimes listen close and I think of myself in that position. I sit in my grandparent's backyard in the middle of God-knows-where Missouri, and I rest my head on the wall as I watch my tattooed spouse play with my child. But is this the life I want? What I want is to be a screenwriter. I want to write films and be well-known, and I want to win Oscars and walk down crimson carpets. I want to travel with earned money, and I want to talk to old lovers of mine that reside in Mexico, because ever since we lost touch, I can't help but wonder what they're up to. Though I can't help but wonder... would I be happier with a simple life? Would I be happier with a kid and two cats? Would I be happy without a life of flashing cameras? Do I really want all the money? My boyfriend is Mexican, as am I, but he is first-generation. His dream is to own a ranch in the state of Texas, where we both reside, or in Mexico. My Abuelo, born in raised in Jalisco, Mexico, is a sweet man who owns a ranch with his family in Zacatecas. Part of me wants to flee and go there with him and my boyfriend. Would I like that more? Would I want to give birth to 4-6 kids on my bed? Would I like the ranch life? Or do I want to change my name and crawl to Havana, just like the singers sing about? My dream is ever-changing, but it's always been beguiling and beautiful.

The Garden of Earthly Delights is easily the most influential piece of art I have ever stared my eyes towards. The Garden of Earthly Delights, painted by Hieronymus Bosch, is a famous painting, known for its three unique panels. I first came across this while watching a documentary entitled "BEFORE THE FLOOD." In that moment, I saw the magic. I'm a songwriter, and I prefer to write about the weirder things in life. Not only that, but I write films and poetry, and I like to put a spotlight on the unknown. So when I saw this painting, I knew I had to write about it. In the first panel, we see God, Adam, and Eve. We see animals crawling out of holes, and beautiful ponds of glorious blue, and the viewers are fascinated by the green coloring that is the grass. God introduced Adam and Eve, which starts off with our reproduction. PLUS, they're both nude, expressing the want to be sexual. In the second panel, we're shown animals reproducing, and various humans the Music of the Flesh. It is clear that the; in sexual positions. It described the human want to have sex and reproduce. We see these nude humans, and WE are intrigued. We wonder, "what must they be feeling?" But the truth is, we want that. This painting described it perfectly. In the third panel, we see hell on Earth. Men have been lured towards evil and greed. Men's hearts are pierced by the Music of the Flesh, and the knives of mice destroy them fresh. Sex has been shamed, and we see several reproductive organs thrown around, bloody. The seven deadly sins are expressed, and the shame rages on. This painting IS humanity. To me, I haven't found something that described humanity quite this canonically.

This is the dumbest thing I've seen thus far. What makes you think that a NON-BREATHING fetus deserves more life than a woman? How come you haven't adopted every baby that was forced to be born because of the abortion bans? Do you know how many 10-year-olds have gotten pregnant from rape and can't get an abortion? Fetus's don't matter more than the born. You deny us healthcare when we breathe but you try your hardest to keep fetus's in someone's womb. You know nothing about life.

My old high school had a racist mascot. We were the Kickapoo High School Chiefs. We were always proud that Brad Pitt had once attended our high school, and we took pride in our football team by riding onto the field in a Native American headdress, beginning with teepees that were filled with student who no-doubt used racial slurs. It was an interesting way to know that people never payed attention to the culture of Native Americans. We had no students that said they were Native, and if a student did say they were, they usually ended up being 1/20th, or something such as. Our school commons were topped with LGBTQ+ banners that had been pulled down by homophobes, and Black students who heard the rumors of a student threatening to lynch them, as well as the women who'd been sexually assaulted by sports players who athleticism mattered more than someon's innocence. It wasn't until my Sophomore year when I REALLY noticed things. Our schools Instagram had posted a picture of a White student wearing Native attire and war paint all over his stomach. I commented saying it was cultural appropriation, and they deleted my comment. I still don't know what the exact words going through their heads were, but I assume it was nothing along the words of, "another 'woke' person". It wasn't until I commented twice that they got rid of the option to comment. I messaged my friends and I explained to them what happened, and we started a petition to change the mascot. I never thought it would get the attention it did, and soon, we had roughly 100 signatured on our petition. We created an account, which gained the attention of our school. Soon, we were on the news and we'd been interviewed. With roughly 10 of us, and me the only one who wasn't anonymous, I felt the pressure of the world. Death threats and constant hatred was spat towards me, even at online school. I heard people yell at me through screens and they called me racial slurs that didn't even pretain to my group of people. We ended up gaining endorsement from the Chairman of the Kickapoo Tribe in Kansas, and he had all of the information. He talked to the school with us, and tuned in during our meeting. Still to this day, we talk as a group of people. It felt like during the summer, nothing happened. We got no emails from anyone, after we had them everyday of the week during the spring. Then on September 1st, we got the news. It was all changing. THe mascot was the same, but all the traditions were gone. No war paints, no headresses, no Native war chants during football games, no teepes, no nothing. It felt like I was on top of the world. My friends and I celebrated and we felt incredible and unstopable, and as if we could do anything. But we didn't do it to feel great, we did it to make a better change in the world. We wanted to be allys to Natives, and the Chairman said we were. Sometimes our greatest accomplishments aren't what we think they are. For me, the best accomplishment was this. I don't care much for the credit, but I'm proud to say I did something to change the world for the better.

TW: talks of suicide When I was a little girl, I wanted to kill myself. I was 9 years old. I had moved from Republic, MO, to Springfield, MO. Neighboring towns, both populated with White people who would wear red hats in the next few years. I was never a good-looking child. I had poor teeth and unflattering blue glasses, and I was one of the few redheads. I nuzzled my nose in a book and preferred to stay quiet, so I knew I would be a target for them. Rich kids who'd already been to London before they were double-digits would tease me. The names like "freak" and "nerd" were constant but not too damaging. It wasn't until "ginger nerd" came along that I felt truly hurt. I contemplated suicide every day of my life. I never physically hurt myself or tried to hurt anyone around me, necessarily. But I talked about leaving school, running away, and killing myself, and more. I felt small and ugly. I felt like I would never have the chance to fit in or make friends. I aged with that mindset, but I learned as a pre-teen that I could survive with a careless attitude. I, the bullied, soon became the bully. I judged the blonde girls in ponytails and their fake tans. They would tell me I wasn't Mexican enough and I called them stupid. I would tell them how they were mean people, and they assumed they'd never done anything wrong to make me hate them. Despite everything they told me, I somehow made it worse. I was meaner to them than they were to me. The only difference was, no one really liked me. I got over the people of my school, sooner or later. I'd been with them from 4th grade up to 10th, so there was no point in acting like I was better than them. I'd seen them grow. I saw their bodies develop quicker than mine, I saw their beauty prosper, and I saw the jealousy of myself overcome me. Their vacation photos and their smiles of ivory. Then COVID hit. I was alone. All my friends were together without me because I didn't want to risk the lives around me. I felt myself in pain and I felt the world cave in. I was lonely and I had no motivation. I got to the breaking point. I was burnt out, breaking down every day, and I felt myself drowning on the deep end. Then I realized what I wanted... I wanted to die. I wanted to kill myself. I was nobody. I had no personality. I was a drummer who liked writing, and nothing else. I was smart, sure, but I wasn't as wise as I said I was. I was nothing to myself. I talked about suicide, and my mom couldn't handle it. She took me to see a doctor, and then I was placed on anti-depressants. Those may have been the best thing to happen to me. I now sit here, with a goal in my mind. I can now type away and feel happy, too. I don't want to kill myself. I have my breaking points and my tears, but I don't want to cut my wrists or feel this deep sense of sorrow any longer. I do fear it will hit me soon, though. I fear every moment that I may fall back into the black hole, where there is no light. I still have depression and I feel the anxiety from within me. But every day, I listen to David Bowie sing "oh, no, love, you're not alone" and I feel better. I see my new friends in a new school, and I see the way we're all depressed. But we're there for each other. That's right, I moved schools. I was so tired of the people at the old school that I left for a new state. Texas has been fairly kind to me, and I have made friends. There are no cliques, and no one is telling me to kill myself like they used to. I have friends and I feel happier than ever. Maybe the issue was Missouri, maybe the issue was me. Whatever is what, I feel better. And, I want to help anyone who feels the way I did. I want to help everyone who wishes they could stab themself in the abdomen as I did. I want to make someone smile like I am, and like I never could before.

The truth is, I don't know exactly what it is that I want in my life, but I know where my talent lies. I know what I'm best at, and that is writing. My goals in the future are to become a screenwriter. I've written over 3 films, 2 of which are f finalized. And at the end of the day, I know that I can be a great screenwriter. I just need people to read my scripts and I need to hear the words, "let's make this movie." I write films about politics and they tie in with music. Sometimes, they're either musically-inclined or political, and sometimes they're both. No matter what, I pack them with diversity and make sure that a positive difference is made. I think outside the box and I showcase a vision that absolutely no one else sees. I see the world through my eyes. The eyes of someone who had Social Services question her about her parents. The eyes of someone who witnessed bottles thrown to the ground. The eyes of someone whose ears hear the term "bitch" thrown around them like it's their own name. I see through the eyes of a cosmic create with a passion for storytelling, who people-watches just so she can understand humanity a little more. My eyes, though one barley works, have seen things that most people don't. Because of that, I know what to write. I always know what to say. Rarely am I speechless. Often, I don't know where to begin, but I can always make something up. I have been told that I can move people with my writing. I know I'm referred to as a "special breed" by those around me, and I sincerely believe this has led me to have a gift for writing. Because of this, I can impact the world in a great way. I believe in equity, equality, unity, and justice. I'm someone who knows what they fight for. I know the power I have and I know I can use it for good. I can help change the world, simply by typing away on a computer, and I am eternally grateful for that gift the universe has granted me. I may never be a screenwriter. I may never walk down a crimson carpet and see my name on the silver screen. But, I know that I can impact the world by my writing. I know I can help people see the world with new eyes. Maybe they can be the eyes of myself, who has seen injustice before her very eyes. Maybe they be through the eyes of an immigrant's grandaughter or a lost girl who went through relentless death threats, both which I am/have faced. It's a big and scary world out there. But I know that if I continue to write, the world will evolve with my words.

Starting school later would make future education phenomenal. From my 9th-10th grade years, I attended a school that began at roughly 7:45 in the morning. I'd get up around 6:15 so I had time to wake up properly, get dressed, get ready, eat, and get to school. In the mornings, I wanted to socialize with my friends because I never got to see them. For me, I started every morning hating myself and hating school. I constantly talked about dropping out and the pain I felt when I did schoolwork. It felt painful to wake up so early when I was only 14. Did you know that the brain is not supposed to wake up until sunrise? Our brains are wired to be tired when the sun sets, but it's set to wake up as the sun rises. To add to that, our brains do not start fully functioning until around 9 to 10 in the morning. So, when we wake up hours before the sun rises, teenagers have every right to be groggy or cranky. I'm spending year 11th-12th at a different high school in a different state, where I wake up at 7:45. That's right. I wake up at the time my school used to start. My school starts at 9:00 every morning. I have felt myself happier with this new time. I wake up, no longer saying "I want to die." I used to genuinely mean that. I didn't want to keep waking up so early every single day. I had a few issues going on at the time, but that was the tip of the iceberg. Teens have enough pressure on them, so waking up in the morning makes it all worse. Nowadays, I don't find myself exhausted or falling asleep every class period. My grades have also improved, I feel. I can focus more on schoolwork now that I have time to focus, rather than fall asleep. I see myself as a smarter, happier person than I was in my Freshman year. Two years ago today, I would've had tears fall down my eyes before the crack of dawn, whereas now, I'm greeted by my dog after the sun has said "hello" to its people. I believe all schools should instill this. I do, in fact, believe that people are deserving of sleep and they deserve to have functioning brains before they get to learning. Teenagers face mountains of pressure and they're all exhausted. Teenagers, like myself, deserve even a small break.

To me, being generous means being a kind soul. Being generous is to be sweet and helpful. It doesn't necessarily mean that you constantly give things to other people physically. It can mean you simply share a piece of your soul with the world, and that you help others when need be. Being generous is more than letting your neighbor borrow sugar. It's when you tell the homeless man at the bus stop your life story, and you listen to his. Generosity is seeing the waitress, who is a single mother, and you tip her extra because you know her son needs lunch money. Generosity means you stop sneering at the old woman at the coffee shop when she sneezes too old. Being generous is not as hard and people make it seem. It's rather easy to help someone walk across the street or pour someone's coffee. It's plenty easy to just listen to someone. Sometimes, listening is all it takes. When you listen, you are practicing the highest form of generosity. Nothing is more valuable than time, not even giving your neighbor sugar. Never waste someone's time. When you're generous, you are cherishing someone's time, and you are giving your time to them.

This generation ignites hope that the future will be better. Oddly enough, I find the beauty in Gen Z. Most of us are too scared to call our own doctor to schedule an appointment, but I've never seen a generation so willing to stand up for their rights. Whether it's online protesting or taking to the streets, this generation is fighting back. We see that the world is going to shambles, with all the issues of climate change and politics and human rights violations, and we've done our part. We spread awareness and we talk amongst ourselves about these issues, and I truly believe that's what we can do. Now, we do have our more outspoken people. Greta Thunberg is a well-known activist for fighting climate change, and I believe that people like her can help the future. This new generation does not care for money. With that in mind, we constantly try to increase the minimum wage, and we even go to the extent of quitting our jobs in groups, forcing businesses to close down unless they raise their wages. We have tirelessly fought against the low minimum wage, and we will continue to. We grew up reading books about fighting back, so that's exactly what we are going to do. We are going to fight for our future. I have never seen so many people protest as I have young people. Young people protested in the 1960s, and here we are now, 60 years later, protesting. I view this as a remarkable thing. We as young people know we will grow old and we may die before the world ends, but we want to make it better for the future world. People always say, "children are our future," but then they throw their trash at us and leave us to pick up the messes they made, and we've decided we're done with that. It's beautiful and remarkable. I also see the way that children are raised on technology. We are one of the first generations to have been raised with televisions, phones, etc. So, it's not our fault we're "addicted" to our screens. With this access to technology, our new technology brings us intelligence. We can see the differences in news articles, and we can pick and choose what to read. While this can be dangerous, we have the world at our fingertips, and we've used it for the better so far. I can't wait to grow up with this generation. I believe with all of my heart that we've worked hard to get where we are today. The summer of 2020 showed what we were truly like. From protesting in the streets to protesting online, we've pushed forward, and we will continue to so that we're not the last generation that gets to step foot on the Earth.

'I'm With the Band' by Pamela Des Barres. I know how it sounds. A book about a groupie shouldn't be what a young girl loves to read. But, I am more than inspired by this book. Everyday I listen to old school Rock music, and I wonder who or what inspired those songs. The lyrics sing about girls who make their head whirl by the stars, and I wonder, how do I become someone who can do that? This book has led me into being a greater poet. I've been able to win over men with my artistic and unique side. I know that I'm seen as a "mystery" to some people, and that it's OK to lead a life that not everyone understands. That's exactly what Pamela Des Barres did. So, to me, she wrote about what it was like being a woman of mystery. I like to connect with strange people. Being strange is the best thing about me, so to be with strange people means everything. Pamela was a trailblazer for strange people. To be a Hippie is one thing, but to be strange is another. To be strange, no one must understand who you really are. These Rock Stars were strange, and they connected with a strange woman. That's how we got those iconic songs. By a strange girl igniting a fire in the minds of poetic and strange men, who ended up being members of bands like The Doors, The Byrds, Rolling Stones, and more. We were introduced to the best music of all time, all because of some strange girl. When I read this book, I felt like I could do exactly what she did. That, to me, is poetry. Poetry is leading a mysterious life that no one understands, and guiding strange people.

Being Texan means pride. I grew up in Missouri, but I was born in Dallas, TX. I spent my youth informing everyone who would listen that Texas was better than Missouri. The weather was nice, the Southern voices were charming, and the stars were magnificent. I moved back in the summer, and I've settled in with my fellow Texans, and I've learned what pride means. Being a Texan means that you are a proud person. You may stand up for what you believe in and never back down. Each Texan is entitled to their own opinion, but all Texans know for a fact that having an opinion is just the right way to go.

I am a film writer. Never in my life have I worked so hard for something. Everyday, I write tirelessly to get better. This is the first film I've completed, which I hope could someday be produced and shown on the big screen. I've been writing several others in my time, and I hope that soon, some other young girl will be able to look at my films and know that she can do it too. http://tiny.cc/dovesfilm

There's far too many issues facing the world at the moment, but the worst is justice. Justice for Black people, justice for women, justice for the Asian people that have been murdered, and justice for the Black trans women, whose average lifespan is 35. Justice for the little Hispanic boys just trying to buy their abuela groceries, who were shot by police because they assumed they were stealing. Justice deserves to go to the congresswoman walking down the street who was told she was a bitch. Justice should be served to your neighbor, who is a drag queen and who was yelled at this morning for contouring her makeup. Justice should be brought to our sisters with eating disorders, and our brothers with mental illnesses. Justice ought to be brought to the 11-year-old kid whose teacher told them that they/them pronouns were not allowed. Justice should be brought to the teenagers working a minimum wage job to afford a local college. Justice should be brought no only to people, but to our Earth. We pollute and we hurt and we harm. When will it all end? When will we stop drinking out of plastic bottles and when will we decide to buy an electric car? When will the days of lighting forest fires be over? To stop this, we have to work together. We have to protest and organize groups to lead us to justice. We have to call our politicians and tell them we're DONE. We must run for political positions and work tirelessly to achieve our goals of saving the Earth and saving the people on this Earth. We must push forward and stand our ground. In order to move forward, we need to work together.

In January of 2021, I decided I would make a change. I grew up in Springfield, MO, and I only recently moved away from there. But in the snowy months, I decided I would make a change to my school. Kickapoo High School is located on Jefferson Avenue, right across from Birche Point Health and Rehabilitation. The mascot was a Native American, and we named our own mascot Chief Wasaka, if I remember correctly. During said January, I was a Sophomore who was doing school virtually. I noticed a post my schools social media had made, in which a White student had war paint drawn on his face and abs, and he was wearing a headdress with what appeared to be buffalo skin. My school had always done things such as have students run out of teepees during a football game, or use Native chants, or even let students wear a headdress anytime they wanted to. But, this post seemed to bother me, so I made a comment saying I was irked, and they deleted that comment. So, I messaged several of my friends, and we decided to were going to change this. So, at that, we made a petition that spread around the community like a wildfire, and we were endorsed by the Chairmen of the Kickapoo Tribe in Kansas, Lester Randall. After months of being called slurs, people threatening our lives, and fears of attacks, it all worked out. In September of 2021, our school announced they would be changing their traditions. They stated they would no longer use Native terms and would no longer take the Native culture as their own. But I'm still waiting for them to change the mascot. The fight won't end until it's ALL over. But I'm proud of myself for all this.

When it comes to empowering women, the most important thing would have to be listening to women. When I was freshly 15, I was on my schools debate team. I had a debate with a boy, probably my age. My judge was a male, presumably in his 20s. This judge had only paid attention to my opponent, and he was nodding in agreement the entire time. When it came to me, my judge was on his phone and he had the audacity to not pay attention to a single word I was saying. When I read my balled, he had criticized me far over my opponent. He informed my opponent that he needed to "breathe, relax, and find your confidence", and with that, he'd be a "star debater." Whereas with me, he said I needed to "gain confidence." To add to it, he described my opponent to be loud and with a great voice. Me, on the other hand, had to reads words like "bossy," "sassy," and "an attitude that is VERY unprofessional." When a man is speaking his voice, he's a boss, assertive, and a leader. When a woman does, she's bossy, aggressive, and a bitch. At the end of the day, no matter who did better in that debate, I did nothing to read the words "star debater" against my, "sassy." So, I went to talk about this in my speeches. I would talk about sexism I faced, and I would bring up how I felt about that debate. I had a man have the audacity to tell me I needed to stop being bossy, and then I would have men write down how "sexism doesn't exist anymore, sweetie." Just because the ratification of the 19th amendment passed in 1920 does not mean sexism doesn't exist. I have faced countless times of being called a "bitch" and more. I was only 15 when I read a mans comments about my voice in comparison to my opponents. That was just under two years ago. I sit here, waiting for 27 days to pass so I can call myself 17 and "the dancing queen." I am always thinking about that paper and what it had to say about myself. I've since then become more attitudinal, and I don't put up with men's shit. But with that in mind... no one listens to women. No matter how many times I tell doctors that something hurts, they see me as dramatic. No matter how many times I tell a teacher I don't understand, he thinks I'm looking for attention. This harms women, especially the youth. Young girls see their problems as inconvenient, all because a man won't listen to them. If we were to listen to women, we could empower them beyond the point of return. In doing so, we could have a progressive world. Women are smart and they are capable. We don't have attitudes and we aren't bossy all because we're saying what on our mind. Women have souls and thoughts and minds, and they deserve to be listened to. It baffles me to see the way women can be treated in comparison to any man. If we were to listen to women, we would empower every woman that is sitting down, typing on her computer, wondering who is out there.

My best skill is not closing my mouth. As a little girl, I was always shy, and I still am, but I don't close my mouth when I'm passionate. I fought against my entire former High School in order to change our racist mascot, and because my friends and I never backed down, it worked. I didn't shut my mouth when people told me my abuelo needed to "go back to Mexico", or when they were disgusted with my fluidity. I've never shut my mouth towards these things, and I don't regret it. I didn't stop protesting for Black Lives Matter, and I still believe in it. I'm proud of myself for this skill. I'm a skilled writer and a skilled drummer, but that's not what I'm best at. I'm best at opening my mouth and protesting for what I believe is right. I believe in human decency, and I have never once regretted my continuous attempts to make the world a better place. At the end of the day, I know people don't like to listen to girls. Because of this, I have consciously made my voice known. I have had no choice but to speak louder than the boys, and I'm happy I have the opportunity to keep speaking. No matter what, I refuse to be silenced. When the odds are against you, you have no choice but to be the loudest and the boldest. Since I was a little girl, I have known the odds were against me. This has only pushed me forward. I know for a fact that even if I'm the most quiet person in the room, I can roar like a lion, the King of the Jungle, when I want to.

Never back down. It's simple, but I've lived by it. Doing this, I've managed to get myself on Creative Writing opportunities, gotten excerpts of mine in a published book in 8th grade, and my most proud moment of all... I changed my schools mascot (Kickapoo High School, Springfield, MO) that I attended years 9-10. To me, never backing down means that you're a strong woman and that you hold your ground. It does not mean that you don't have to be "nice", but it rather means that you are true to your opinion. Women are taught that they need to be silenced, and that we have no voice in the world. But nowadays, we are speaking up to our opinion. I'm a perfect example of staying true to my opinion and never backing down. I don't regret it, and I never will. If I regretted it, I would've given an apology for my actions that I feel I had done wrong. Giving an apology is not backing down. I will gladly state my opinion and I refuse to back down. It has gotten me closer to the finish line than anyone else.