RealTalk Poetry • White Girl Hungover

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” Maybe your friends wouldn’t have to cut you off. They wouldn’t hold your wallet hostage. Promising you a drink on every hour.”

You participate in the initial cheers.

Clanking the brim of your red plastic cup against their glasses. You take a picture of the cluster of arms. FILTER: Velcinia. CAPTION: “The night has begun!”

But now – it’s the morning after.

If you could go back, put color on the night, be granted a do-over, go home one-hour earlier, or take one drink back – then maybe you would do things differently.

Maybe you wouldn’t perform your version of the ‘Dougie’ while taking occupancy center stage. Maybe your friends wouldn’t have to cut you off. They wouldn’t hold your wallet hostage. Promising you a drink on every hour.

Maybe you wouldn’t have initiated small talk.

Spending 30-minutes convincing a male by the bar that you’re “dehydrated”. You wouldn’t make contact with the seat of the only unclogged toilet, trying desperately to catch your balance between the cold metal stalls.

Maybe you wouldn’t put on a grin while dodging security and rehearsing your “I just can’t walk in these heels”, cry. You wouldn’t have embraced the satisfaction of screaming “CHUG” in a stranger’s face or challenging a group of high-tolerance frat boys to a Jäger bomb shot battle.

Maybe you wouldn’t have slumbered with a garbage can wrapped within your arms.

A Tylenol and water bottle wouldn’t be bedside, waiting to mask your bad decisions. Leaves wouldn’t cover your body. Evidence of something your can barely recall.

Maybe you wouldn’t be tiptoeing around the sleeping bodies on the ground.

You wouldn’t have a sticky mess beneath your feet or the smell of stale beer teasing your queasy stomach. You wouldn’t be lecturing yourself about your decisions, asking your Uber driver to chime in, on the ride home.

You wouldn’t be white girl hungover.


This image was illustrated in collaboration with Lemon Chicken Por Favor

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BEING Young & Twenty Submission • Penelope

BEING Young & Twenty Submission

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Penelope Roselyn
Her Sundered Spirit
Age • 24

“Anxiety is not a part of me, but rather, a part of my life. It doesn’t define me, own me, or represent me.”

I’m about halfway through this decade and I’m realizing one thing about my 20’s.

These are the most anxious years of my life. Who knew?

I’ve been anxious all my life.

My parents attributed it to school. My teachers to a rocky home life, but me? I KNEW there was something deeper. Something stronger. Something NOT dependent on circumstances.

This was something a part of me.

Here I am, out of school, and 500 Miles from home.

My anxiety still prevails. The world is my ocean, yet my anchor is planted to the bottom of the sea and will not budge. I’m stuck. Just swaying whichever way the wind blows. Victim to the storm I sit in.

BEING Young & Twenty, I’ve realized that anxiety is not a part of me, but rather, a part of my life.

It doesn’t define me, own me, or represent me. It cannot be wished away, but I don’t always have to let it consume me. This is why I blog. To be strong. To be courageous, and to be a voice to those who struggle. I create myself a place of serenity, security, and freedom.

Here, I dump the anchor, raise my sail, and soar into the sunset. The sunset I deserve.

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RealTalk Poetry • Untouched Places

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Take your steps long
and make your steps smart.

Never let your steps stay
in the place where they start.

Find pavement that’s fresh
and views that are new.

Find a place that will let you
be the YOU that is true!


This image was illustrated in collaboration with Lemon Chicken Por Favor

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BEING Young & Twenty Submission • Brooke

BEING Young & Twenty Submission

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Brooke Haley
Remnants of Beauty
Age • 19

“Why does everyone who isn’t young and 20 put us down? Why are you focusing on the bad when there’s still good?”

I wonder why everyone wants to be 20.

Have you ever talked to a college student about their life before?

Have you ever asked them how they’re planning on paying off their debt? Or how they feel about themselves? Or how society has been affecting their thoughts?

BEING Young & Twenty is one of the hardest times of our lives.

Being a strong woman in college, I must tell you how strong we actually have to be. We need someone to tell us we’re doing a good job, sometimes. Someone to say, “I love you and believe in you”, every once in awhile.

Most people are ashamed to be in this generation.

But me?

I’m proud to be a part of this generation!

I challenge you to be the brave one who kicks fear in the face for their passions and the people around them. Be the one that reminds the world that love endures all things. Honestly, I could have everything but if I don’t love people, I have nothing.

Let’s make BEING Young & Twenty about loving unconditionally again.

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Love & Lust • Heartbreak Is An Encore

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“Heartbreak is the chilling feeling that you’re doing everything wrong. That this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.”

Heartbreak is a powerful diagnosis.

It’s the sorrow of a lonely bird. The crumbling of an expired cake. The nostalgia of a Top 40 song, overplaying itself on the radio. Heartbreak is the chilling feeling that you’re doing everything wrong. That this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

It’s the disbelief, the regret, the wish for one more chance.

Heartbreak is an encore. It’s a broken record, refusing to let the song end. It’s the honesty of a photograph, unable to change with the people in it.

But, how many times can you let the same person defeat you? You sacrifice our self-worth for the familiar because you settle – and you accept.

Sometimes they’ll look your way, smirking as if deprived of your body. They’ll send you a text every few months, slipping in a childish emoticon. They’ll press their shoulder against yours at the bar, reminding you of their mere existence. And not sometimes, but always, do you read too much into these things.

And so, you continue to look their way.

You hope to connect one last time. You rehearse your response to their texts – whipping your phone in critique when your words simply won’t flow.

You disregard the eyes of affection,

the real love that comes up,

the ones who can rewrite your pain.

They’re begging for your time and attention like you’re begging for someone else’s’.


This image was illustrated in collaboration with Lemon Chicken Por Favor

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