Mad isn't the word I'd use to describe this hollow ache in my chest.
I've been mad before, quite often in fact.
Mad is white hot, hit before you think, blind.
This is much worse than that.
I wish I was mad, I wish I could cry and rage and scream and it'd be over.
I don't know what to do with this.
This confusion that pounds in my head.
This hurt that squeezes my heart and wets my eyes.
This missing that settles in my chest like rocks and weighs me down.
This feeling that I was all made up of you until you left.
Now, I can't breathe without filling up my lungs with unanswered questions.
I blink away stinging tears triggered by a single word, a single song.
I go on existing, afraid to live, afraid to move for fear that you might come back and I'll miss my chance again.
Wednesday, November 23, 2016
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Morphine Melody
Unsaid words well up and sting my eyes.
I just want to forget.
I start the steady morphine melody drip,
one note at a time,
one song sustaining my heartbeat.
The pain is there, the twist in my heart.
The tug of phantom pain on my hand that itches for you.
Sometimes a line blurs it all out.
A handful of words that slip into my bloodstream and put me to sleep.
And sometimes, it lets me forget.
Sometimes the drug doesn't work,
It just paints the pain in vibrant colors.
But I let it pierce my ear and then my mind and last my heart,
drowning in the sound of forgetting you.
Without ever forgetting you at all.
I just want to forget.
I start the steady morphine melody drip,
one note at a time,
one song sustaining my heartbeat.
The pain is there, the twist in my heart.
The tug of phantom pain on my hand that itches for you.
Sometimes a line blurs it all out.
A handful of words that slip into my bloodstream and put me to sleep.
And sometimes, it lets me forget.
Sometimes the drug doesn't work,
It just paints the pain in vibrant colors.
But I let it pierce my ear and then my mind and last my heart,
drowning in the sound of forgetting you.
Without ever forgetting you at all.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
Almost Midnight
It's almost midnight and I'm choking on how much I hate you.
It's clawing its way up my throat, screaming to be set free.
It's burning everything away from the inside out.
It's filling up my lungs like tar, clogging them and suffocating me.
All I can hear are the lies, all I see is your smile and the hiding daggers in your eyes.
It's almost midnight and I can't breathe because of you,
because of all you've done to me.
The way you broke me, the way you lied, the way you got my hopes up.
It's taking up too much space and I can't think straight anymore.
It's almost midnight and I can't help but hate you for who you turned out to be.
It's clawing its way up my throat, screaming to be set free.
It's burning everything away from the inside out.
It's filling up my lungs like tar, clogging them and suffocating me.
All I can hear are the lies, all I see is your smile and the hiding daggers in your eyes.
It's almost midnight and I can't breathe because of you,
because of all you've done to me.
The way you broke me, the way you lied, the way you got my hopes up.
It's taking up too much space and I can't think straight anymore.
It's almost midnight and I can't help but hate you for who you turned out to be.
Monday, October 3, 2016
Hunger (from October daily prompt)
Desire gnaws at me like hunger.
It's painful. Unavoidable. Persistent. Deadly.
It wrenches my stomach and pounds against my head.
It makes me dizzy. It makes me sick.
It's far beyond the mild craving I once felt; the one I could live without. This, however, is nothing like that. That craving was uncomfortable, but it would pass. All I had to do was wait the feeling out. But I waited out too many cravings and now I need it.
It's no longer uncomfortable but achingly necessary. I can feel the weakness and fatigue settling into my bones. Without you, I can only go on for so long before I start falling apart.
The twinge in my chest is all consuming, threatening my existence. It'll start there; the failure of my vital organs.
First my heart that broke will give out for good.
Then my voice that cried for you for too long.
Next my eyes, over dried, long run out of tears will fail me.
Last the hands that've been too far from yours for too long.
All that is left is a shattered, paper-mache skeleton, fragile and empty because you starved me out of myself.
It's painful. Unavoidable. Persistent. Deadly.
It wrenches my stomach and pounds against my head.
It makes me dizzy. It makes me sick.
It's far beyond the mild craving I once felt; the one I could live without. This, however, is nothing like that. That craving was uncomfortable, but it would pass. All I had to do was wait the feeling out. But I waited out too many cravings and now I need it.
It's no longer uncomfortable but achingly necessary. I can feel the weakness and fatigue settling into my bones. Without you, I can only go on for so long before I start falling apart.
The twinge in my chest is all consuming, threatening my existence. It'll start there; the failure of my vital organs.
First my heart that broke will give out for good.
Then my voice that cried for you for too long.
Next my eyes, over dried, long run out of tears will fail me.
Last the hands that've been too far from yours for too long.
All that is left is a shattered, paper-mache skeleton, fragile and empty because you starved me out of myself.
Monday, September 5, 2016
Unfair
The people who broke us are the ones we crave when the wounds they gave us ache.
The ones who leave don't bare the scars from the fight. And it's always the one who gets hurt that ends up dying.
We get left alone, and we hurt, and we cry, and we have problems for the rest of our life.
And they just leave.
And they're just fine without us.
It's not fair that my broken heart aches for the dozens of people who tore it apart and it's not fair that they aren't around anymore to help pick up the pieces.
The ones who leave don't bare the scars from the fight. And it's always the one who gets hurt that ends up dying.
We get left alone, and we hurt, and we cry, and we have problems for the rest of our life.
And they just leave.
And they're just fine without us.
It's not fair that my broken heart aches for the dozens of people who tore it apart and it's not fair that they aren't around anymore to help pick up the pieces.
Friday, August 19, 2016
Broken Fortress
I was a fortress, bracing for a coming storm.
You came in and wrecked the walls around me.
You broke down every wall before you walked out,
and left me stranded, fighting a raging storm alone.
Here I am, a storm around me and a sea I didn't know about,
washing in from outside.
I'm drowning.
A girl wrecked by blue eyes and a couple of words,
no fortress to protect me from the pain I knew was coming.
Monday, August 1, 2016
Sick Sights
It's been almost seven months now, since I burned that bridge. I knew it would be hard but I thought I'd be over it by now.
I knew it was coming, the dreaded sighting. At the store, on the road, somewhere, somehow, I knew I'd see you all around.
I knew it was coming, I don't know how. It was that sixth sense, I guess, that we all have. You say someones name and they walk around the corner. For me, it was a plaguing paranoia that came from out of the blue.
My head snapped around too fast when I saw your car. It was too obvious. It was too dramatic. It was involuntary and unstoppable.
After all this time, I still had a sickeningly visceral, physical reaction.
I felt like I was going to be sick. I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I couldn't breathe. I dare say a tear fell. All of it, at once, unannounced, unbecoming, unwanted, unwarranted.
Seven months and it still hurts. The fake apologies. The lies. The excuses.
After seven months, time still gets to me. It whispers in my ear and makes me doubt myself. It pushes me into dark, lonely places at night. It makes me want to reach out, to say it was my fault.
I won't. It wasn't, not entirely at least. But it still hurts. And I wonder if it will ever stop or if I'll have to live in this town praying not to see any of you for the rest of my life.
I knew it was coming, the dreaded sighting. At the store, on the road, somewhere, somehow, I knew I'd see you all around.
I knew it was coming, I don't know how. It was that sixth sense, I guess, that we all have. You say someones name and they walk around the corner. For me, it was a plaguing paranoia that came from out of the blue.
My head snapped around too fast when I saw your car. It was too obvious. It was too dramatic. It was involuntary and unstoppable.
After all this time, I still had a sickeningly visceral, physical reaction.
I felt like I was going to be sick. I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. I couldn't breathe. I dare say a tear fell. All of it, at once, unannounced, unbecoming, unwanted, unwarranted.
Seven months and it still hurts. The fake apologies. The lies. The excuses.
After seven months, time still gets to me. It whispers in my ear and makes me doubt myself. It pushes me into dark, lonely places at night. It makes me want to reach out, to say it was my fault.
I won't. It wasn't, not entirely at least. But it still hurts. And I wonder if it will ever stop or if I'll have to live in this town praying not to see any of you for the rest of my life.
Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Lacking Eloquence
I tried to write something eloquent. I tried to make the simple complex. I tried to make the ugly beautiful. And still I stare at an empty page while I drown in emotion.
Do I write of the pain? How I sat there tonight and for the first time, you didn't fall in across from me?
Do I write of the haunting space? How you're in this town and yet, you feel so completely absent?
Do I write of the distance? How there are 1,700 miles between me and a possible future I may never get the chance of taking?
Or do I write of the confusion that stirs when all of these problems slam into my heart at once? How I miss you and want to know what I've done? How I want to see you? How I want to see him? How I feel twisted for wanting you both?
The pain is physical. An aching chest. A shaking hand. A pounding head. A weak heart.
And still the page sits empty and still I sit alone and still he is not here and sill you're gone.
Tuesday, July 26, 2016
Tainted Castle
I did the unthinkable and let you inside my make-believe castle. I showed you the walls made up of words, the characters that live in my head, the never-ending stories that hang like tapestries at every turn.
You made it beautiful. You introduced colors to my black and white world and built new spaces in my head that I'd never dared to explore.
Then you left.
Everything is tainted now.
You tracked your footprint through all my thoughts and somehow, through my heart. The words don't seem right anymore. Not the ones I picked, no the ones you gave. And I begin to wonder if they'll only ever be right with your presence.
I wish you had burned it to the ground. Every inch of me and my many made-up lives. I wish you had set fire to the paper walls and left me with a charred, empty mess rather than this.
Instead you made it better and added color and life and then you left me alone to deal with it all. I thought I had found a collaborator. I thought I'd found a like-mind. A friend.
Now nothing comes out right and the pen in my hand is heavy and nothing feels the way it should.
I keep waiting for the numbness. I keep waiting for the fire. I keep waiting for the end of this maddening confusion.
But my chest still hurts. And my words are still wrong. And my fingers still shake. And the tears still come.
And this make-believe castle I used to love so much is haunting me with the memory of your influence.
You made it beautiful. You introduced colors to my black and white world and built new spaces in my head that I'd never dared to explore.
Then you left.
Everything is tainted now.
You tracked your footprint through all my thoughts and somehow, through my heart. The words don't seem right anymore. Not the ones I picked, no the ones you gave. And I begin to wonder if they'll only ever be right with your presence.
I wish you had burned it to the ground. Every inch of me and my many made-up lives. I wish you had set fire to the paper walls and left me with a charred, empty mess rather than this.
Instead you made it better and added color and life and then you left me alone to deal with it all. I thought I had found a collaborator. I thought I'd found a like-mind. A friend.
Now nothing comes out right and the pen in my hand is heavy and nothing feels the way it should.
I keep waiting for the numbness. I keep waiting for the fire. I keep waiting for the end of this maddening confusion.
But my chest still hurts. And my words are still wrong. And my fingers still shake. And the tears still come.
And this make-believe castle I used to love so much is haunting me with the memory of your influence.
Monday, June 27, 2016
Finding Dory in the Face of Extinction
SOAPBOX TIME!!!
Literally the whole plot of Finding Nemo was that people imposing themselves into an ecosystem that they don't belong to is detrimental to the animals therein. The diver took Nemo from his natural habitat and threw him in a tiny glass tank to "help the poor little fish with a wonky fin".
How can anyone miss that theme?
The fact that the Blue Tang is probably going to be facing extinction after the recent premier of Finding Dory blows my mind.
I LOVE finding Nemo and Finding Dory. They're cute movies. I get it. Hey I'm one of those obnoxious millennials saying "I'll push children out of the way to see it because I waited thirteen years for this movie"(joking of course). But come on, how are people missing the point that the human superiority complex is a threat to natural ecosystems?
Guys it's time to wake up. We are not the saving grace of every animal on the planet. And believe it or not, those clown fish (whose population suffered after Finding Nemo btw) and these blue tangs were actually not put in the ocean for the sole purpose of being scooped up and put into our home aquariums.
I am down with the rescue, rehabilitate, and release process. They key word there being RELEASE. Not capture and breed in captivity until it becomes an inconvenience only to release a completely captivity-bred, unaware, incapable population into a wild Eco-system they have no idea how to survive in.
I believe in helping when we're needed and then sending them right back home. They were made to function in the ocean. There is a food chain out there that they fit into and there is an Eco-system depending on them. The disappearance of one single species could topple the entire Eco-system as they all rely on one another for different things.
Basically y'all, go see Finding Dory.
Buy the stuffed animals.
Plaster your kids walls with murals of sea life.
Name your puppy Dory and your cat Nemo.
Go snorkeling and see them alive and well in their own home.
Whatever.
But let the wild animals thrive the way God intended. Leave them alone. Stop pulling these poor creatures from the only habitat they've ever known for your own personal enjoyment. Stop the demand for Blue Tangs in pet stores. Stop the demand for wild animals to be dragged from their homes so they can become a decoration in yours. Don't destroy an entire species because of a movie. Don't force them to face extinction.
And since I'm stepping off my soapbox for the night I'll end on a more pleasant note: for real go see Finding Dory because its the cutest thing ever and I give it 27 stars out of 5 and I love it.
Literally the whole plot of Finding Nemo was that people imposing themselves into an ecosystem that they don't belong to is detrimental to the animals therein. The diver took Nemo from his natural habitat and threw him in a tiny glass tank to "help the poor little fish with a wonky fin".
How can anyone miss that theme?
The fact that the Blue Tang is probably going to be facing extinction after the recent premier of Finding Dory blows my mind.
I LOVE finding Nemo and Finding Dory. They're cute movies. I get it. Hey I'm one of those obnoxious millennials saying "I'll push children out of the way to see it because I waited thirteen years for this movie"(joking of course). But come on, how are people missing the point that the human superiority complex is a threat to natural ecosystems?
Guys it's time to wake up. We are not the saving grace of every animal on the planet. And believe it or not, those clown fish (whose population suffered after Finding Nemo btw) and these blue tangs were actually not put in the ocean for the sole purpose of being scooped up and put into our home aquariums.
I am down with the rescue, rehabilitate, and release process. They key word there being RELEASE. Not capture and breed in captivity until it becomes an inconvenience only to release a completely captivity-bred, unaware, incapable population into a wild Eco-system they have no idea how to survive in.
I believe in helping when we're needed and then sending them right back home. They were made to function in the ocean. There is a food chain out there that they fit into and there is an Eco-system depending on them. The disappearance of one single species could topple the entire Eco-system as they all rely on one another for different things.
Basically y'all, go see Finding Dory.
Buy the stuffed animals.
Plaster your kids walls with murals of sea life.
Name your puppy Dory and your cat Nemo.
Go snorkeling and see them alive and well in their own home.
Whatever.
But let the wild animals thrive the way God intended. Leave them alone. Stop pulling these poor creatures from the only habitat they've ever known for your own personal enjoyment. Stop the demand for Blue Tangs in pet stores. Stop the demand for wild animals to be dragged from their homes so they can become a decoration in yours. Don't destroy an entire species because of a movie. Don't force them to face extinction.
And since I'm stepping off my soapbox for the night I'll end on a more pleasant note: for real go see Finding Dory because its the cutest thing ever and I give it 27 stars out of 5 and I love it.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
Hero
Hero wasn't a word she attributed to herself. Wealthy. Royal. Trapped. Betrayed. Victim, even, but never hero.
It all happened so quickly. She spent years locked in that tower, wishing for that very thing. A hero to save her from her fate.
The Prince looked like an angel in the window. The sunset lit him up in a blazing halo of glory. It stunned her. She had known him as a child, their betrothal ensured from her birth. But she didn't know him as a man. She gasped, but not from the sight of his deeply tan skin or his handsome smile.
She saw the tell-tell flight of birds. She heard the scrape of talons. The Dragon was stalking princely-prey.
It felt like a reflex, like breathing when she lunged for the Prince. She knocked him to the stone floor just as the Dragon shot fire through the window. Her hand fell on the hilt of the Prince's sword and she drew it without thinking.
The Dragon was outraged. He tore into the bricks, desperate to get to the intruder. To keep her from leaving. To do his job. He lashed out with a savage, snarling bite and she acted on instinct. It took three blows.
Three blows made her a hero.
Three blows made the people celebrate her in the street.
Three blows to save a Prince's life.
Three blows to set her free.
It felt strange to be called a hero, but it was a strangeness she quite enjoyed.
It all happened so quickly. She spent years locked in that tower, wishing for that very thing. A hero to save her from her fate.
The Prince looked like an angel in the window. The sunset lit him up in a blazing halo of glory. It stunned her. She had known him as a child, their betrothal ensured from her birth. But she didn't know him as a man. She gasped, but not from the sight of his deeply tan skin or his handsome smile.
She saw the tell-tell flight of birds. She heard the scrape of talons. The Dragon was stalking princely-prey.
It felt like a reflex, like breathing when she lunged for the Prince. She knocked him to the stone floor just as the Dragon shot fire through the window. Her hand fell on the hilt of the Prince's sword and she drew it without thinking.
The Dragon was outraged. He tore into the bricks, desperate to get to the intruder. To keep her from leaving. To do his job. He lashed out with a savage, snarling bite and she acted on instinct. It took three blows.
Three blows made her a hero.
Three blows made the people celebrate her in the street.
Three blows to save a Prince's life.
Three blows to set her free.
It felt strange to be called a hero, but it was a strangeness she quite enjoyed.
Saturday, May 21, 2016
Nights Like This
Nights like this break my heart.
As the rain pours and thunder claps, my heart shatters in my chest.
I see our memories and I miss them.
I miss our laughter until 2 am.
I miss pretend arguing and truly falling apart together.
I miss the way I used to feel invincible.
Nights like this are poison to my healing heart.
And I hope you have nights like this too,
because how true could it have been if you never fell apart?
How much time did I waste if your heart doesn't ache for me the way
mine does for you?
Nights like this make me miss my time with you.
Not the fight. Not the end. Not the pain.
But the laughter and the smiles and the feeling between us of trust.
Nights like this make me feel like it's my fault we fell apart.
Nights like this break my heart.
As the rain pours and thunder claps, my heart shatters in my chest.
I see our memories and I miss them.
I miss our laughter until 2 am.
I miss pretend arguing and truly falling apart together.
I miss the way I used to feel invincible.
Nights like this are poison to my healing heart.
And I hope you have nights like this too,
because how true could it have been if you never fell apart?
How much time did I waste if your heart doesn't ache for me the way
mine does for you?
Nights like this make me miss my time with you.
Not the fight. Not the end. Not the pain.
But the laughter and the smiles and the feeling between us of trust.
Nights like this make me feel like it's my fault we fell apart.
Nights like this break my heart.
Thursday, May 19, 2016
My Truth
Proofread words are my
truth.
Don't believe my "lol" or
"it's ok"
Believe the girl in my
story
who's dying of a broken
heart
and the boy on the next page who
cant stop
his world from falling
apart.
Thursday, May 12, 2016
Paper and Ink
She lived in a world of paper and ink.
There was nothing out there but the words in her head and the stories in her heart.
The past left paper cuts that hurt when she stretched herself too far from where she began.
But the ink of new stories being printed across her skin held her together.
Sometimes when she cried, the stories on her skin got muddled together.
But the sun would come out, and dry the stains, and leave a pretty new design to inspire her.
It was black and white for her,
but things were more beautiful that way.
The purity was more bright, and the hurt was a more achingly intense black.
She liked the polar extremity and the look of stains on the possibility of life.
She lived in a world of paper and ink and the stories kept her company when the people left.
There was nothing out there but the words in her head and the stories in her heart.
The past left paper cuts that hurt when she stretched herself too far from where she began.
But the ink of new stories being printed across her skin held her together.
Sometimes when she cried, the stories on her skin got muddled together.
But the sun would come out, and dry the stains, and leave a pretty new design to inspire her.
It was black and white for her,
but things were more beautiful that way.
The purity was more bright, and the hurt was a more achingly intense black.
She liked the polar extremity and the look of stains on the possibility of life.
She lived in a world of paper and ink and the stories kept her company when the people left.
Saturday, May 7, 2016
Prayer
As tears fall from green-blue eyes, she prays again.
Prays for the feelings to stop.
She's drowning in her thoughts.
She's drowning in her doubts.
"I just need a sign."
Her lips don't move, but her heart throws itself against her rib cage.
The weight of uncertainty is crushing her from the inside out.
The tears keep falling.
The prayers keep spilling from her heart.
Her very soul cries for relief.
"Please. Just let me understand."
Prays for the feelings to stop.
She's drowning in her thoughts.
She's drowning in her doubts.
"I just need a sign."
Her lips don't move, but her heart throws itself against her rib cage.
The weight of uncertainty is crushing her from the inside out.
The tears keep falling.
The prayers keep spilling from her heart.
Her very soul cries for relief.
"Please. Just let me understand."
Saturday, April 23, 2016
On Her Skin
She wore her heart on her sleeve and her past on her skin.
Her cheeks were freckled with long-dried tears and memories.
Years of laughter had lightened her hair and warmed her skin.
Her smile held a thousand stories, and her eyes shone with years of dreams.
She was the embodiment of feeling in a world of fakes.
And the joy that radiated from her soul captivated him from day one.
The Same Stars
They were miles apart.
Worlds away really.
Her head was in the clouds,
in the words she carried in her heart,
in her doubts.
His mind was somewhere magic,
where limits didn't exist,
and reality was no constraint.
But they looked up
in the same moment,
and saw the same sky,
the same stars.
And despite all the distance,
their souls kept fighting to be together.
Worlds away really.
Her head was in the clouds,
in the words she carried in her heart,
in her doubts.
His mind was somewhere magic,
where limits didn't exist,
and reality was no constraint.
But they looked up
in the same moment,
and saw the same sky,
the same stars.
And despite all the distance,
their souls kept fighting to be together.
Thursday, April 21, 2016
His Eyes
Looking into his eyes took her breath away.
There was something there, behind their stunning color.
There was depth.
There was beauty.
There was a kindred soul.
Or maybe she way seeing herself reflected back.
Maybe it was her, without the cracks and the bruises and the flaws.
Reflected in his eyes, she was whole.
There was motion too.
It was gentle, like clouds drifting away.
Or like a light, summer breeze.
In his eyes, her storm was gone.
There was no rain.
No lightning.
Everything was peaceful.
She decided in that moment that if she ever fell apart again,
she'd just look in his eyes to put herself back together.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Opposing Faces
I've been two people in my life, fluctuating between two faces, two identities.
When I was young, I was who I am now. Anxious. Quiet. Introverted. Scared. Shy.
At 13, I found a different side of me. Loud. Popular. Happy. Outgoing. Sarcastic. Witty.
And then, when I was 15, things fell apart and that little scared girl came back. And I've been her ever since. I've fallen deeper and deeper into her fear. Her anxiety. Her self-doubt. Her silence.
It felt a lot like drowning without any water around.
Recently, I was pulled from the invisible waves. It was a joint effort, I did some of the leg work, but he did a lot of it too. And since then, that 13 year old girl who had the world in her pocket and the universe on her side has been calling a lot. Right now, it feels like a battle between the two. As much as I want hope to win, I've lived in anxiety long enough to give it a solid foothold. But hope is strong. And so am I. I know she's in there, that girl who could rule the world. I just have to figure out how to give her back her throne.
When I was young, I was who I am now. Anxious. Quiet. Introverted. Scared. Shy.
At 13, I found a different side of me. Loud. Popular. Happy. Outgoing. Sarcastic. Witty.
And then, when I was 15, things fell apart and that little scared girl came back. And I've been her ever since. I've fallen deeper and deeper into her fear. Her anxiety. Her self-doubt. Her silence.
It felt a lot like drowning without any water around.
Recently, I was pulled from the invisible waves. It was a joint effort, I did some of the leg work, but he did a lot of it too. And since then, that 13 year old girl who had the world in her pocket and the universe on her side has been calling a lot. Right now, it feels like a battle between the two. As much as I want hope to win, I've lived in anxiety long enough to give it a solid foothold. But hope is strong. And so am I. I know she's in there, that girl who could rule the world. I just have to figure out how to give her back her throne.
Growing Into Myself
I've finally realized a few things about myself, and I thought that in the case that your drowning in uncertainty, maybe sharing them would help you.
I finally realized that I'm never going to be the kind of girl who can wear heels, and leather pants, and red lipstick. I'm never going to be a bombshell heart-breaker. I'm never going to be "cool" or "intense".
I'm always going to be the kind of girl that trips over her own feet. The kind that considers "brushed" hair as a "style". The kind who likes to rock polka-dots and sneakers with a dress. I'll always be more comfortable in jeans than in short shorts or a dress.
My favorite colors are always going to be bubblegum pink and cotton candy blue and I'll probably always use candy to describe color. I'll always be able to name more crayola colors than U.S. Presidents. I'll always prefer staying in with a book to going out.
I'll always be overly excited about tiny things. I'll always be awkward in public and spazzy at home. And I'll always use outdated words like "nifty" and "hooligan" and "snazzy". I'll always be a hopeless romantic and I'll always have a hard time letting go of the past.
I say all that to say this; until a few months ago, I was surrounded by people who made me think that these silly things that make me who I am, weren't enough. That I was wrong. That I wasn't enough to matter.
But I'm here to tell you, that I do matter. And those people who told me I didn't, they're long gone. It hurt so much to let them go, like I was losing part of myself. But now enough time has passed that I'm starting to see the light, and I'm starting to see myself.
I was so lonely that I settled for toxicity in all of my relationships. Now that all those toxins are gone, I'm breathing clean for the first time in almost ten seven years. And I like myself again. There are a lot of things I'll never be. But I like who I am. And you should too. Because no one should be able to change you. The right people help you grow into yourself and when you find them, you'll know.
I finally realized that I'm never going to be the kind of girl who can wear heels, and leather pants, and red lipstick. I'm never going to be a bombshell heart-breaker. I'm never going to be "cool" or "intense".
I'm always going to be the kind of girl that trips over her own feet. The kind that considers "brushed" hair as a "style". The kind who likes to rock polka-dots and sneakers with a dress. I'll always be more comfortable in jeans than in short shorts or a dress.
My favorite colors are always going to be bubblegum pink and cotton candy blue and I'll probably always use candy to describe color. I'll always be able to name more crayola colors than U.S. Presidents. I'll always prefer staying in with a book to going out.
I'll always be overly excited about tiny things. I'll always be awkward in public and spazzy at home. And I'll always use outdated words like "nifty" and "hooligan" and "snazzy". I'll always be a hopeless romantic and I'll always have a hard time letting go of the past.
I say all that to say this; until a few months ago, I was surrounded by people who made me think that these silly things that make me who I am, weren't enough. That I was wrong. That I wasn't enough to matter.
But I'm here to tell you, that I do matter. And those people who told me I didn't, they're long gone. It hurt so much to let them go, like I was losing part of myself. But now enough time has passed that I'm starting to see the light, and I'm starting to see myself.
I was so lonely that I settled for toxicity in all of my relationships. Now that all those toxins are gone, I'm breathing clean for the first time in almost ten seven years. And I like myself again. There are a lot of things I'll never be. But I like who I am. And you should too. Because no one should be able to change you. The right people help you grow into yourself and when you find them, you'll know.
Monday, April 11, 2016
Broken Fairytales
There was nothing beautiful about our fairytale.
By the time I found the ending, all the pages were bloodstained and shredded.
Torn apart by the fighting it took to get to the end.
Instead of a glass slipper, I lost my innocence running from you. And you never bothered to try an return it to me.
Instead of a sleeping spell, it was my heart that was broken. And you didn't wake me up, you left me there to die.
Instead of a poison apple, you handed me a mouthful of empty promises and choked on their lies.
You were a prince when I found you, but you turned into a beast. As if my love were some curse that made you that way.
And nothing hurt more than turning to the last page and finding myself alone, without a happy ending.
All alone after the fight I made to matter to your story for so long.
By the time I found the ending, all the pages were bloodstained and shredded.
Torn apart by the fighting it took to get to the end.
Instead of a glass slipper, I lost my innocence running from you. And you never bothered to try an return it to me.
Instead of a sleeping spell, it was my heart that was broken. And you didn't wake me up, you left me there to die.
Instead of a poison apple, you handed me a mouthful of empty promises and choked on their lies.
You were a prince when I found you, but you turned into a beast. As if my love were some curse that made you that way.
And nothing hurt more than turning to the last page and finding myself alone, without a happy ending.
All alone after the fight I made to matter to your story for so long.
Sunday, April 10, 2016
Around not About
She always talked around him.
She liked subjects that brought up his career, his ideas.
She prayed for others to mention his name.
She liked to talk about their similarities and how unexpected they were.
She liked to talk about herself in relation to him.
But she never said his name,
or talked about his eyes.
Or about how his smile took up her world.
Or how many times she had imagined them together.
She never talked about him, just the exterior things that happened to associate with him.
Never about how his voice calmed her nerves,
or how he could make her sit still.
People thought he was just another planet in her orbit,
but he was was her whole galaxy.
The glitter in his eyes made up her stars
and he was her everything.
But she talked around and not about so no one would ever find out just how much of her existed in him.
Thursday, April 7, 2016
Whispers of Memory
When the sun comes up over this dusty town, and paints us all in gold, I think of how times have changed.
I see the ghosts of memories on every corner, just behind reality.
Visions of us when we were young and nothing mattered but having fun.
I can hear our laughter on the whisper of the wind and it sends a chill of disappointed sadness down my spine.
I wish I could just forget us.
Forget cards under the table and dancing in the street at 2 am.
Forget the smiles and the special places.
Forget the fights and all the accusations.
Sometimes, when the sun comes up, I realize I haven't been thinking about us.
I hope that maybe I'm free from the chains of the past.
But as the sun slips away, all the pain comes back.
And every night, I miss the way things used to be.
When it was us against the world and not all of you against me.
I see the ghosts of memories on every corner, just behind reality.
Visions of us when we were young and nothing mattered but having fun.
I can hear our laughter on the whisper of the wind and it sends a chill of disappointed sadness down my spine.
I wish I could just forget us.
Forget cards under the table and dancing in the street at 2 am.
Forget the smiles and the special places.
Forget the fights and all the accusations.
Sometimes, when the sun comes up, I realize I haven't been thinking about us.
I hope that maybe I'm free from the chains of the past.
But as the sun slips away, all the pain comes back.
And every night, I miss the way things used to be.
When it was us against the world and not all of you against me.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
Camp NaNo Project Chapter 1 Excerpt
Blinking slowly, the world comes into focus. All around, the smell of dirt perforates the
air. A raw pain flares in my wrists and
panic clutches at my chest. I try to
move, but the ice cold chains hold fast, their clanking deafening in the quiet
space.
What happened?
Legs shaking, I
try to stand, but my bones turn to liquid and I hit the ground hard. Sucking in a shaking breath I sweep my eyes
around the room. Nausea crushes my
abdomen. The room is no bigger than a
broom closet and my claustrophobia tightens like a vice around my lungs. Panicking, my breaths come in quick
succession.
Help. Someone.
Caden. The name slips
through my mind, as my vision darkens, like sand through numb fingers.
Thursday, March 31, 2016
Under the Umbrella
The air was humid and stale and empty under the canopy of red he held up to protect him from the rain. All around him were personal tents of various shapes and sizes and colors. It was a zoo of pattern. A few steps ahead, he saw an empty space and wondered how it could fail to be populated with a nylon roof. His eyes fell to the spot again as he trudged on. Now though, there were sopping, blonde curls and shivering, hoodie covered shoulders. Without a second thought, he scooped the stranger under the umbrella with him and tucked her to his side.
"You'll catch a cold running around like that! I'm Jake." He beamed down at her with bright grey eyes and a crooked smile.
"Oh! My umbrella broke. Thanks." She stuttered, his sudden closeness unnerving her.
Earlier, before the wind had ripped her shelter apart, she had thought about how safe it was beneath the canopy. Safely sheltered away from danger with sound muffled and the wold narrowed down, she liked the solidarity of her umbrella. Her arm brushed his. Suddenly, even though there was less room, and both of them were getting a rained on a little more, the lightning seemed to have found it's way beneath the umbrella, crackling between them with every matched step.
"I'm Tess." She said.
The sound of her small, bright voice felt like a crack of electricity straight through his chest. He shot her another crooked smile and managed to inch a little closer to her inside their shelter. Soon, the only storm either of them felt was the intensity of silence, full of potential, underneath the umbrella.
"You'll catch a cold running around like that! I'm Jake." He beamed down at her with bright grey eyes and a crooked smile.
"Oh! My umbrella broke. Thanks." She stuttered, his sudden closeness unnerving her.
Earlier, before the wind had ripped her shelter apart, she had thought about how safe it was beneath the canopy. Safely sheltered away from danger with sound muffled and the wold narrowed down, she liked the solidarity of her umbrella. Her arm brushed his. Suddenly, even though there was less room, and both of them were getting a rained on a little more, the lightning seemed to have found it's way beneath the umbrella, crackling between them with every matched step.
"I'm Tess." She said.
The sound of her small, bright voice felt like a crack of electricity straight through his chest. He shot her another crooked smile and managed to inch a little closer to her inside their shelter. Soon, the only storm either of them felt was the intensity of silence, full of potential, underneath the umbrella.
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
A Dance on Olympus
A rainbow of colored skirts swirl around me. Effortless. Gliding. Elegant. Genteel.
I stand, un-moving. Ignored. Unfeeling.
They are a whirl of jewel tones and glitter and laughter and ease.
I am in black and unadorned and grimacing.
The light here sparkles in an unnatural way, glistening off every shinning surface as though Apollo himself were in the room.
I am not used to such opulence, such wealth, such audacity.
Daughters of Aphrodite twirl with sultry smiles and beauty so fine it seems poisonous.
But the Sons of Eros are unafraid; equally as resplendent and a deadly kind of suave.
This is no place for a child of Hermes, the child of a messenger.
A godly servant to the greater gods.
I am all thought and help and creativity and words.
While these beings bathe in refinement and breathe glamour and sleep on pillows of nobility.
I slip through the Olympian ballroom, afraid I've overstayed my welcome, wondering why I thought I could glide among the angels here.
I stand, un-moving. Ignored. Unfeeling.
They are a whirl of jewel tones and glitter and laughter and ease.
I am in black and unadorned and grimacing.
The light here sparkles in an unnatural way, glistening off every shinning surface as though Apollo himself were in the room.
I am not used to such opulence, such wealth, such audacity.
Daughters of Aphrodite twirl with sultry smiles and beauty so fine it seems poisonous.
But the Sons of Eros are unafraid; equally as resplendent and a deadly kind of suave.
This is no place for a child of Hermes, the child of a messenger.
A godly servant to the greater gods.
I am all thought and help and creativity and words.
While these beings bathe in refinement and breathe glamour and sleep on pillows of nobility.
I slip through the Olympian ballroom, afraid I've overstayed my welcome, wondering why I thought I could glide among the angels here.
Sunday, March 13, 2016
Fragile Stupidity
The fragility and stupidity of the heart amazes me.
The way it aches and reaches for the poison that destroyed it.
Ripped apart and in tatters, it still pounds for the hands that tore it up.
For the love who broke it.
For the friends who betrayed it.
For all of the faces that turned their backs.
The problem with me, is that my heart is in my mind and my mind in my heart.
They can't be separated.
I can't ignore one and trust the other.
Reason lies intermingled with feeling.
Hope with probability.
There is no feeling without reason for me.
No thought without emotion.
I am all or nothing.
I am either too little or too much of both.
And my heart is as fragile and stupid as all the others.
Friday, March 11, 2016
Brown Car
The brown car passed, casting a hook into her heart and dragging her behind.
It was impossible not to remember.
Impossible to breathe as the memories crushed her.
Like the weight of the ocean was bearing down on her, forcing her to think, to replay, to remember.
Their faces flashed in her mind as the brown car passed.
It drew her eye in the rear view.
Even though it wasn't them, she couldn't look away.
She couldn't stop the voices in her head, screaming that it was her fault.
The license plate started to shrink, ripping the hook from her flesh, leaving her bleeding and gasping for air.
She reached for the radio dial, like the music would be an invisible tourniquet for her wound.
It wasn't.
It just dulled her senses enough to make the thoughts slow down.
And the brown car, that was nothing more than a car, took a piece of her sanity with it down the road.
It was impossible not to remember.
Impossible to breathe as the memories crushed her.
Like the weight of the ocean was bearing down on her, forcing her to think, to replay, to remember.
Their faces flashed in her mind as the brown car passed.
It drew her eye in the rear view.
Even though it wasn't them, she couldn't look away.
She couldn't stop the voices in her head, screaming that it was her fault.
The license plate started to shrink, ripping the hook from her flesh, leaving her bleeding and gasping for air.
She reached for the radio dial, like the music would be an invisible tourniquet for her wound.
It wasn't.
It just dulled her senses enough to make the thoughts slow down.
And the brown car, that was nothing more than a car, took a piece of her sanity with it down the road.
Tuesday, March 8, 2016
City Bats
Where do city bats go when the sun comes up?
Where is their refuge when the night retreats?
Do they fly to the country and find shade in the trees?
Do they take off to the horizon, chasing the darkness?
I wish I had the wings of a city bat.
I wish I could fly after the moon, the safety of the darkness.
I wish I could soar between streetlights and over dim backyards.
I wish I knew where they hit from the daylight.
Away from the burning sun.
Away from clarity.
Into Darkness.
Into dusk.
Where do the city bats go when the sun comes up?
I'd like to go there too.
Where is their refuge when the night retreats?
Do they fly to the country and find shade in the trees?
Do they take off to the horizon, chasing the darkness?
I wish I had the wings of a city bat.
I wish I could fly after the moon, the safety of the darkness.
I wish I could soar between streetlights and over dim backyards.
I wish I knew where they hit from the daylight.
Away from the burning sun.
Away from clarity.
Into Darkness.
Into dusk.
Where do the city bats go when the sun comes up?
I'd like to go there too.
Sunday, March 6, 2016
The Sailor and The Storm
She looked into the horizon and her heart stalled in her chest. He was back, bringing with him the usual storm. It had been a while since he had rained down on, nearly drowning her.
That day, she floated unconscious in the sea until a kind sailor came to her aid. He scooped her up and asked no questions and took her far away. He made her healthy again, in the shade on a sandy island. There, they were all the other needed.
She had almost forgotten the boy with the storm. She had prayed he's never find her. She didn't want the sailor asking questions. She just wanted to live happy, and free from the clouds.
As the grey clouds gathered, and the storm came closer, she remembered the joy she felt, dancing in the rain. But she was smarter now. And she knew that it was all temporary joy, and she'd have to live with a cold for another month. So as the storm drew near, she fought her instincts, and stayed inside, watching the clouds from behind clear glass.
He stopped on the shore. Like her knew what she'd done, the life she had chosen. In the wind, he howled his disapproval, but he couldn't shake her resolve. She was warm, safe, and dry, snuggled up in the cabin just within the tree line.
His storm raged on for days, demanding her presence. But when it was clear that she'd never come back, he started to fade. Soon the sky turned from black into grey. And after a day or so, grey faded to blue. Before she knew it, she had forgotten there was a storm at all, distracted by the sanctuary of her peaceful island home.
That day, she floated unconscious in the sea until a kind sailor came to her aid. He scooped her up and asked no questions and took her far away. He made her healthy again, in the shade on a sandy island. There, they were all the other needed.
She had almost forgotten the boy with the storm. She had prayed he's never find her. She didn't want the sailor asking questions. She just wanted to live happy, and free from the clouds.
As the grey clouds gathered, and the storm came closer, she remembered the joy she felt, dancing in the rain. But she was smarter now. And she knew that it was all temporary joy, and she'd have to live with a cold for another month. So as the storm drew near, she fought her instincts, and stayed inside, watching the clouds from behind clear glass.
He stopped on the shore. Like her knew what she'd done, the life she had chosen. In the wind, he howled his disapproval, but he couldn't shake her resolve. She was warm, safe, and dry, snuggled up in the cabin just within the tree line.
His storm raged on for days, demanding her presence. But when it was clear that she'd never come back, he started to fade. Soon the sky turned from black into grey. And after a day or so, grey faded to blue. Before she knew it, she had forgotten there was a storm at all, distracted by the sanctuary of her peaceful island home.
Never Swimming
If I am a hurricane,
He's a natural disaster.
If I feel broken,
He must surely feel shattered.
Nothing is safe with us.
Not me.
Not him.
Not anyone else.
There is no equality,
balance.
We're constantly battling to be on top.
Nothing is sweet.
It's all tears and poison.
Addiction to the mess.
We're never swimming,
Always drowning,
Pushing each other under,
for one breath of air.
He's a natural disaster.
If I feel broken,
He must surely feel shattered.
Nothing is safe with us.
Not me.
Not him.
Not anyone else.
There is no equality,
balance.
We're constantly battling to be on top.
Nothing is sweet.
It's all tears and poison.
Addiction to the mess.
We're never swimming,
Always drowning,
Pushing each other under,
for one breath of air.
Friday, March 4, 2016
The Sunshine
There was something otherworldly about her.
Something dark that only added to her strange beauty.
No one understood her ways.
That was okay.
She didn't need to be understood.
She just wanted to be seen.
And see her he did. That lonely Prince.
He saw her and he knew they were the same.
So he whisked her away to a twisted kind of fairy tale life
where their darkness played well together
and she could feel the sunshine.
Something dark that only added to her strange beauty.
No one understood her ways.
That was okay.
She didn't need to be understood.
She just wanted to be seen.
And see her he did. That lonely Prince.
He saw her and he knew they were the same.
So he whisked her away to a twisted kind of fairy tale life
where their darkness played well together
and she could feel the sunshine.
Friday, February 26, 2016
You
You should be here for this.
You shouldn't have walked out on me.
And you should've known better than to let me walk away.
You always chided me for pushing people out.
You knew what I was doing.
You knew I was scared.
And yet you let my fears come alive.
You left.
Like you said you never would.
I never imagined a future without you.
And every picture of us cuts into my chest.
Because I can see the naivete in my own eyes.
So much for loyalty.
So much for friendship.
So much for us.
You left.
You let it break.
And then you let me fall apart.
You shouldn't have walked out on me.
And you should've known better than to let me walk away.
You always chided me for pushing people out.
You knew what I was doing.
You knew I was scared.
And yet you let my fears come alive.
You left.
Like you said you never would.
I never imagined a future without you.
And every picture of us cuts into my chest.
Because I can see the naivete in my own eyes.
So much for loyalty.
So much for friendship.
So much for us.
You left.
You let it break.
And then you let me fall apart.
Thursday, February 25, 2016
Some Disaster
It was like all of the sudden everything fell apart.
I'm not even sure how it happened.
Maybe there was some natural disaster that I can't recall.
One minute, I was happy, and the next, I was alone.
Whatever imploded must have sent me flying.
Made me hit my head.
Because everything is fuzzy and all of me hurts.
I feel like I should be feeling something.
Something other than confusion.
But I don't.
Whoever I was before, I don't remember.
I don't want to remember.
Because on this side of disaster, things don't look so bad.
And maybe over here I'm not all alone after all.
Over here I feel safe.
Here, bright eyes look after me.
And smiles greet me.
And the world seems to care that I exist.
I'm not even sure how it happened.
Maybe there was some natural disaster that I can't recall.
One minute, I was happy, and the next, I was alone.
Whatever imploded must have sent me flying.
Made me hit my head.
Because everything is fuzzy and all of me hurts.
I feel like I should be feeling something.
Something other than confusion.
But I don't.
Whoever I was before, I don't remember.
I don't want to remember.
Because on this side of disaster, things don't look so bad.
And maybe over here I'm not all alone after all.
Over here I feel safe.
Here, bright eyes look after me.
And smiles greet me.
And the world seems to care that I exist.
Wednesday, February 17, 2016
He Looked
He looked at her the way an artist looks at the sky.
Noting every inch of light flickering across her skin.
He internalized the tinkling sound of her laugh, letting it consume his essence,
like the song of a siren in a sailor's ear.
The way she moved mesmerized him.
She was the epitome of ease, a feather on the wind,
soft, dancing though the rays of sunlight.
He saw in her all things the artist feels.
Nostalgia, and harmony, and hope, and truth, and love, and brilliance, and sadness.
Every second he looked at her, he was overwhelmed with the feelings.
She was the sun, blinding him,
but he could not look away.
The sky was in her eyes and she had clouds in her hair
She was the end of his life and the beginning of his living.
Noting every inch of light flickering across her skin.
He internalized the tinkling sound of her laugh, letting it consume his essence,
like the song of a siren in a sailor's ear.
The way she moved mesmerized him.
She was the epitome of ease, a feather on the wind,
soft, dancing though the rays of sunlight.
He saw in her all things the artist feels.
Nostalgia, and harmony, and hope, and truth, and love, and brilliance, and sadness.
Every second he looked at her, he was overwhelmed with the feelings.
She was the sun, blinding him,
but he could not look away.
The sky was in her eyes and she had clouds in her hair
She was the end of his life and the beginning of his living.
Sunday, February 14, 2016
Just Smoke
You were all I wanted.
You stood there and let me love you.
Never close enough to touch, but just close enough not to give up hope.
I never understood you.
I don't. Even now. After all this time.
All you ever did was walk away.
But for some reason I never could.
Maybe you were stronger than me.
Or maybe you were just weak.
But you came back.
And I thought you were it for me.
But when you were finally where I wanted you to be,
close enough to touch,
I reached out and reached right through you.
You were just a cloud of smoke.
Nothing substantial.
Nothing real.
Maybe I was too real
or you just weren't enough.
But you burned my eyes
and made me cry.
And now all I have smell of you in my nose
and I can't run far enough way.
There isn't enough clean air to wash me out.
You were just smoke
and I breathed in too much.
You stood there and let me love you.
Never close enough to touch, but just close enough not to give up hope.
I never understood you.
I don't. Even now. After all this time.
All you ever did was walk away.
But for some reason I never could.
Maybe you were stronger than me.
Or maybe you were just weak.
But you came back.
And I thought you were it for me.
But when you were finally where I wanted you to be,
close enough to touch,
I reached out and reached right through you.
You were just a cloud of smoke.
Nothing substantial.
Nothing real.
Maybe I was too real
or you just weren't enough.
But you burned my eyes
and made me cry.
And now all I have smell of you in my nose
and I can't run far enough way.
There isn't enough clean air to wash me out.
You were just smoke
and I breathed in too much.
Friday, February 12, 2016
Eye of the Storm
She stood in the road, soaked to the bone in rainwater.
It was howling, raging all around her.
For days, she had tried to stay dry.
She hid in makeshift shelter.
She covered her face.
But it was no use.
The rain came
and no one could stop it
and she could not avoid it forever.
So she stepped into the storm and waited.
Just when she thought it would never end,
the rain slowed to a steady mist.
The black clouds parted for a moment
and a single, splintered ray of light fell on her.
The suddenness made her squint.
But soon, her eyes adjusted.
It was beautiful,
the way she looked.
Standing there covered in light,
staring up at the clouds
soaking wet.
She could see the sheets of rain coming toward her.
But the light transfixed her.
The storm didn't matter.
Only the light.
She stared, praying it would last
drinking in it's warmth and the rainbow that sparkled out of it.
She knew what the storm felt like.
She knew she could only wait for it to pass.
But in that moment,
she forgot about the rain
her soaking clothes
the howling wind.
She could only thank Heaven for the Eye of the storm.
And for that shattered shard of sun.
Tuesday, February 9, 2016
Thank You Anonymous and Thank You Mom
Mothers are so under appreciated. They know us better than our classmates, than our friends, than maybe even our fathers. Better than we know ourselves.
They detect the subtle changes in our mood when something goes wrong but we try to hide it. They can see the change in our mannerisms when things are looking up but we don't want to jinx it so we keep it to ourselves. They can spot good friends when we're too short-sighted. And spot bad friends when we're too absorbed in the good moments.
My mom said something the other day that made me realize just this. I was blabbering on about a guy (as usual), a guy I really like. And she just smiled and said "you don't tell him to shut up". Now that sounds bad in so many ways. It makes me sound rude, and the conversation sound silly, and me sound literally like the biggest jerk on the planet.
But if you know me, the way she does, the way I didn't until a few days ago, it makes a lot of sense.
I've lost a lot of people. A lot of friends. And because of that, I have a tendency to put up walls and keep people at a distance. How, do I do this, you may ask? Sarcasm. Dry humor. Empty threats. Eye rolls. I'm the girl who says "shut up" and rolls my eyes when all I want is for you to keep talking. But I can't tell you that, because then you'd know that I care and that when you walk away it'll hurt. I say "I'm going to punch you in the throat" before I hug you because I'd never actually lay a finger on you but saying I love you is way too scary.
But this guy, I don't threaten him. I don't roll my eyes. I don't tell him to shut up.
And I didn't know why until today. You see, this conversation with my mom was going over and over in my head. And I wanted to know what was different.
As you all know, or maybe you don't, I struggle with social anxiety. It's pretty bad, I have to talk myself out of panic attacks on my way to class. I won't eat at school because the idea makes me so anxious that I get nauseated. I hate getting out of the car because it makes me feel like I can't breathe.
But this guy, when I'm around him, I'm not nervous. My hands don't shake. I can breathe. I can form an actual sentence without stuttering or tripping over my words.
I don't tell him to shut up because he makes me feel safe.
There's something about the way we work together, something about all the things we have in common that just feels right. For the first time since I was fifteen, I have someone around that doesn't scare me. If I need his help, I know he's there, but i also don't feel like I'm bugging him if I just want to talk.
So consider this my anonymous thank you to the kind, fellow artist, who gets the way my brain works. And thank you to my mom for helping me see him, and see myself, in a way I didn't before.
They detect the subtle changes in our mood when something goes wrong but we try to hide it. They can see the change in our mannerisms when things are looking up but we don't want to jinx it so we keep it to ourselves. They can spot good friends when we're too short-sighted. And spot bad friends when we're too absorbed in the good moments.
My mom said something the other day that made me realize just this. I was blabbering on about a guy (as usual), a guy I really like. And she just smiled and said "you don't tell him to shut up". Now that sounds bad in so many ways. It makes me sound rude, and the conversation sound silly, and me sound literally like the biggest jerk on the planet.
But if you know me, the way she does, the way I didn't until a few days ago, it makes a lot of sense.
I've lost a lot of people. A lot of friends. And because of that, I have a tendency to put up walls and keep people at a distance. How, do I do this, you may ask? Sarcasm. Dry humor. Empty threats. Eye rolls. I'm the girl who says "shut up" and rolls my eyes when all I want is for you to keep talking. But I can't tell you that, because then you'd know that I care and that when you walk away it'll hurt. I say "I'm going to punch you in the throat" before I hug you because I'd never actually lay a finger on you but saying I love you is way too scary.
But this guy, I don't threaten him. I don't roll my eyes. I don't tell him to shut up.
And I didn't know why until today. You see, this conversation with my mom was going over and over in my head. And I wanted to know what was different.
As you all know, or maybe you don't, I struggle with social anxiety. It's pretty bad, I have to talk myself out of panic attacks on my way to class. I won't eat at school because the idea makes me so anxious that I get nauseated. I hate getting out of the car because it makes me feel like I can't breathe.
But this guy, when I'm around him, I'm not nervous. My hands don't shake. I can breathe. I can form an actual sentence without stuttering or tripping over my words.
I don't tell him to shut up because he makes me feel safe.
There's something about the way we work together, something about all the things we have in common that just feels right. For the first time since I was fifteen, I have someone around that doesn't scare me. If I need his help, I know he's there, but i also don't feel like I'm bugging him if I just want to talk.
So consider this my anonymous thank you to the kind, fellow artist, who gets the way my brain works. And thank you to my mom for helping me see him, and see myself, in a way I didn't before.
Friday, February 5, 2016
Always a Prince
I always wanted to feel like a princess.
I wanted a prince.
A castle.
Dances held in my honor.
Troves of fluffy ballgowns.
Shelves full of tiaras.
Then he came in.
And I didn't feel like a princess.
But it didn't matter.
Because I was happy.
I was laughing.
He cared what I thought.
He cared in general.
The one person I thought I'd never connect with turned out to understand more of me than my best friend.
And it was better than a fairytale.
Because when you're happy, you're always a princess.
Every accessory is a tiara.
Every pair of ripped up jeans feel effortlessly beautiful like a gown.
Every step feels like floating across a ballroom.
Every building is a castle.
And he, he is always a prince.
I wanted a prince.
A castle.
Dances held in my honor.
Troves of fluffy ballgowns.
Shelves full of tiaras.
Then he came in.
And I didn't feel like a princess.
But it didn't matter.
Because I was happy.
I was laughing.
He cared what I thought.
He cared in general.
The one person I thought I'd never connect with turned out to understand more of me than my best friend.
And it was better than a fairytale.
Because when you're happy, you're always a princess.
Every accessory is a tiara.
Every pair of ripped up jeans feel effortlessly beautiful like a gown.
Every step feels like floating across a ballroom.
Every building is a castle.
And he, he is always a prince.
Wednesday, February 3, 2016
Big Small Town
Our town here, it's not so big.
We see the same sights.
We break the same speed limits.
We pass the same buildings.
We cut the same corners and burn rubber on the same pavement.
We probably know a hundred of the same people.
Hundreds of people probably know us.
But somehow you and me are never together here.
Our circles never cross without intention.
This town is small.
But it feels so big when I think of all the things I know of you, and find myself unsure of where you are.
It feels impossibly huge when I know you're right down the road, but not here with me.
It's a small town, and everything reminds me of you.
I either want to live this town with you, or get out and never look back.
Because living together but apart is nauseating and I can't go on.
We see the same sights.
We break the same speed limits.
We pass the same buildings.
We cut the same corners and burn rubber on the same pavement.
We probably know a hundred of the same people.
Hundreds of people probably know us.
But somehow you and me are never together here.
Our circles never cross without intention.
This town is small.
But it feels so big when I think of all the things I know of you, and find myself unsure of where you are.
It feels impossibly huge when I know you're right down the road, but not here with me.
It's a small town, and everything reminds me of you.
I either want to live this town with you, or get out and never look back.
Because living together but apart is nauseating and I can't go on.
Monday, February 1, 2016
Patchwork Heart
She had a patchwork heart, stitched together with memories.
She had fallen so many times.
Falling apart, and rearranging the pieces, so that they never quite fit the same.
Some parts didn't quite match up anymore.
Some pieces were too small to reconnect.
So she walked around, half reconstructed.
Some days, the pieces were uncomfortably tight in her chest.
She sighed and cried and shifted to make them fit.
But they never did.
Not right, anyway.
They just sat, jagged, barely touching, held together by fraying thread.
And every once in while, a thread would give out.
She would convulse, stumble, fall.
And wait until the shaking stopped to spin another thread of memory and stitch herself up to keep going.
Never quite together, never all apart.
She had fallen so many times.
Falling apart, and rearranging the pieces, so that they never quite fit the same.
Some parts didn't quite match up anymore.
Some pieces were too small to reconnect.
So she walked around, half reconstructed.
Some days, the pieces were uncomfortably tight in her chest.
She sighed and cried and shifted to make them fit.
But they never did.
Not right, anyway.
They just sat, jagged, barely touching, held together by fraying thread.
And every once in while, a thread would give out.
She would convulse, stumble, fall.
And wait until the shaking stopped to spin another thread of memory and stitch herself up to keep going.
Never quite together, never all apart.
Tuesday, January 26, 2016
Aching Soul
There are few things in this world that tug at my soul.
There are moments, for me at least, where want becomes need.
My pulse quickens, my heart constricts, and in that moment, I am nearly in tears because my life is devoid of whatever it is that I'm looking for.
When I was sixteen, it was a boy.
Now, at almost twenty one, it has become destination.
There is an inexplicable need to travel inside of me.
My bones ache for new soil and my very soul yearns for the experience.
I think those are the feelings we need to follow.
The ones so strong that they bring us to our knees.
The ones that take up every inch of our mind, unraveling us until we are nothing but unquenchable curiosity.
Because in the grand scheme of things, how many moments like that are we going to have?
When something grips you in your very essence, it's not something to ignore.
There are moments, for me at least, where want becomes need.
My pulse quickens, my heart constricts, and in that moment, I am nearly in tears because my life is devoid of whatever it is that I'm looking for.
When I was sixteen, it was a boy.
Now, at almost twenty one, it has become destination.
There is an inexplicable need to travel inside of me.
My bones ache for new soil and my very soul yearns for the experience.
I think those are the feelings we need to follow.
The ones so strong that they bring us to our knees.
The ones that take up every inch of our mind, unraveling us until we are nothing but unquenchable curiosity.
Because in the grand scheme of things, how many moments like that are we going to have?
When something grips you in your very essence, it's not something to ignore.
Sunday, January 24, 2016
His Alone
And just like that she was in love again.
He was her heart and soul.
Everything good and bad, she wanted it all.
She wanted his demons and his problems. His angels and his songs.
She wanted every twisted, jagged edge that made him who he was.
And though she could find replicas, they were but empty shells compared to him.
They were breezes compared to his storm.
He breathed life into her very bones by simply existing.
And before he even knew it, she was his alone.
Chest of Novocain
Maybe if I fill my chest with Novocain this ache will go away.
"They didn't even fight for me." I think as I stifle another sob. The deep red sunset mirrors the drop of blood forming on my lip where my teeth hold on tight, fighting to keep the sound inside.
Nothing matters as long as they can't hear me. They can't know I'm drowning in tears and shattered memories.
It was one second. The one second I've been dreading since they let go. Since I cut the cord. I saw them all together, smiling, happy, going about their lives as though we didn't just fall apart. I could've handled that. I suppose.
But I didn't count on the comic book store to slam my heart against my rib cage like it was trying to escape. That was too much. Too much emptiness. Too much missing them. Too much of my past reminding me how little I have in my present.
They didn't fight. They let me walk away. They didn't bat an eye at my accusations. They acted like our falling apart wasn't going to shatter them the way it shattered me.
I would've fought for them, had the circumstances been reversed. I would've agreed to any terms. But they didn't even give me a chance. They didn't fight for us. For me. For themselves.
Don't I deserve to be fought for?
Am I not enough on my own?
Am I that replaceable?
Am I so insignificant that I could disappear tomorrow and no one would notice my absence?
They didn't fight back. Like everyone before them, they told me they loved me and then they left. Because love is just a word. And words are just pretty lies, no matter how you fashion them.
"They didn't even fight for me." I think as I stifle another sob. The deep red sunset mirrors the drop of blood forming on my lip where my teeth hold on tight, fighting to keep the sound inside.
Nothing matters as long as they can't hear me. They can't know I'm drowning in tears and shattered memories.
It was one second. The one second I've been dreading since they let go. Since I cut the cord. I saw them all together, smiling, happy, going about their lives as though we didn't just fall apart. I could've handled that. I suppose.
But I didn't count on the comic book store to slam my heart against my rib cage like it was trying to escape. That was too much. Too much emptiness. Too much missing them. Too much of my past reminding me how little I have in my present.
They didn't fight. They let me walk away. They didn't bat an eye at my accusations. They acted like our falling apart wasn't going to shatter them the way it shattered me.
I would've fought for them, had the circumstances been reversed. I would've agreed to any terms. But they didn't even give me a chance. They didn't fight for us. For me. For themselves.
Don't I deserve to be fought for?
Am I not enough on my own?
Am I that replaceable?
Am I so insignificant that I could disappear tomorrow and no one would notice my absence?
They didn't fight back. Like everyone before them, they told me they loved me and then they left. Because love is just a word. And words are just pretty lies, no matter how you fashion them.
Saturday, January 23, 2016
You Were Never Toxic
When you get your heart broken, it can make things seem dismal. You start to think you imagined it all. All the sweet words, the moments, the looks. A broken heart tends to tint the world in darkness.
When I was fifteen I fell for someone that I probably would've been better off without. And I blamed him for breaking my heart for a long time. Until last night actually. I spent six years hating him and yet not being able to give him up. But last night, I found an old journal from high school. I started reading and my silly little commentary on life brought a smile to my face. When I realized just how far back it went, I started wondering what I had written about him. And I finally found the many pages devoted to the confusion he caused my heart.
I didn't imagine things between us. For however briefly, we did have something more than a friendship. I could finally remember the butterflies when I saw him, the sweet torturous joy when he found me backstage and I gave him something I had made.
Suddenly, this person, these memories, all of these moments that used to bring tears to my eyes made me laugh. I never thought I'd live to see the day when I looked back on him and smiled. But the truth is, I had so much distance from where we began, that I couldn't see things right. It took my sixteen year old account of every encounter we'd ever had to remind me how much I loved him. My friends thought he was the worst thing for me. Toxic. Poison. Danger. But he wasn't. They were jealous, and fake, and clueless. He was everything I ever needed. He was a lesson in so many things. And if he hadn't been the first to break my heart, someone else would have. It had to come eventually, and I'm glad it was him and not someone else.
I've spent pretty much every moment since I met him wondering how I was so lucky and also how life could be so unfair. But the truth is, he didn't break my heart. Sure, I wish he had stuck around. I wish he hadn't gotten engaged. Twice. I wish we had had a shot at a real relationship and not this weird stuck in the middle thing we've got now. But it way my expectation that crushed me. It was idolizing an idea of him and not accepting who he really was that hurt me. It was my series of many mistakes that broke my heart. He was just being a nice guy and indulging a silly sophomore that thought the world of him. In all honesty, I owe him more gratitude for showing me kindness than anything else.
I don't know if he's one of the few that sees these things. I'm not sure I want to know. But last night, I learned a valuable lesson. Nothing is all bad. There might be pain in the middle, but you can't forget the moments that gave you inexhaustible joy. Because if you dwell on all the hurt, every other situation in life becomes tainted. And nothing is worse than good memories that have been twisted and tainted by time.
When I was fifteen I fell for someone that I probably would've been better off without. And I blamed him for breaking my heart for a long time. Until last night actually. I spent six years hating him and yet not being able to give him up. But last night, I found an old journal from high school. I started reading and my silly little commentary on life brought a smile to my face. When I realized just how far back it went, I started wondering what I had written about him. And I finally found the many pages devoted to the confusion he caused my heart.
I didn't imagine things between us. For however briefly, we did have something more than a friendship. I could finally remember the butterflies when I saw him, the sweet torturous joy when he found me backstage and I gave him something I had made.
Suddenly, this person, these memories, all of these moments that used to bring tears to my eyes made me laugh. I never thought I'd live to see the day when I looked back on him and smiled. But the truth is, I had so much distance from where we began, that I couldn't see things right. It took my sixteen year old account of every encounter we'd ever had to remind me how much I loved him. My friends thought he was the worst thing for me. Toxic. Poison. Danger. But he wasn't. They were jealous, and fake, and clueless. He was everything I ever needed. He was a lesson in so many things. And if he hadn't been the first to break my heart, someone else would have. It had to come eventually, and I'm glad it was him and not someone else.
I've spent pretty much every moment since I met him wondering how I was so lucky and also how life could be so unfair. But the truth is, he didn't break my heart. Sure, I wish he had stuck around. I wish he hadn't gotten engaged. Twice. I wish we had had a shot at a real relationship and not this weird stuck in the middle thing we've got now. But it way my expectation that crushed me. It was idolizing an idea of him and not accepting who he really was that hurt me. It was my series of many mistakes that broke my heart. He was just being a nice guy and indulging a silly sophomore that thought the world of him. In all honesty, I owe him more gratitude for showing me kindness than anything else.
I don't know if he's one of the few that sees these things. I'm not sure I want to know. But last night, I learned a valuable lesson. Nothing is all bad. There might be pain in the middle, but you can't forget the moments that gave you inexhaustible joy. Because if you dwell on all the hurt, every other situation in life becomes tainted. And nothing is worse than good memories that have been twisted and tainted by time.
Friday, January 22, 2016
Army of Darkness
She had always held the illusion that she was a princess. The embodiment of love and light and sweetness. But one day, she fell for a villain. Dark and dastardly and toxic. And that was the beginning of the end of her delusions.
Once she fell and stained her snowy reputation, it was just a matter of time. The years went by and the darkness accumulated in her heart. Sometimes she couldn't control the violent outbursts. Try as she might, she couldn't pretend forever to be that immaculate, glittering princess of perfection she'd hoped to be for so long.
She fought for light. She fought for love. But it never mattered much what she was fighting for. The forces of the world were much too strong. So she gave in to the poison screaming through her veins. Before long, she was more powerful, more irresistible than she could have ever hoped to be.
She took control of the growing grains of hurt and formed an army. An army of her past regrets and demons and heartaches alike.
And once she commanded the forces of darkness at will, she could banish them for days at a time.
She could never be rid of them for good, but it gave her the control she needed.
She could be the princess she had always hoped with the power of the villain who had stolen her heart.
With an army of darkness, she built her castle and her future out of beams of light and stones of sadness and no one could slow her down.
Once she fell and stained her snowy reputation, it was just a matter of time. The years went by and the darkness accumulated in her heart. Sometimes she couldn't control the violent outbursts. Try as she might, she couldn't pretend forever to be that immaculate, glittering princess of perfection she'd hoped to be for so long.
She fought for light. She fought for love. But it never mattered much what she was fighting for. The forces of the world were much too strong. So she gave in to the poison screaming through her veins. Before long, she was more powerful, more irresistible than she could have ever hoped to be.
She took control of the growing grains of hurt and formed an army. An army of her past regrets and demons and heartaches alike.
And once she commanded the forces of darkness at will, she could banish them for days at a time.
She could never be rid of them for good, but it gave her the control she needed.
She could be the princess she had always hoped with the power of the villain who had stolen her heart.
With an army of darkness, she built her castle and her future out of beams of light and stones of sadness and no one could slow her down.
Sunday, January 17, 2016
No More Fire
My life has a tendency to fall apart. I'm not great at keeping things together. But every time it falls, I find some fire, some resolve to prove that the world can't keep me down.
This time though, the fire is gone. Life has stamped out the embers until they were just ash on the ground. I look for resolve in everything around me. People. Music. Books. Characters. But nothing seems to stick. I don't know where the fire went. Or how to bring it back.
I used to be able to fight. I was a warrior. I was strong.
But the weight of the tears in my pillow is finally too much. And it's all I can do not to freeze to death in this desolate wasteland. No fire means no fight. And without my fight, what am I really? Just a girl with a broken heart and no one to help me back up.
This time though, the fire is gone. Life has stamped out the embers until they were just ash on the ground. I look for resolve in everything around me. People. Music. Books. Characters. But nothing seems to stick. I don't know where the fire went. Or how to bring it back.
I used to be able to fight. I was a warrior. I was strong.
But the weight of the tears in my pillow is finally too much. And it's all I can do not to freeze to death in this desolate wasteland. No fire means no fight. And without my fight, what am I really? Just a girl with a broken heart and no one to help me back up.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Again.
You fall in love. You fall out of it. You go through all the steps. Grief, anger, denial, acceptance. And just when you start breathing freely again, the past rounds a corner and slams into your chest, leaving you with shaking hands and cloudy eyes and shallow breathing and icy blood.
Just when you think it's been put to sleep for the last time, your heartbreak wakes up again. It catches your eye and caresses your cheek and makes you question every thought in your head.
When you've stacked the pieces of your heart right and you turn to walk away, it catches you by the ankle and your progress spills out on the ground.
You think you've got it figured out and then it falls apart again. Your future shines on the horizon, but how can you walk away from so many untied ends? And just like that, you're fighting back your past one last time, trying to salvage your future.
Just when you think it's been put to sleep for the last time, your heartbreak wakes up again. It catches your eye and caresses your cheek and makes you question every thought in your head.
When you've stacked the pieces of your heart right and you turn to walk away, it catches you by the ankle and your progress spills out on the ground.
You think you've got it figured out and then it falls apart again. Your future shines on the horizon, but how can you walk away from so many untied ends? And just like that, you're fighting back your past one last time, trying to salvage your future.
Sunday, January 3, 2016
Sorrow Is [built from prompt]
Sorrow is the
texture of sandpaper, constantly shredding and filing and grating on your skin,
rubbing you raw until the pain in unbearable.
It sounds
like rain, tapping on your window, relentless, just enough to make your head
pound and your chest ache for freedom.
Looks like
tumultuous water, you see the hints of motion from a distance, but once inside,
you’re trapped, forever doomed to toss and turn and drown.
Tastes like
ash. Dusty and stale and dry and
nauseating, turning everything grey and wasted.
And it smells
of poison, a dark, pulsating mass of deadly force, inching ever closer, making
your nose and throat burn and stinging your eyes.
Sorrow is not
for the faint of heart. Sorrow is not
for the weak. Sorrow is internal warfare
of the heart and mind and none of its soldiers come back the same.
Friday, January 1, 2016
The Year of Opportunity
Welcome to 2016.
The past year has been filled with highs and lows. I honestly can't tell you how many times I felt like my heart would burst with happiness, or with sorrow. Several points in the past year have made me realize that I give people way too many chances. I never want to be hard-hearted or mean, but I do deserve a certain level of respect from my peers and I intend to receive that respect.
I lost sight of my worth in 2015. I let my past drag me down. So I'm going into this year with no real friends, but I'm fine with that. I let go of all the dead weight from 2015, and I'm going into 2016 light as air. I don't need anyone who doesn't need me, and I certainly won't settle for anything less than what I deserve.
My word for the new year is Opportunity. I'm going to find them and take them as they come, and hopefully, open up a whole new world of possibilities for myself. Who knows what this year will bring? I don't. But I have hope for the best, and I know regardless of the outcome, if I keep my eyes on Christ, I'll turn out just fine.
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