not for the books

Performed at Speak For Yourself:

Not for the Books

Welcome to school!
Day one:
Halls riddled with talk of summer vacation
and the smell of brand new clothes.
Winter crept in and we were halfway done
99 football jerseys,
12 bad breakups,
2 english classes later,
we are on the home stretch.
In 35 days we will be far from here.
And it won't be long before even the echoes of my name disappear.
Tomorrow I'll be gone
and soon after, forgotten.
The hallways will no longer carry the weight of my footsteps.
The mirrors will not remember my reflection.
My name will be stripped from the honor roll to make room for next year's
and soon after,
we will be forgotten.
I don't care to be remembered.
This is not for any legacy I want to leave.
I'm not trying to make you shout my name to the sky or write it in the stars.
This is not because I never made it to the front row of the student section,
and this is not because I've had my heart broken.
Twice.
Three times.
I'll be the first to admit, I am not a legacy leaver.
I didn't come expecting to change Lone Peak forever,
but I've got a few things to say.
I think we're all waiting for someone to read in between the lines.
"How are you?" is still waiting for a response other than "good".
So I'll try-- I'll try-- to be the person that makes everyone erase their fine print.
Lets pick up the small talk and throw it out the window.
Shatter every glass wall put up by high schoolers who feel small.
Show each other that bridges are meant to be walked on.
Not burned.
That you, and me, and he will never be the same.
But we were never meant to be.
So hold up your white flag
and surrender your heart,
to show people you have one.
And just because the knight in the commons can't call you by name,

there's more to this story than that.

xx Sonny Jean and Avery Moon



(AKA Ruby and Whitney Porter)

so mine won't stop beating

There's a stream of young love crawling through my brain cells and this is a parasitic relationship. It feeds off me and I just get sicker, see, my instagram feed is starving my heart. But I stare. I scroll. I stare. I scroll. I starve, and there's not enough soul to pass around the table so I spoon it into the mouth of those I love, because I know what it's like not to feel that. I sit hunched like a bow and arrow, done being pulled back, hoping to fly soon. And maybe this time Cupid will have something to do with it. But my spine is close to snapping and so is my heart.

So I hear that if two hearts are pressed together for long enough they pulse together, so maybe you will let mine catch up with yours. Then we can talk about more than the weather, like how your family is and what I missed when we were apart. But your guard is so high and I haven't even passed the bridge over the moat filled with words we never said. Saying them is one thing and thinking them is another. You never did either of those and I was always the one who gave it my all so you didn't have to. We're dipping our toes in quick sand and heaven knows we won't end up in the same world when we sink. You're on one page and I'm on another and we aren't even in the same library, darling.

 But that never stopped me from trying. Trying til my bones burst with love for your eyes, clearer than the rarest diamond. Your hands more tender than rain drizzling on hot shoulders. There aren't many things that turn me cold but late night strolls with you are one and I don't think it was the moon blowing chills down my neck. I told you I loved you. I sat like a puddle at your feet, waiting for you to finger paint your skin with my pigment and revel in how beautiful we were together, but no. You put on your rain boots and splashed my pain all over the concrete. You were simply having fun on a rainy day. Childish was your game and guys have always been better at sports. My hand-eye coordination has never been sensational, but I'm good enough to catch a hint. Not strong enough to follow it. See it's hard to convince the brain that this is just friends, because "just friends" have never stared at each other that long and "just friends" don't feel adrenaline when their noses are close enough to touch but just shy enough not to. So sorry for misplacing the hint you dropped.

 But this time is different. I'm taking this, along with every song about someone else, every Sunday night, every meal that was never a date, and keeping that in its place-- the past. We can move forward together, but this time not hand in hand. Love has no boundaries but sometimes there are war zones that scream Do Not Enter and now we know where those lie: In each vein and artery of those who feel love as unrequited; who grow anxious over the long stream of boys and girls in love, wondering if that will ever be them. So let my heart grow close to yours, and this time it's only so mine won't stop beating.

xx Sonny Jean

I remember...

I remember Spring Break 2k15 and not writing one blog post.

I remember the dream I had last night. My 52-year-old mom was pregnant

I remember wishing I could smash every mirror I looked into.

I remember when Lil Wayne was my hero and I was thirteen-year-old thug

I remember family reunions on the beach. Now everyone is a little too busy to get buried in the sand.

I remember begging mom for a small dog. I had saved an entire $100.

I remember my first B. Calculus last quarter.

I remember when dad and mom sat the kids down. Dad was crying and petting the dog like it would be the last time.  

I remember the time I told my mom she seemed to have grown a mustache. She replied with a passive aggressive "Well isn't that swell, Ruby."

I remember swimsuit shopping and how much I still hate it. 

I remember getting pinkeye and looking like an alien when I woke. My eyes have never felt the same.

I remember my second day at Lone Peak High School. I never really grew fond of B-days after all.

I remember watching Full House and mom walking in on a sexy part. "It's not usually like this, I swear!"

I remember my first kiss. We had just swapped silly bands and I had on my fave Bob Marley tee.

I remember when I dropped my baby sister. I blame the babysitter. I had roller blades on, hello!

I remember dating a loser. He still is one, even more so. 

I remember the Nintendo 64 and GameCube. Straight G.

I remember when my big sister ran away with a pack of cigs and a small green backpack. She always had the essentials ready to go: black makeup and a fresh pair o' undies. (a rain poncho too, duh)

I remember inadequacy.

I remember devastation.

I remember wishing I could have Tina Fey's humor and Kylie Jenners' lips. Still do (duh).

I remember being pissed that he held hand with another chick. Not cool, dude. I wish I'd just forget it.

I remember being in the friendzone (yay! ain't it fun?)

I remember each time someone didn't give me the time of day because of my appearance. It never occurred to me people could be that shallow until I came to good ole LP. We notice, people. (i still love LP,and you k, whatever.)

I remember cheering on the Ragnar runners at 3 in the morning.

I remember drill team, 6 am practices, ugly AF wigs, and never winning first place.

I remember running cross country and always winning last place!

I remember taking first in the 100 free in my heat. Girls swim took state that year. 

I remember when my pet snake bit me. I felt like Kissin' Kate Barlow off of Holes, when she lets the yellow spotted lizards devour her.

I remember screaming and crying when I discovered Terik had left. I remember finding out how he did it.

I remember the fear of forgetting my life and what has happened. How much does it all really matter?

I wish I remembered more.

Say hello

On Mondays I get cash flow for practicing the art of Burrito Wrapping.

Tuesdays are for thinking caps and Calculus.

Wednesdays I bowling with Priests or cut out hearts with Beehives.

Thursdays are for giving dad bear hugs and watching Cops.

Fridays are for flickering candles and the acoustic guitar.

Saturday- anything and everything goes.

Sundays I wear my heart on my sleeve and take notes. Sundays are for snuggling. Sundays are for homework due Monday. Sundays are for bloggin' and farewells and pulled pork sandwiches. 

I'm just a small town girl, livin' in a lonel--

Who are you?

Sister of 7.

Step of 2.

My thoughts are hurricanes and I landed at Lone Peak 7 months ago.

This place is a different planet and I came from Pluto: the one that doesn't count.
There's more oxygen here but less heart.

You know me as Sonny Jean.
I love the sun and the stars.
I love rodeos once a year and churros from Disneyland.
I love my mum and my dad.
I love Grandma Sonny
and Bonnie Jean.

Say goodbye to Sonny Jean.
Say hello to the real me.
Say hi to

xx

Ruby Josephine Skagerberg.

BLIND

To try something new, I'm going to write this post with my eyes shut.

Currently, I have a Christmas themed pillowcase on my head.

I'm inside of a Christmas pillowcase with squeaky rodents like mice and squirrels on it.

They're my only company along with the voices inside my head.

My stepmom just asked me what I was doing, So i forgot where I left off.

i vow to not look until the end and make no changes. this is ironic bc I'm adding this after I finished. But really I didn't change anything. or look.

Trying something new.

You're welcome Nelson.

I'm in a pillowcase.

I am blind.

Recent events have brought me to pponder my life if I was, indeed, blind.

If I was blind,

my children would be black as night

and my husband would be too, which I wouldn'tbe upset over. ;) (smiley face)... did I hit the parenthes?

If i was blind, I would read braille, a skill thatis rare and exotic.

If i was blind, I would feel all my other senses more intensely. I thnik we could all use a little more feeling in our hearts. Especially me.

If I was blind I would eat food by how it tastes, not the way it looks. Also, maybe I would eat only until I was full and I'd lose some weight.

\

 I lost my train of thought. Thanks, Little Sister.

If I was blind, I wouldn't judge a book by it's cover.I would never judge a book by it's cover. I would judege it for the way it made me feel, what it taught me, the r rhythm of words that sink into my mind and into my heart. I would feel those words more intesely too.

I  would never no the injustice of judging another human being by their cover.

I've been the recipient of that far too many times and it would be nice tostop passing it along. No wonder blind people are more compassionate.

If I was blind, I wouldn't see how wlong her lipstick stays on, or how chiseled hismuscles are when he's "not flexing". I wouldn't have to compare myself to the girl next door, because I've always felt a little bit less than her. I wouldn't behold the glow of her tan, fresh from the Virgin Islands.

I would see how she speaks of others so generously, giving them every benefit of every doubt.

I would

Another

"why do you have a thing over your head?"

I wowould feel his his ribcage expanding and contractingas he whispers "i love you" into my ear.

I wouldhear the smart thingsshe has to say in class, not the way she looks while saying them.

I would see the things that matter.

I wouldn't be blind to the aesthetics of their soul. To the Flawlessness of their laugh.

I would behold the world through different eyes.

A set of eyes that few people on this earth get to experience.

Feel more. Do mmore.

Be blind to things that don't matter.

Don't be blind to the things that will matter when we are all old, grey, ugly, and some, literally blind.

Hm. I might keep this pillowcase on permanently. It's not too bad under here (minusall the COtwo up in here

Walkahalfmileinsomeoneelsesshoes

xx

Sonny Jean

Fluid Feelings

And my mom is laying beside me

Worried about fixing the problem,

but as soon as she walks away,

I tremble.

It's mostly my torso quivering.

Shivering.

Trying to cage my feelings

where they belong:

in my gut.

But fluid feelings still leak

in the form of salt water

stinging my eyes

puffing them up like red balloons

in the summer.

I pull the covers over my head,

because what's coming out of my eyes

is infectious

and contagious.

One set of stinging eyes

is enough.

My heart is more sensitive than my eyes.

And these feelings erode

my eyes,

my brain,

my heart.

Erode.

Erode.

Eroding my heart.

THINGS I WANT TO DO

• Climb a HUGE rock
• Write a song I'm proud of
• Throw a pie in somebody's face
• Drink 8 oz of water/day
• Find my happiness
• Actually finish a book series 
• Write more letters
• Move out
• Be nice to my brothers
• Eat good food
• Be fancy and paint my nails
• Learn the difference between Republican and Democrat
• Fall in love
• Fall in love with myself
• Grow my hair out
• Pay someone to clean my room
• Recieve an allowance
• Spell Receive right the first time
• Buy the first ticket outta here
• Go to college
• Pass the AP Calculus test
• Get more sleep
• Kiss
• Graduate college
• Get more sleep
• Graduate high school
• Belly laugh
• Stay up late
• Be the early bird
• Stand out
• Be important
• Get paper
• Charge my phone
• BECOME A FAMOUS RAPPER
• Do unto others as I would have them do unto me
• Love my neighbor
• Do my blogs on time

too drained

My apologies,
I miss him and I feel a little too drained to drain anymore.

So this will be short, and swee-- maybe not so sweet.

Maybe we are all waiting for someone to read in between the lines.
Because telling others you're sad is uncomfortable
But answering questions is a bit better.

But I saw Terik the day before he left,
And his small print was way too fine to make out.
I couldn't have read in between his lines
Even if I tried,
For which there is no one to blame.

I'll try to be the person that makes others
Want to erase their fine print.
To be open, free, showing their insides, vulnerable.

We should all want that for ourselves,
For others.
So what are we waiting for?


Again, my apologies.
Love me anyway.

xx
Sonny Jean

Bricks: inspired by CJ

Look at this collection I've got:

A brick from the wrinkled picture in my wallet

and another for the song he's singing right now.

I got this brick from the words I was unprepared to say,

and two bricks for the time I said way too much.

A brick from our trip to cobblestone streets and pubs

and a brick for the strings on my guitar.

This one is from my mum's wide grin

and thoughts of Prom floating around in our heads.

Lies floating around our hearts.

I've gathered bricks from lonely limbs

and peanut butter honey toast.

This brick is from surfing with my dad

and standing up to him too.

I've got a nice collection, you see.

But the bulldozers headed over.

So stay out of the bricks, 

you belong somewhere else,

somewhere special.

Don't just be another brick.

xx

Sonny Jean

he and her. look at that.

I see the way he looks at her.

And if his sight could stretch 700 miles,

I know he'd still have that derpy look on his face.

But when he closes his eyes, he can see her.

He sees her laying on her back, 

strumming chords,

singing hallelujah.

He sees her.

She sees him walking foreign hallways,

with perfect strangers,

head down,

thinking of her. 

She sees him.

And boy, when he talks about her

it's like she hand-stitched the galaxy,

or at least illustrated theirs.

He marvels at her eyes when she's upset

and drowns in them when she sings,

because paying attention to anything but her

when they're side-by-side

would be nothing short of a miracle.

He's got a past and she's out of his league,

but they've been friends since 4th grade.

Best friends since 6th.

And said goodbye in 9th.

But they knew it was more of a see-you-soon,

call-me-when-you-land-in-Utah, type of deal.

They're not even together, but he'll

buy the first ticket to wherever she is--

All she has to do is say the words.

She's the first 12 lines in 

every journal entry and 

he's her back scratch in church

and chicken noodle soup on a sick day.

I don't know if they've ever kissed,

but their words have touched enough to

mean something,

and their hands have held 

long enough to feel it too.

And who said love means kissing?

And to think this could be me and you.

xx

Sonny Jean

Please don't play it safe

Love was a starlit spark on the last day of our summer.

The morning school drifted in, Love had morphed into a
stoic, foggy glance that I didn't recognize.

For quite some time, Love took a selfish vacation.
Dad told Mom to sign the papers,
and my birthday present was moving
half of my crap to the other house
and buying another set of everything
to try and make it feel sort of like home.

I didn't think Love was a cheater,
but I felt cheated.

But hey, Love rolled back in,
Like a drop of red food coloring
in a vase of pure water.
With sweeter talk and darker eyes.
Love was my first New Years Kiss
and Love snuck through my window
when no one was looking,
but climbed back out when I wasn't.
He never really came back.

But then I put love in the mirror.
Gosh, it took so much more of me than I could give,
but I fought hard to love that girl I saw.

A little bit of that love is still around somewhere.

I chased Love up the hills in the summer,
and Love played the acoustic guitar.
He walked me home while crickets sang.
Love was not who I expected,
yet so familiar.
I promised myself to steer clear, because he would be
just like the last one-- remember how
sometimes Love is ugly and knotted and accidentally unrequited?
But Love was a pair of iceberg eyes that hit me so hard,
and I was the ship
       that could never sink?
       My heart was the intoxicated captain
       that drove me straight into something I'm still trying to recover from.

But I don't mind that.
At least I am feeling.
Wrong timing,
poor placement, as long as I'm not numb,
I don't expect Love to be safe
or perfect.
I'll just keep exploring it,
running circles around it,
laughing at breakfast with it,
and kissing it hard,
because Love needs Love too.
Please don't play it safe.

xx

Sonny Jean

A few thoughts. Two actually.

.. And I like that about you.

xx

Sonny Jean

breathe me

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Am I not a robot?

It's not that simple.

It's more like b-b-breeea-thhe in.
And a sharp, short HUH out.

You gave me butterflies--
Knocked the wind out of me--

And my heart went ba-ba-boom
                                                     ba-boom
                                                                       ba-ba-ba-boom.
Ticking off rhythm.

A robot's heart wouldn't create that speed-to-stop-to-slow-melody with an anatomical beater.
It can't create something that soulful-- that incredible.

But-but-but-then again, butterflies are a fight-or-flight response.

I think a robot would be programmed to fight or flight.

Am I not a robot? Hm.

I bleed, but I can fix it myself.

Show me robot who can heal on its own.

I can heal on my own.

Like, leave me alone; I'll deal.

A robot wouldn't say that either.

Someone else would decide their fate for them.

I'm not a robot.

xx

Sonny Jean

Like a Polaroid

Like a Polaroid picture,

Parts of your heart appear gradually 

as time goes on.

Each line crisper,

emotion clearer.

A beautiful clarity comes

when I discover the unknown parts 

that I've been holding 

in the palm of my hand 

this entire time.

And as more is revealed,

it continues to shine.

Forever remaining

in the palm of my hand.

xx

Sonny Jean 

A Snowman in June

My therapist gave me a black paper, white crayon.

I was 7.

I had a therapist. 

I drew a snowman in June.

SHE TOLD ME TO DRAW WHATEVER I FELT.

But when I drew a snowman, she looked at me funny and said,

"The season's a little off, don't ya think?"

It was blazing hot and snowmen don't belong in June.

Just like a 7-year-old doesn't belong in a shrink's office.

I mean, Claudia was nice.

Anyway-- I furrowed my brow,

threw the snowman away,

threw my hands in my pocket

and kept em there.

Now I follow trends. 

I had a Tomagatchi.

I wore silly bands.

I uSeD tO uPdaTe mY StaTus liKe tHis.

I have an iPhone.

I use Instagram.

I peg my jeans.

I wear Alex and Ani.

I'm a product of my environment.

That snowman in June was no product of his environment.

But he ended up in the trash,

so kiss it goodbye

and conform.

xx

Sonny Jean

The poem I'll never deliver

And I hope one day
I don't see your face in every boy I meet.
Because I know in a sea of people,
You were never looking for me.

xx Sonny Jean

Trivial Pursuits

         

         Hey, Sonny Jean here. Nelson said I should make this dope, or you probably wouldn't be back. I'll try my best to make you stay.

What you see is not what you get, because you're staring into a computer screen. I am not a computer screen. I am a human being, but more than that. 
I am my thoughts.
My assumptions.
I am my excuses and reasons.
I am my questions and quirks.
Oh, and this?
This is about my parents' expectations and my bad driving record.
This is about where I go during lunch and why I don't like choosing partners.
This is about the 10% of my brain I use and how
                           half of that was destroyed
                   stressing over the ACT and                                           
             the other half
     dedicated to solving other people's problems.

This is about beginning to solve my own too. 

Like why the pages of my notebooks are full of 
                 unrequited love poems and 
                 the childhood I've nearly forgotten.
Or why I can't throw food away, or
the way I hold on to
every single note 
                ever written to me.

I am my questions, like
     Why didn't God make me a singer?
                     and
     Is ignorance really bliss?
                    
These are trivial pursuits, I tell you,
but they make up who you know as 
                       Sonny Jean.

Not a computer screen.
             
             Eyelashes;
           Lungs;
         Breath;
       Pores;
     Pupils;
   Lips.
  

xx
Sonny Jean