Alphabet of Life-ing: God

Link to project page if you haven’t read it from the beginning:

God and I have a very strained relationship at times and, to be honest, that’s my fault. God is the type of entity that has arms spread wide open always to anyone, no discrimination. He wants everything that I hold. The thing is I like holding on to the bad things sometimes. They’re mine and they comfort me. It’s when I’m truly alone that they become a burden and they eat away at whatever light is left. God wants it, he wants all these bad things because he can take them on better than I can.

The thing about Him is he doesn’t ask sometimes. Either that, or he’ll wait for a blind spot. A moment where I’m in great need and I open myself up exposing every ugly shattered thing. He takes surgical pliers and pulls and untwists them. He doesn’t keep them, but throws the mangled pieces away or crushes them between his index finger and thumb. He tells me to be patient because there’s work to be done and I cry out in pain. Although he’s taking the jagged and filthy portions away, it hurts because of how long it’s been attached to me. It’s fused in with all these important things and as he peels and pulls, my chest caves and I fight to breathe. Every nerve of my body is on fire and I cry like a newborn.

Being at church, hearing and giving praises. Listening to his words. . .reading  them and watching them manifest. . .with every thing I soak in, with every moment I allow myself to receive him, I feel like this. An overwhelming wave of both pain and relief: the two most confusing emotions to feel at the same time. Although I don’t allow Him take everything in one sitting, I pray for the day I can.


Alphabet of Life-ing: Fear

Link to project page if you haven’t read it from the beginning:

My fears are small and possibly normal, depending on who you are, what your fears may be, and what your version of ‘normal’ is. I have a tendency to care for them rather than get rid of them. It’s because I allow myself to be controlled by them. They make up the rules I set for my life to keep myself from getting hurt and, in turn, I have to keep them around. They’re etched like tattoos inside my brain and manifest themselves into tangible beings when they need to. They’re the whispered thoughts that inhabit my brain, telling me dark nothings that cause lack of sleep to post it’s status on my face.

I feel weighed down, but it’s hard to let go. It’s hard to imagine what I’d be without them. Without the fear of being loved, I’d be hurt too often. Without the fear of acceptance, I’d be pushed away. Without the fear of curiosity, I’d possibly be demonized by a body of people composed of love. Without the fear of comfort, I might be looking for release in the wrong places. These fears I have act as my sheild and my survival. How can I live without them and how could they live without me?

I’ve become ruled by them, so my unsolved problems, doubts, and worry wreak havoc as my body continues to move forward. Without these fears I know I’d be lighter and maybe even happier, but it’s a weight that I don’t want to let go of. At least not right now when I need it the most.

Alphabet of Life-ing: Exhaustion

I nearly forgot to post this today since I didn’t post it yesterday. . .also because I forgot. My brain gets extremely scattered all over the place, so things happen, but this portion of A.O.L has actual dialogue. A friend of mine that’s editing this said that deep thoughts are great, but in order for the story and the character to develop there needs to be some form of setting and interaction. That’s kind of what I tried to start with this portion, so it’s a very rough attempt that will be cut down and most likely revised into something else. My friend has not read this yet, so it’s not as ‘polished’ (not to say the other portions were perfect, but there was some adding and removing and editing and. . .other things that went into them, despite it still being a work in progress).
Hopefully you enjoy this portion and for anyone that has not read any of the other letters, it’s not extremely necessary to go back and read what I’ve written for the first four letters. It just paints an even picture of the characters thoughts and perspective. Here’s a link to the page that just has posts for the story and nothing else:


When it comes to the weekend, I find myself shedding what feels like pounds upon pounds of feelings I held during the week. My thoughts and emotions become louder and my brain begs and pleads for silence. My body feels aches and pains that I didn’t know the cause of and I find myself in a state that seems like a mature feet up postion/lay down combo. It’s one of the reasons I hate being left alone with myself. In these moments, I call out for a friend. Unlike most people, I have very few that I can call for moments like this. I actually only have one person for moments like this.

I pick up my cell phone and dial the number without glancing at the keys. The dial tone sounds and I hear a click. I speak without a greeting, naturally.

“Have you ever had a moment where you just felt like you couldn’t be around yourself?”

Laughter bubbles on the other end, “I’m doing fine, how are you?”

“I’m sorry, I just got excited.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Explain further.”

” I just. . .I just can’t stand being around myself lately. I’m having issues just spending time with myself in a room. My brain won’t shut up and I can’t concentrate.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”


“Because those are moments when you realize how much you’re feeling at once. You’re brain’s trying to tell you that you’re holding too much in. You shouldn’t do that.”

“Sometimes I don’t have anyone to talk to.”

“You always have me, Sara.”

“But you’re busy. You have school, your girlfriend, home. . .I don’t want you to have to shut off time just to deal with me.”

“Don’t think about it that way. You’re my best friend, you can always talk to me no matter what. Just because we have seperate crap means nothing. We’ve got long distance on lock by now.”

“I know.”

“Then know that I’m here for whatever you need.”

“Thanks, Rae. Besides my weirdness, how are you?”


“Why ‘semi’?”

He pauses,
“It’s Lace, she’s kind of . . .wanted more attention lately. It’s taken a lot out of me.”

“Tell her you need some time to rest. I’m sure she’ll get it.”

“I feel like she’s not asking for much, though.”

“She is if you’re exhausted.”

He sighs, “I’ll survive.”

I hear a beep on the other end, “Speak of the angel, she’s calling right now. Could I call you back later?”

“Yeah,” I say, reluctantly.

I press and feel a whirlpool of thoughts come to the front of my mind. I surround myself in a bundle of my sheets and comforter, hoping to drown the thoughts with sleep. Praying that my full exhaustion weighs to the point where my resistance caves in and I let my subconcious take over.

Alphabet of Life-ing: Define

This one still needs work, but posting it doesn’t hurt anyone (I hope. . . .).

If you haven’t read A,B, or C, here are the links for them:


Also, here’s an explanation of the project:

Please enjoy this, if that’s possible 🙂

Definition is purely based on perspective. Race is a funny and slightly accurate example. Ask someone what their ‘race’ is, and see what you get. Race is specifically fixed on physical characteristics, nothing more, but ask someone their race, and they’ll tell you my raid of things such as: black, white, African American, Hispanic, Asian. Notice there’s not many blatant ‘characteristic’ words in that list besides ‘white’ and ‘black’. An Asian doesn’t have a bubble that says ‘slim build, slightly slanted eyes, and small features’ nor does a Hispanic have ‘widened facial features, stalk build, and slightly pale to tan complexion. Based on what someone looks like, we’ve created customizable boxes that naturally generalize those characteristics with one word. Now, we’re all smart enough to know that no single race contains all the same features. There are many different Asians, Spanish/Hispanic, ‘white’, and ‘black’ people. For instance, not every ‘black’ person is from Africa. Are they still black?: yeah, because they share the same general f.eatures that help them graduate into that category, but whatever else about them is dependant on their culture and origin. Do people argue about this?: yes, because our perspective of races has a tendency to be based off of stigmas we create in society. When a certain person doesn’t fit that stigma, we question their race. Naturally when a black person isn’t ‘acting’ black, we rip the title away from them, completely disregarding the definition clearly written in the dictionary and basing our opinion on our perspective alone.

Should we stop this?: kind of, because it makes some seem ignorant when they use perspective to pin point someone’s race. We forget that people grow up in different places, experience different things, and grow up near different people. A black kid growing up on the south side of Chicago versus a black kid growing up in Zimbabwe are going to have major differences between one another. Does that make either of them less ‘black’ than the other?: no. In fact, they are both just as black, if we’re going by the text book definition that we should be going off of in the first place. Where am I going with this you may ask?: just giving an intro to defining. How I defined things changed over time or. . .more like my perspective changed which changed my definition of things. See what I did there?

When I was in middle school, it was pretty much puberty mode for everybody else, and I felt like school had become Noah’s Ark. Everyone was pairing up as if the world were flooding, and I realized I didn’t really have another platypus to pair up with. Disregarding the fact that I was too young to really be engaging in these things, I pinned it on looks. I felt that I wasn’t pretty enough and that’s why I couldn’t find another platypus to get on the boat with. It was a close friend of mine who lightly curb stomped me and  explained to me that the insides were what mattered. That it all depended on what your personality was like at the end of the day.

That’s when I had my ‘oh shit’ moment and realized that my insides were mere shrapnel in comparison to my looks. I was and am a broken human being who was vapid and dimwitted enough to think that looks were what was keeping me back. I realized my definition of ‘desirable/attractive’ was based on the warped perspective of a 12 year old. I had carried that into my first year of highschool, only to receive a Tekken Law kick to the jaw by a friend that, at the time, said one of the few wisest things I’d ever hear. I realized how ugly and undesirable my insides were. It just made everything look worse by association and I crumbled for awhile. I later realized I had to accept some of those things and remember that my perspective had to change to make my definition more accurate. I had to wake up and see that if my insides weren’t up to par, what really made me attractive or wanted in the first place? Why pine for someone when my internals are the equivalent to dog vomit?

If I feel like my personality is that of human fecal matter, why put that on someone knowing the result? Am I wrong for feeling like it’s pathetic to come to someone in pieces rather than whole? All  I can say is that having this piece of mind has molded me into someone that realizes that the inside shows right through. I’ve never been more grateful to realize at the age of 14 that. . . .I’m broken. It’s not my weight, it’s not my face, it’s not my lazy eye, it’s not my lack of certain parts, it’s me. I just needed to fix my definition to see that. To gain a new perspective.


Alphabet of Life-ing: Coffee

I didn’t post anything yesterday because there was nothing to post O.O. . . .I had nothing done yesterday because I was sick and started training for work 😦 but today is a ‘project #2’ day, so enjoy this third installment of ‘The Alphabet of Life-ing. I’ll be posting letter ‘D’ tonight also. If you haven’t read letters A or B, here are the links:

Letter A:

Letter B:


I probably sound like an addict when I explain my love for coffee, but it’s one of the few reasons why living seems worth it. Coffee is more to me than a small dose of caffeine in the morning or afternoon. It’s not a pick me up or something to generate warmth.

First it’s the process. The whir of the coffee machine and the command of more water put in the well, followed by the silent purr of the water warming. The Italian roast kept above the the coffee machine peeks out from the cubbard. I grab it and shake it into the filter, smelling the dark and powerful aroma as I close the top of the machine. The coffee begins to fill the pot and the faint smell from the grounds becomes stronger and fills the room. I wait until every last drop has fallen. The anticipation is exciting and calming all at once. I choose one out of the many of my mugs, a tall deep red one.

I fill my cup and leave room for add ins. The thrill continues as I get a can of condensed milk and watch a dollop drip into the cup with satisfaction, adding a one more just in case. I take a spoon and stir, watching the brown turn into a light beige. I sit next to the open window and brace myself. As soon as my lips meet the cup, I feel a sense of warmth and security. A sense of home and comfort that I wish I felt at home. I savor the smell and the taste while I look out the window. The few times I feel safe is with a cup coffee in my hand. I feel safe. . .I feel warm. . .I feel like myself.


Alphabet of Life-ing: Body

Here’s the second chapter of my story. For and explanation of this project here’s the link:

I hope you guys like this 🙂

I’ve always felt like my body wasn’t a proper representation of myself. In some ways, it reflected my neglect and work ethic, as well as how well I managed to replace a candy bar with a banana. In the morning, I’d often try to take in my swollen and sunken eyes and ragged lips. My waist had shrunk from diet changes and stress and I still couldn’t manage to grasp exactly how this body was mine.

Of course, physically, it embodied the love of my mom and dad, while showing what I’d done with that love. It represented features that presented my ethnicity and past lineage. Still, I couldn’t see myself.

I wanted a picture of what I thought I looked like. I wanted my dark eyes to exude the lust I pent up within me. I wanted scars, bruises, and fresh wounds to show how broken and battered my head felt. My hair wasn’t desheveled like my confusion. Only matted by a silk head wrap. My eyes and nose didn’t run from past frustration, they were clear and untouched by any bodily secretions. It made me angry because I felt like my body was lying to everyone. Because I couldn’t see what I was and people couldn’t see what I was, I felt even more disgusted with myself.

How am I supposed to see what other people see if I can’t even get a glimpse of what I think I should look like? Positive comments on my appearance can’t even help me because I spend too much time playing ‘where’s waldo?’ with my facial features to understand the origin of the comment. Where does ‘pretty’ describe me? Where do I fit in to ‘beautiful’? How can I reflect anything outward that is ‘gorgeous’ when I look like a half made monster on the inside? Explain that to me.

The statement isn’t rhetorical and it’s not meant to elicit more comments on my body to boost my self confidence. It’s an honest confusion and outcry that comes from a real place. So, explain it. Explain why that is.

Alphabet of Life-ing: Apology

This is the beginning chapter. Although it seems counterintuitive to post my project on here, I feel like it helps to see how people recieved my writing in general. I hope you like it and feedback or advice is very welcome 🙂


This is my moment to apologize to you, but let me take a second to give a brief back story on why I need to do this:

I’m obnoxious, overexcited, loud, forgetful, whiny, and have emotions ranging from 1 to however many buttons are on a fruit ninja. Sometimes I can’t control that. Sometimes, I get so comfortable that a part of my brain says ‘yes, continue. You’re doing fine’ until society tells me otherwise seconds later. It’s made me realize that these are qualities that are attached to me. Whether I cover them up or try to get rid of them, they happen to spontaneously pop out. For this reason, I try to be as apologetic for myself as possible. My personality has broken a friendship, annoyed the living essence out of people, and shown me that I cannot and should not grace anyone with my presence unless given direct confirmation that it’s even appropriate or acceptable to do that. I condense myself to help make people say ‘oh, well she’s not great, but she’s not annoying’.

The idea of being basic has become my mantra because I choose to put myself into a box. Sure, it’s the equivalent to being a bagel and cream cheese, but who, besides someone who’s lactose intolerant, turns that down? Who really says ‘you know, that bagel and cream cheese just aggravates the hell out of me’ or ‘ that bagel and cream cheese is the last thing I’d choose for breakfast’. Unless you’re one of those people that believes that bagels are evil and bent on world domination, you accept it for what it is. You don’t necessarily look back at it, it’s not your first pick, and it’s definitely not exciting to look at or think about, but it’s okay enough to pass the standard of ‘average’. It doesn’t offend and  I strive to keep the goal of staying as basic as possible. It’s my apology to the world for my existence because of how irritating it can be for those sharing the same corner of the universe as myself.

For that, I take this moment to apologize to you. Yes, you reading this. No one asked you to peak in on this existence. No one signed you up to peak in on the life of Sara Wayte. You blindly looked through books, got trapped by the title, and thought ‘that’s quirky, I like that’. Now you’re stuck. You had the option to choose donuts, a banana, even a freshly squeezed glass of orange juice. What did you choose?: a bagel and cream cheese. I’m forever sorry for your decision and frankly, I’d like to say you have terrible taste, but you didn’t know. It’s okay, though. You’ll get through this somehow, if you stick around long enough.