Blogs, Not Vlogs

I royally suck, considering it has been over 2 months without me posting any of this, after I swore that I would.

After my 18th birthday, Michelle and I decided to take a short trip up to Colorado. Mainly to decorate with her parents for , but while we were there we decided to surprise people while we were there.

It didn’t really go as planned.

I explained to everyone that we were going to Colorado, and that I’m going to vlog about it. However, I am extremely camera shy and hated feeling as if I was talking to myself. I ended up being too embarrassed to “vlog.” I did, instead, take many videos that I could compile in one. 

I hope you enjoy me screwing up this “vlogging” and horrible camera angles. At least I tried, right?

Michelle picked me up early that morning, and we drove out to Little Elm, where her parents had been staying for the Thanksgiving holiday. When we got there, we moved over our things, hopped into her father’s truck and were on the road for the 12 hour trek to Woodland Park.

About 2 hours later, we stopped in Collinsville, an incredibly quaint town where some of Michelle’s family lives, to visit with them for a while.

Her family is loud and lovely, and if I could, I would sit in their kitchen drinking coffee with them every second of every day. 

As you can tell, Michelle is much more aquainted with the camera than me.

I’ve been on many a road trip with the Hilson family, and each time Michelle and I have the same assortment of road snacks and accessories. Without them, the 12 hour ride wouldn’t be as tolerable.


  • Chex mix (cheesy flavor, or original for me.)
  • Chips, flavor depending on our moods.
  • Drinks, also depending on moods.
  • Blankets for naps.
  • Chargers
  • Books, depending on moods.
  • Dramamine, because both Michelle and I get car sick.
  • Tunes. Disney, alternative, screamo, sad music, rap, anything in between.

After waving goodbye and climbing back into the truck, we jetted off again.

Before leaving Texas, we stop at a steakhouse that was quite sketchy to say the least. But it wasn’t…all…bad!

After that, it was pretty dark, so I didn’t get many videos. We ended up arriving in Colorado super late that night. Michelle’s pets were there to greet us. Let me tell you, when you see a dog for the first time in a really long time, it is probably the best greeting in the world, no matter how tired you possibly are.

Michelle is exhausted if you can’t tell.

The next day, we were sick. Really sick. I felt so horrible, I didn’t take any videos. I barely got up, honestly. 

After a humidifier and some medicine, I woke up the day afterwards with some more pep in my step.

The Hilson family has had a tradition for Christmastime since before they moved to Colorado. They all go as a family and cut down a Christmas tree. I never had the pleasure of tagging along, but this time I did! It was freezing up on Rampart Range. I don’t know how anyone could possibly camp up there, let alone walk two steps. 

It was about 45 minutes of hiking. By hiking, I mean losing Ric and Michelle and debating on whether or not I should pee in a bush. Tresa and I eventually found Michelle, but Ric was still nowhere to be found, so we just kind of stood there and waited for him. 

I was completely turned around in this forest. For the record, I am not an outdoorsy person under any circumstances. My feet were soaked and my nose was running. How do the people of Colorado do this?! 

We found Ric, and most importantly, we found a tree. Now, this tree wasn’t the best tree on earth. It was skimpy, and sort of oddly fluffed. I’m one for taking a liking to things that don’t blend in, which is why I believe I loved this tree.

Michelle insisted that she cut it down by herself.

We traveled down the pass to the Springs, and shopped for decorations at Home Depot. Keep in mind how I said I was nothing short of a horrible cameraman, so excuse the awful movement.

(This video makes me laugh hard at Michelle’s face)

We decorated the tree when we got home, to the point that the tree looked as if it was glittering before our eyes.

At this point, I was pretty sad because our time was running short and I hadn’t seen anyone I was planning on seeing. However, after someone informed me of a choir concert happening that next evening, my hopes were once again high considering everyone participates in choir in Woodland Park. It was as if the universe was looking out for me!

These videos I actually talked to the camera, though I felt insane or something.

This video is literally 2 seconds long because my phone glitched out as I was walking over. But in case you can’t tell, that’s our friend John. It would have been a video of him saying “What are you doing here!?” He was completely thrown off.

(Excuse the shotty camera viewings. What a nice floor Woodland Park High School has.)

It was amazing. Seriously. If you ever want to meet incredible people, just go to Woodland Park.

Afterwards, we thought that people were going to change so we awkwardly stood out in the lobby. Then, we realized they were leaving so I turned into a chicken with its head cut off trying to say goodbye. 

“Hey do you know where John went?”

“Is Noelle back there?”

“If Noelle is back there, will you tell her we are leaving?”

*messages Savanna 10 times to find her.*

*calls Noelle a zillion times.*

“Did you see where Amanda went?”

It was totally a spur of the moment decision, hence why it was difficult to find anyone. In retrospect, we could have just told people we were there instead of trying to surprise them. But come on, that video is the best.

We later found Noelle in the parking lot about to leave, so we did get to say goodbye to her! 

Afterwards, our friend Olivia invited us to come stay with her that night, and she would drive us to the airport in the morning. It was bittersweet going back to Texas, as I missed my bed, but hated being away from people who meant a lot to me. Tresa and Ric are always the hardest goodbyes.

Liv most definitely cried.

We did reach a slight issue as we were getting ready to walk through airport security, though.

I once read that dermal piercing make security beepers go off, so I was definitely on edge. I also realized while waiting in line that my keys have a small thing of pepper spray on them, and wasn’t sure if it was considered a weapon. (Though it was on the list of what not to bring.)

After our flight, we went into our work and ate fried pickles.

Needless to say, we definitely enjoyed our trip.

In conclusion, however, I think I will just stick with my blog and my words, rather than my face and a camera.

Maybe I should also take a photography class?
Until next time,



Music; the Epitome of Being.

When someone is in trouble, I do my best to help them. Well, this is the way I know best. Considering I have readers in Australia, Pakistan, London, Russia, and even Bolimia, I figured if there is anyone out there that can help, my readers definitely can.

I attended Woodland Park High School for a short, six months. However, in that time I made more friends than I had in the 12 years I had been in Texas. These people, lemme tell you.

I was honestly astounded the minute I stepped into the school, because it was as if music just lingered in the atmosphere. Music was what played for the passing period bells. Music was what my teachers played in their classrooms. And musicals was what was stirring up in the air as auditions had begun that week for their Spring production.

Anyone who has experienced school in Texas knows that football is a way of life. No one heard of musicals, especially in my town. We did one musical my freshman year, You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown, and I thought it was great. I was baffled when no one else at my school wanted to do another one!

(Royse City High School’s Production of You’re a Good Man Charlie Brown. Pictures belong to Holly Stone.)

Music was everywhere at Woodland Park High School. Everyone, including the sports players and teachers, supported the upcoming musical, Leap of Faith. It was a completely different atmosphere for me. It seemed as if everyone there came out of the womb dancing and singing and playing an instrument. 

I decided to attend their talent show to see for myself if the talent there was really as big and bad as everyone claimed it to be. Well, I was definitely taken back.

So much talent, I could barely stomach it. I hadn’t seen so much amazement since I saw a Dallas Summer Musical. 

Vivace performed a song I had stuck in my head for about a week afterwards. You can see their cover of Brother by Needtobreathe here.

These people have their music program at stake right now. Why them? They are so lovely, and talented, and most of all beautiful. They are a small town, with huge hearts. Below I will include more videos of these talents, if you are not already convinced.

(Woodland Park High School’s 2016 Madrigal Choir singing Africa by Toto at Cabaret Night.)

(Hannah Hobson, at the time junior, and Noelle Bovee, at the time sophomore, singing NBC’s Smash rendition of Frank Sinatra’s That’s Life at Cabaret Night 2016.)

(Grant Zeller, at the time senior, and Mia Troxell, at the time sophomore, singing Let me Love You by Ne-Yo.)

These are just a handful of videos from the 6 months I was there. Need more convincing? Feel free to hit me up. 

Help these talented people by signing their petition below. They’d really appreciate it, and I know I would. Feel free to share around wherever you may be.

Woodland Park, I hope I could be of some assistance. I love you all with my entire heart.

Until next time,


The Green Dragonfly Dress

Attachment problems, you could say I had, as a young girl, and even now. When I loved something, I gave it all I had. That included the outfit I wore for as long as I could remember.

It was white with ruffles on the shoulders, though by the time I outgrew it, I’m sure it was moreso a faded yellow. The bottom half was caressed with thin green stripes, and on the right side of the beltline, there was a dragonfly.

I loved this dress, as I recall I did everything in it. If it was intended to be a dress you wear to church or an Aunt’s wedding, those rules never entered my mind. 

The dress was a safety blanket for me. I wore it so often, and played so much, that it was ripping and shrinking off of the skin I grew. Not that it bothered me one bit, as I continued to wear it. 

I wore it outside when the smell of chalk invaded any possible room for oxygen. Pinks and reds and purples and greens all stained the white of the dress, and the late afternoon sunbeams warmed the crease in my neck.

I wore it inside when Barbie went swimming inside the hollowed bathtub of our sky-blue walled bathroom, close enough a sky for any imagination. Barbie made too much a splash and water drenched the front of my dress, but it slid past my thoughts. Later on, the drying of my dress would harden and crinkle against my skin, because now it was not as soft as it once was, and the chalk stains turned to paint.

I wore it on the trampoline with my little sister, who loved to act as if I was an egg and the goal of the force from her small, twig legs was to crack me open. I held on to my knees as a koala hangs on to his branch, bouncing like a ball, and swaying from side to side, scuffing up my dress on every inch. Black skid marks were a token from the trampoline that I never once took for granted.

I wore the dress while eating dinner, the hill of spaghetti a force to be reckoned with. Not even I could control where the slurps and slips of each bite would land. Most on my dress, some on the floor where the dog would wag and sniff and lick. 

A few years later, the dress had become a shirt and I had beyond outgrown it. My little sister was handed it down, but I never knew what happened to it afterwards. I liked to believe that it was given to another little girl to play around in, or donated to someone else. 

About a month ago, I was sitting in a restaurant when I saw a blonde headed girl wearing it. 

Maybe not the exact dress, even though I would definitely love to believe that. She sat in the booth with her family and older brother, eating spaghetti.

I like to believe she loves chalk, Barbie, and trampolines too.
Until next time,


We Must Raise Our Children Better

I attended my first lesson in self hatred probably way before I was 9 years old, but this time is my first recollection that comes to mind. I was at my grandmother’s house for a sleepover with my cousins, and to save time, we usually all bathed together. At 9 years old, I had already grown boobs, and was utterly terrified of my body. As my cousin and I were undressing, my grandmother sat on the side of the bathtub, waiting patiently for it to fill up. I could feel the burning of her eyes on my skin, so I folded my clothes and looked at her. Her eyes went back and forth from me to my cousin. She then laughed and said “Wow, Taylore. You’ve gotten a lot bigger than [cousin] you should probably stop eating a lot.”

That was all it took for me to start hating myself. I started looking in the mirror more. I started comparing myself to other girls, which no 9 year old girl should be doing. I started wearing tight bras, hoping they’d hide my incoming boobs. All before I even turned double digits.

Now, I’m not saying the self deprecation of my teen years was all of my grandmother’s blame. All teenage girls lack self-love and appreciation at some point. However, mine came way too soon. 9 years old is incredibly young to count calories.

My friends started getting that way too, saying that their parents had pointed out that they had gotten too chubby, or that their skin was too flaky. One of my friend’s mom had her run a mile everyday because she wasn’t skinny enough. Another friend’s parents locked up the pantry until they decided it was time for food.

Both of the before mentioned girls developed eating disorders and mental health problems in high school. One of them even went to a hospital for a long time after she stopped eating. The other attempted suicide.

At 9 years old, we weren’t supposed to be constantly checking the mirror and starving ourselves to be beautiful. At 9 years old, we were supposed to be scampering amongst the playground in a state of imagination. Fighting off armies, presiding over a royal court, swinging through vines atop the Rainforest. Instead, some of my generation skipped out on that part of their life to make sure they were losing weight. We grew up way too fast.

Because instead of teaching us to love yoga and fruit, you taught us we needed to be skinny.

Because instead of showing us that 6 meals a day, including snacks, is better for your metabolism, you taught us we needed to be skinny.

Because instead of letting us be kids and knowing we will figure it out for ourselves, you taught us we needed to be skinny.

Because instead of teaching us to be healthy about our lives, you gave us all eating disorders.

I’m not saying that our parents have everything to do with our outlook on things, but they kinda do. Who raised us? They practically put ideas into our heads since the moment we were born. Sure, as we got older, we made things for ourselves. Which is why now, I can look back and wish I had learned to be healthy rather than starving myself just to look like a size 0. I learned myself as I got older.

I lost some of my childhood trying to be skinny instead of playing pretend. I should have played pretend more.

I say all of this in hope for a better future, where our children can stay playing pretend for a few more years. I for one, want to teach my children healthy habits, such as eating a granola bar for a snack, rather than a bag of chips. The longer they can put off self-hatred the better. Who knows? Maybe with our parenting, we can help depression rates go down. I want to teach my children to love themselves for who they are, instead of hate themselves for what they’re not.

We should have been slaying the giant, not slaying ourselves.
Until next time,


Liars Upon Liars

With almost any writer you encounter, they will all have one enormous detail in common, and that is their ability to write the best in turmoil. I, however, am somewhat different. My body shuts down in low times, and that includes my gift of writing. 

I haven’t written substance in a long while.

I’m frustrated to say the least with life, because not once did anyone tell me it would be this way. I thought it got easier, at least in my case, with people. But to tell you the honest truth, people just get worse. And maybe that’s because as we get older, we learn the harsh reality of our world, which makes us cold.

I’ve always refused to let the world make me cold. I give love more than I receive it, regardless of how many times it has screwed me over. I give my all for the people I love. When I say that I’ll always be there for someone, I mean it. Maybe the problem is, I say these things meaningfully. But now in society, I feel that many people say it just because it’s what you do, whether you mean it or not.

For example, when someone greets you by saying “Hey, how are you?” you typically reply with. “Good, and you?” despite whether you’re well. For all they know, you could be dying on the inside. But you would never say that. It is just what you do.

Is that how many of our words have turned now? “I love you.” “I’m always here.” “You’re always my number 1.” Has our world become so lazy that we can’t tell the truth anymore? Or have we all just become so cold? 

I make a point in my life to let the ones I love know that I love them. At any point, tomorrow could be gone. And I will have spent my life giving more than receiving because people don’t know how to be honest. People forget to love. We become so caught up with other things, that it just slips out of our mouths without actual consideration.

If you don’t mean “I love you,” don’t say it.

If you don’t mean “I’m here for you,” don’t promise it.

I, for one, am fed up with the false hope being put out in the world because people are too scared or lazy. Say what you mean. Mean what you say. 

I’m tired of being heartbroken over the words of the falsely advertised. 

I don’t know when it started being “cool” to not care. People in my generation have decided that starting a conversation with someone first is lame. If it weren’t for me starting conversations with most people, I’d never hear from them. That’s incredibly sad.

Here I am, ranting about liars, yet not one time in my past have I ever abandoned a liar that I love. And I’m not about to start.

I just wish humans could be real.

Because if you love someone, they should never have to question it.

Yet. Here we are.
Until next time,



I died today.

It was a bittersweet moment as I took my last breath, exhaling everything that crippled throughout my past. Within the last few moments of 11:59 pm, November 24th of 2016, I see everything flash before me. The mountains I’ve climbed, the barriers I’ve broken. And needless to say, I’m incredibly proud of myself. 

I found myself grinning from ear to ear.

Then, I died.

The clock struck 12 am, November 25th of 2016 and I died.

     I turned 18 today. And although some may call me crazy for considering a birthday a death date, it all makes sense within the premises of my brain.

   You see, the milestone of turning 18 has a different meaning to everyone. For most, it’s the year they officially become an adult. They can buy cigarettes, lottery tickets, spray paint, and sharpies. They can vote. They can make their own doctor’s appointments (not that they will.) And while yes, all of these reasons are still true, the year of turning 18 has a totally different meaning for me.


     I’m not proposing that I should run amuck with red, white, and blue sparklers while flying on a bald eagle. Not that kind of freedom. But instead, freedom from everything that has held me back in the past 18 years. I feel as if this is exactly how a prisoner feels once being released into the sunlight for the first time. 

     No longer am I restrained by cold, steel bars of a jail cell. Rather, I can run as fast as my feet can carry me as the wind flows through my hair, my feet flopping against the dark pavement.

     I’ve been waiting for this age for such a long and weary time. 18 means freedom. 18 means I’m free of being controlled legally by someone who wanted nothing more to do with me than to control my life. 

     I died today because I no longer have to be that person, surrounded with fear and unstable surroundings.

     I feel secure, stable, and most importantly, I feel blessed. How beautiful of a life this is.

     For the past years of my life, I’ve lived in fear that everything I have could be ripped from my reach at any point. It was highly possible. As long as I can remember, it had been me counting down the days until I was finally free from my father. Until 18 finally made its’ way into the picture. And here it is.

      My, is it lovely.

     I woke up to a different point of view today, because no longer was there a heavy weight on my shoulders. I don’t have to worry any longer. I’ve always told myself “He can’t hurt me anymore.” But now, he really can’t hurt me.

     Everything, from this point forward, is up to me. I choose. I choose happiness instead of fear. 

      I feel lucky to say the least. There have been dark times. I owe almost everything to the Hilson/Hill/LeBeouf family for being the light at the end of the tunnel for me. Also my mother, sister, and brother were the ones who stuck through my entire life. I thought that whenever the majority of my family left, I’d be left with only a handful of people. However, with the loss of them, I gained a family ten times better than the one I lost. 

     For that I am eternally grateful. 

     I used to think of my life, and back into a corner. Things weren’t in the cards for me, because I was constantly being controlled by someone who wasn’t even physically around. 

      F. U.

     Anything can be in the cards for me now. I am in control of my own life. 

     The biggest part of this birthday for me is seeing that I made it. I did it. Unless you’ve struggled to stay breathing, you won’t fully comprehend the gravity of another birthday. 365 more days of breathing. Sure, it’s the simplest task known to man. I take my life breath by breath. There’s not much else we can do. Change overwhelms us. So I take it breath by breath by breath by breath. 

      18 years of breathing. That’s one hell of an accomplishment, I’ll say. 

     Today marks a new chapter in my life. I’m the author of my own story, so I’ve decided to name this chapter “Free” for obvious reasons. 

     Who knows what the next 365 days of breathing have to offer me? Maybe it’s phenomenal. Maybe it’s horrific. Maybe we just get through it, and that’s all we can really wish for.

      Like I said, all we can do is keep breathing.
     Welcome, 18. I’ve been waiting for you.
Until next time,


People Like Us

“People like us are lucky. People like us survive. We’ve always known: we’re in this alone. And that’s why we’re still alive.”

     What exactly is friendship?

     Is it laughing out loud until your stomach is knotted?

     Is it crying together?

     Not all friendships are the same, so your definition may be completely different than mine. 

     A younger me once sat at the end of my bed, hoping someone-anyone- would come into my life and stay. 

     Some bumps, bruises, scary music, and evil laughter later, Michelle crashed into my life, with a burst of flames. I have to say though, I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my entire life.

     On my blog, I write about a lot of important topics. Somehow though, I’ve seemed to procrastinate writing about one of the most important topics in my life. Why? I’m not sure. Maybe because I couldn’t weave the words together to even begin to converse about my best friend. Maybe I found it absurd to try. Whatever my reasoning was, it is no longer a reason to me anymore. No more excuses, Taylore.

     Our society ravishes with delight in hearing of the latest break-up story, or who is sleeping with who, but we don’t pay much (needed) attention to those around us that make us flourish and laugh; enjoy life and despise it. We have so much time to edit the selfie of ourselves, but never time to show how much love we carry for our most important life-partners:


      Since each friendship is unique, I want to appreciate our differences and similarities. 

      One of our friendship details is the fact that we both love theatre. It’s how we met, really. Last May, the two of us had our last show together. We participated in Leap of Faith. In this particular show, there was a song titles People Like Us, and it has become a very important song. 

     As an ode to the song, I’ve written a poem about my best friend in the entire universe, Michelle. 

 People Like Us (vol. 2)

People like us stick together when life gets rough

When the waves start to tumble,

And the road gets tough.

People like us stick to our own version of reality,

We find it much easier

To stick to each other, just you and me.

People like us sometimes cause a fight,

But will wash it all away,

When  you call me in the dead of the night.

People like us truly know

That no one can comprehend

Just how far for each other we’ll go.
Thank you for the tears,

For the laughter,

And the relief throughout the years.

Thank you for acceptance,

When I needed it most.

Thank you for everything,
The ups and the downs.

No one can understand

How lucky I am

To have people like us.

    Now, I encourage you to show love to your friends by writing your own stanza of “People Like Us.” 

     Do people like you sing at the top of your lungs together? Do people like you share a hobby together? 

     Life gets hectic. So make sure you tell the ones you love that you love them while they’re still around to hear it. With so much hatred blasted around our world, take the time to spread some love.

     I love you all. Thanks for supporting me,  making me feel as if my words actually matter. ❤
Until next time,