I am the girl that doesn't go to school dances, or games, and when I do go, I sit in a corner and read a book. I am the girl that people look through when I say something. I am the girl that spends most of her free time reading, writing, or doing other activities that most teenagers wouldn't call normal. I am the girl that people call weird and a freak either behind my back or to my face. I am the girl that doesn't spend all her time on MySpace, or talking to a girlfriend on a cell phone or regular phone. I am the girl that hasn't been asked out in a year. I am the girl that has stopped to smell the flowers and jump and splash in the rain.

BUT I am also the girl who knows and is proud to be who she is, doesn’t care if people call her weird (it's a compliment), who loves reading and writing and doing the things that no one seems to have the time to do any more, who loves and is obsessed with Percy Jackson, who can express herself better with words than actions, who doesn't need a guy to complete her, and knows the importance of the little things. Copy and paste this onto your account, and add your name to the list, if you are anything like me, so the girls who are different and unique can know in their weakest time that they are unique but not alone: Iheartjake, TeamJacob101, Boysareadrag, The Dawn Is Breaking, secilmis yazar, Holly Marie Fowl, mazzer2k9, Elmlea, LoveBird1014ever,

I am not that girl, The one that is super popular. The one that is rich. The one obsessed with Twilight. The one that will lie to get her way. The one that doesn't care about your feelings. The one that wears her Team Edward or Team Jacob shirt proudly. The one that has a new boyfriend every week. The one that hates her life because she wears size-two jeans. The one that would cry over a boy. The one that loves Justin Bieber. The one that will give up because she broke a nail. The one that started wearing makeup at nine years old.

BUT

I am that girl, The one who likes books more than boys. The one who pretends not to be sad, just to make others happy. The one who reads and writes to escape. The one who just wants to help. The one that really wants to make a difference. The one that sticks to her values. The one that cries when she feels alone and helpless; it only shows she's strong. The one that knows she's beautiful, no matter what others say. The one that refuses to believe that this is it. The one that doesn't care if she eats too many cinnamon buns ... they taste good. The one that people like, because she's crazy. The one that doesn't care if she looks like a retard, because if looking like a retard is what it takes, go for it. The one that will do anything to make a better tomorrow. The one who won't give in. The one who won't give up.

Month one

Mommy
I am only 8 inches long
but I have all my organs.
I love the sound of your voice.
Every time I hear it
I wave my arms and legs.
The sound of your heart beat
is my favorite lullaby.

Month Two

Mommy
today I learned how to suck my thumb.
If you could see me
you could definitely tell that I am a baby.
I'm not big enough to survive outside my home though.
It is so nice and warm in here.

Month Three

You know what Mommy
I'm a boy!
I hope that makes you happy.
I always want you to be happy.
I don't like it when you cry.
You sound so sad.
It makes me sad too
and I cry with you even though
you can't hear me.

Month Four

Mommy
my hair is starting to grow.
It is very short and fine, but i will have a lot of it
I spend a lot of my time exercising.
I can turn my head and curl my fingers and toes
and stretch my arms and legs.
I am becoming quite good at it too.

Month Five

You went to the doctor today.
Mommy, he lied to you.
He said that I'm not a baby.
I am a baby Mommy, your baby.
I think and feel.
Mommy, what's abortion?

Month Six

I can hear that doctor again.
I don't like him.
He seems cold and heartless.
Something is intruding my home.
The doctor called it a needle.
Mommy what is it? It burns!
Please make him stop!
I can't get away from it!
Mommy! HELP me!

Month Seven

Mommy
I am okay.
I am in Jesus's arms.
He is holding me.
He told me about abortion.
Why didn't you want me Mommy?

Every Abortion Is Just . . .

One more heart that was stopped.
Two more eyes that will never see.
Two more hands that will never touch.
Two more legs that will never run.
One more mouth that will never speak.

I was walking around in a Target store, when I saw a cashier hand this little boy some money back. The boy couldn't have been more than 5 or 6 years old. The cashier said, "I'm sorry, but you don't have enough money to buy this doll."

Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him: ''Granny, are you sure I don't have enough money?''

The old lady replied: ''You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear.'' Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went to look a round. She left quickly. The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand. Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give this doll to.

"It's the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for Christmas. She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her."

I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all, and not to worry.

But he replied to me sadly. "No, Santa Claus can't bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mommy so that she can give it to my sister when she goes there." His eyes were so sad while saying this. "My sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mommy is going to see God very soon too, so I thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my sister.''

My heart nearly stopped.

The little boy looked up at me and said: "I told daddy to tell mommy not to go yet. I need her to wait until I come back from the mall." Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing. He then told me "I want mommy to take my picture with her so she won't forget me. I love my mommy and I wish she doesn't have to leave me, but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister." Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.

I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy. "Suppose we check again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll?''

"OK," he said, "I hope I do have enough." I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll and even some spare money. The little boy said: "Thank you God for giving me enough money!" Then he looked at me and added, "I asked last night before I went to sleep for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll, so that mommy could give it to my sister. He heard me! I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mommy, but I didn't dare to ask God for too much. But He gave me enough to buy the doll and a white rose. My mommy loves white roses." A few minutes later, the old lady returned and I left with my basket. I finished my shopping in a totally different state from when I started. I couldn't get the little boy out of my mind. Then I remembered a local newspaper article two days ago, which mentioned a drunk man in a truck, who hit a car occupied by a young woman and a little girl. The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on the life-sustaining machine, because the young woman would not be able to recover from the coma. Was this the family of the little boy? Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the newspaper that the young woman had passed away. I couldn't stop myself as I bought a bunch of white roses and I went to the funeral home where the body of the young woman was exposed for people to see and make last wishes before her burial. She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest. I left the place, teary-eyed, feeling that my life had been changed forever.. The love that the little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to this day, hard to imagine. And in a fraction of a second, a drunk driver had taken all this away from him.

95% of girls would cry if Justin Bieber were kidnapped, copy/paste this into your profile if you're part of the 5% that is torturing your new prisoner

If you're a person who acts friendly, but has an evil mind and is secretly plotting world domination, copy and paste this on your profile

93 percent of Americans would have a severe emotional breakdown if someone called them a freak. If you're a part of the 7 percent who would ask the person, "What was your first clue?", copy this into your profile

Only crazy people can understand the brilliance of crazy things. If you are crazy and proud of it, copy and paste this into your profile!

95 percent of teens would cry if they saw Miley Cyrus or Hannah Montana at the top of a skyscraper about to jump. Copy and paste this EVERYWHERE if you are in the 5 percent that would shout "Jump already!"

92% of the teenage population would be dead if the Jonas Brothers decided breathing wasn't cool. Put this on your signature if you would be one of the 8% laughing hysterically in the background!!!

You Know You're a Book Addict If:

You can randomly open to a page and know exactly what's going on.

Read the book until 4 A.M., then get back up at 7 to continue reading.

You write fanfictions about the book.

You try to get all of your friends (and everyone else) to read your favorite books.

You accidentally call everyone by the character's names.

Everything reminds you of the book.

You quote random lines all the time.

You try to do things that the characters do, even though you know you can't.

You've gotten incredibly bored in class, and debated on doing something your favorite character can do to escape the class.

You have pictures of your favorite characters on your iPod.

You've got a book memorized.

You've read a book more than five times.

You've read a book with 400 pages in less than two days.

You've planned and prepared a siege on a writer's house because he/she killed a character you like.

You've plotted to murder a character and steal her boyfriend.

You hate it when someone calls your favorite character fictional.

You blatantly deny it when someone calls a character fictional.

Your idol is a character from a book.