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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.