Think of these as my unrefined poems, short pieces where I pour my heart out, think things through, and essentially just talk to myself.

“4 Bd. 2 Ba” — by Amanda Peck

I’ve never been a believer in love and romance. Probably because I watched my own nuclear family explode – family dinners ended in shattered plates and slammed doors – which ruined my appetite for years. 
For as long as I can remember, I’ve preferred to eat take out or microwavable dinners from the frozen aisle. I tend to avoid real plates and utensils in favor of paper and plastic. Easy to dispose of, no clean up, and the plates can’t break like real ones do. 

But something changed. Now I want to cook a homemade meal, from scratch. I want to chop onion and garlic, roast seasoned potatoes, and cook a medium-rare steak with rosemary and butter. I want to set the table with cloth napkins and tapers. Pour large glasses of wine that perfectly pair with the main course. I will wait for you to walk through the front door and tell me about your day. You’ll eat your fill and tell me you’re stuffed, only for me to pull out a fresh apple pie that we both devour with vanilla ice cream. 

My once cold standing showers turned to bubble baths where I scrub your back and you lather my hair. 

My once twin bed with a thin quilt turned into a queen size with fluffy down blankets where you watch your shows on one side while I read on the other. I used to tell myself that I didn’t like physical touch but now every night I fall asleep in your arms. 

I never dreamed of the white picket fence. I always assumed my life would be constant moving from one place to another, apartments with fake fireplaces that would always stay cold.

But something about you made me break all my nonconformist rules and turned me into a traditionalist, restoring my faith in a godless world. You have turned my cold and un-beating heart into a warm and crackling hearth of a four bed, two bath home. 

“The Underdog” by Amanda Peck

I’ve always liked rooting for the underdog. I found romance in the story of David and Goliath; beating all the odds and proving people wrong always gave me a thrill like nothing else could.

Maybe it started when my brother and I made a bet on who would win the 2012 Super Bowl. It was the Giants versus the Patriots and my brother was convinced the Patriots were going to win. And even though he was older and clearly had a better understanding of the NFL, something in me told me to take the bet, prove him wrong. It was the best $10 my nine year old self had ever earned.

That determination to win against the odds continued throughout my life. From campaigning for student council president in fifth grade – against the most popular girl in school – and winning, to working my way to earn an acceptance letter into UC Berkeley. I’ve always loved proving people wrong, especially myself. Seeing the faces of shock that made my heart pound kept me rooting for myself as I played the role of the underdog.

But for once, I got it wrong. I was the one standing with my jaw on the floor, egg on my face. Rug ripped out from under me, laying on the floor with my head pounding staring at the ceiling. Wind knocked from my lungs. 

He was my first bad bet. He told me how he was a mess that night we spent driving through the hills. He laid out what I thought were all of his flaws. How he’d never been able to stay in one place for long and how he always seemed to get things wrong. Even when we spent the whole night in his bedroom with the lights off, sobbing into each other, he told me that he was no good and that I deserved better. I took all of this in and thought, well, he got it wrong again, just like he’d said he always did. 

I still thought I could root for the underdog and come out on top. I wanted to be right so bad, I believed I could make him good, help him to finally get it right. I was willing to be his safe place so that for once he finally had somewhere to land. It wasn’t until much later that I realized, it wasn’t him that got it wrong. It was me.  The Patriots won, Goliath defeated David, and I finally lost. I placed my chips on the wrong square, guessed the wrong answer, and you were right.

Journal Entries

New Year’s Day

2020 has been a moment in time that has been cruel to many, ripped families apart, taken loved ones, and shined a light on people’s true colors. It has been a year that will go down in history, infamously. However, no matter the cards that were dealt to me, I can say confidently that I made the most of this incomprehensible year. When school closed, I was excited and thrilled at the time off. And when I couldn’t see my friends, the relationships and bonds somehow only grew stronger. When the Black Lives Matter riots broke out, I took it as an opportunity to educate myself and become an ally. More personally, when I was faced with heartbreak, I only emerged stronger thereafter. When the election and all the games began, I stood my ground and spoke up for what I believe in. Even when depression took hold of me and strapped me to my bed, I managed to get up. Everytime I have been beaten down this year, I still fought my way through and made it to the end. 

Many people went into 2020, excited for the best year of their lives. Maybe this year didn’t give us the best moments we could have had under different circumstances, but it did teach us to appreciate every little bit of life we got. To savour each sunset, each rainy day, every meal, and every day we woke up healthy. 2020 was supposed to be the best year filled with the biggest adventures, but instead it was the year full of small moments and finding beauty in the mundane. 

I am grateful, though, that I was able to experience this moment in time in my youth because it has transformed me into a completely different person from who I was before. I have learned the importance of change, the value of empathy, and the virtue of patience. 2020 was not a waste of a year; I would not have grown up as much as I did and would not be the person I am today. As the ball dropped, the clock struck twelve, and the curtain lowered over 2020, I rose my glass to the year that took as much as it gave. As the bitter bubbles of champagne filled my mouth, I toasted to this wretched, dark, twisted, unforgiving, and strangely beautiful year. To 2020, may the lessons I learned stick with me through 2021 and forever onwards.

“Tip Toe” by Amanda Peck

Life lately feels like i’m tip toeing to the edge of a cliff. Every step I take leads me further to looking straight down into the vast chasm of red and orange rock. I toss my cap in the air with my best friends, and I inch forward, still with a hundred yards ahead of me. I take my first class at the local community college, another 75 yards. I rip open the envelope containing a ticket into my dream school, another 50 yards still ahead.

I find my very first apartment, perfect for one, tiptoe. I kiss my loved ones goodbye, “I'll see you in a month,” tiptoe. I pack my grayed and frayed stuffed animal into my suitcase and zip it up, tiptoe. Orientation starts and I tiptoe. Staring down the barrel at what will be my first and last year of undergraduate school, I tiptoe.

It is not until the wind picks up, while I’m looking down at my ever-creeping feet that I look up and see the great canyon beneath me, only a few more yards of ground left.That’s when I feel a drop in my stomach and my knees wobble. I turn around to look behind me and I see all of my family and friends cheering me on, wiping away tears, pride lining their smiles. They shout encouragements that get lost in the wind and by the time they make it to my ears they sound like the mumblings of ghosts. My favorite teachers clap and raise their arms high, my hometown best friends jump up and down, and my parents — who have not been fond of each other for many years — embrace. 

I still my feet for one moment. One moment to take it all in and to measure the distance between myself and the ghosts, and myself and the ledge. It is about 200 yards from me to them, and about one yard from me to the cliff and I can’t remember how I got here when just a minute ago I was eating soggy cereal in front of the TV playing cartoons waiting for my dad to take me to school. Just the other day I was sitting in fourth period waiting for the bell to ring for lunch. Just one moment ago I was wishing to be 'anywhere but here. But now I am “anywhere but here.”

The wind whips my hair across my cheek and I come back to my body, remembering that I am not there anymore, I am where my feet are: three feet before the ground drops off. Fear begins to encroach. I don’t know what’s at the bottom. I don’t know if there will be water or jagged rocks down below. I don’t know if I'll remember all my lessons in school about how things fly.  

I can’t remember if it’s the beat of the wings or the weightlessness of a bird's body that allows it to glide along the clouds. I hear whispers through the wind that tell me I can turn back. I can run back to the people whose faces I can’t even make out from here. I can turn back and never find out what’s at the bottom, I don’t have to be scared anymore. 

The moment has gone on for too long and the whispers start to grow louder. The voices start to rage at me to back down, go home. They scream at me that I’m just a wingless girl, I am no bird and I never learned how to fly. They grow so loud that I slam my hands over my ears and curl into myself.

When I look for help, I see that my ghosts start to look worried, but they haven’t moved toward me. They stay where they stand; no one is coming. 

No one is coming. I can turn and crawl back, or race to the edge and find out what makes a bird fly. 

I look out at the carved out earth in front of me, the iron rich rock laced with weeds, and glance back once more to the people who got me here. They are still waiting for me to decide. I am still waiting for me to decide.

The wind rages once more, and that’s when I stand back up, test my shaking legs, and sprint forward.

For a moment I am suspended in air, weightless, and then I fall.