Two Fatal Blows

Words were launched, sharp like arrows, aimed to kill.
Volley after volley, blotting out the sun, blackening the sky.
Each one found its mark, severing arteries, tearing flesh, spilling blood.
She shot with accuracy, never missing a beat.
He aimed at random but his sporadic shots caught vital organs.

Their armor was as useless as mist, hardly deflecting a breath.
The ground was bright red.
The air hinted of decay.
There would be no winner at the end of this war.

When they called off their firing, when the smoke from the battle cleared, no victory was found.
Only two broken beings, slashed and ripped apart, falling to their knees in agony.
The death of what lay between them wasn't easy.
It was long.
It was torture.
It ripped out their hearts.
It smothered their cries.

But neither warrior breathed a hint of remorse.
They both felt the righteousness of their call to battle.
They both felt the other in the wrong.
Their war was swift.
Their war was brutal.
And their war was one from which no allies could hope to be recovered.

They thought it was a battle to the death,
but they were fighting Death all along,
and it was not in Death's nature to be overthrown.
And in the end, it dealt two fatal blows.

The Monstrous Beast

She paces anxiously.
Its going to be a long day with all these nerves.  Nerves over nothing and everything all at once.
She slides her long locks into a ponytail in record time.  The tale-tale sign of her all time high stress.
She paints on the black kohl liner and layers of black mascara.  War paint.  War with no one.  War with herself.
She pops the collar of her black leather jacket and sucks in a deep breath.  The hot pink and turquoise and violet call from her closet.
No.  Stick to Black.  Black is strong.  Black is safe.  She chides her ridiculous imagination.
Black helps her fight.  It helps her come off strong, the ever impenetrable fortress of bitterness and thorns.
But really, it just gives her a way out.  A way out of making the choices that color would make imperative.
The darkness does its job, hiding her from sight, bubbling around her like a poison and forcing them away.
If they're scared, they wont try to get in.
She struts across the pavement, her signature walk screaming of confidence and intensity and made up of lie after lie.
The anxiety expands, sucking her breath and thought and threatening to revisit her minuscule breakfast.
She acts fast, using a learned tactic to combat the nausea.
1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8.  1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8.  She counts in her head to the imaginary music her feet pound out on the sidewalk.
Focus on the numbers and the anxiety can't take complete control.
A passing girls laugh catches her mid number and steals her attention.
What would that be like?
To walk and laugh and talk without headache inducing nausea and shortness of breath?
To trade inside jokes with friends and act like a kid and not care who sees?
What would it be like if you weren't worried what everyone was thinking of you all the time?
If you could walk into a room with a chest full of air and not be paranoid that people are talking about you?
She tries the trick she read online.  Four counts breathing in, and eight counts out.  The pain in her chest goes away. 
No use dwelling on 'what if' while reality gnaws a whole in your stomach.  She reminds herself as the thoughts float away, leaving the monstrous beast of fear and panic settled behind her navel.

One day, I'll know what it's like to wave goodbye to the beast.

Dandelions and Stars

I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.
How breath-taking you are when you smile.
How earth-shattering the sound of your laugh is.
How nerve-wracking your gaze is.

I wish you could see me the way I see you.
As a ray of hope.
As a future.
As a promise that better things are yet to come.

I wish I could be blatantly honest with you,
and tell you how amazing you are.
Tell you how your name sets off butterflies in my stomach.
Tell you how I dream of a life of you and me.

I wish I had met you six years ago.
I wish I hadn't skipped that first semester.
I wish you had walked into my life earlier.
I wish I had more time to spend with you.

But I suppose blowing on dandelions and wishing on stars will have to do for now, and when I see you again, maybe things will be different.  And maybe I'll get to do a little more thanking and a little less wishing.

You Taught Me

You taught me well without even knowing.
You showed me the cruelest moments of life without lifting a finger.
I learned how to love.
How to be inexplicably enamored and infatuated.
I learned what it's like to live a cliché.
To be the princess who falls for the villain.
To be the damsel in distress.
I learned, from you, how to lose myself in someone else.
To be so infatuated by someone else's power and intrigue that I forget to live my own life.
I learned to be blind to the truths spilling from the mouths of those around me.
To shut my mind and ignore and push away and fight whoever spoke against your name.
I learned so much from you.
I learned what heartache felt like.
How nothing seems to matter except for you walking away from me and the ever widening hole in my chest.
I learned how to grieve for someone that never died.
The body wracking sobs and gasps for air, praying that the aching would end. Suffocating in a pillow to muffle the sound of broken wails.
I learned how to live in a black cloud.
To bundle up in many blankets trying to keep the shivers at bay.
To stop eating when everything tastes like ash.
To hold the tears on the brink and not let them fall when people are around.
I learned not to get my hopes up because I'll always be left in the end.
Not to hope.
Not to dream.
Not to envision a future with anyone.
And when I ignore those little lessons you taught me, when I try and follow my heart, I end up here again. Holding back the tears. Choking on my questions. Spinning like a top in a whirlwind of confusion. Asking, how did this happen? What did I do to deserve this? Why was I so stupid?
Thank you for your lessons. For all the little gems of knowledge I acquired through your use of me. Maybe next time I'll be smart enough to listen to them.

Reaching The Top

Nothing about him came softly.
Not quiet, serene, or gentle.
Not unassuming or calm or mild.
He blew in, a boisterous wind that gave you little choice but to pay attention.
And as soon as she looked, she was entranced.
Gone, like Alice down the rabbit hole, lost to a world of whimsical imagination and him, him, him.
In every action, every word, every thought, there he was smiling, joking, laughing, capturing her heart without the slightest clue.
He was a good thing for her, in that way.
He taught her that butterflies really could be a good thing.
That smitten was in no way an outdated word.
That fairy tales were alive and well and playing out in her world. She looked at him with feelings that had long been absent from her heart.
With hope and promise.
With giddy excitement and nervous giggles.
With true joy.
He was her summer breeze.
Her fresh air.
Her change of scenery.
And that sliver of hope, with it's peculiar strength held firm through doubt and fear and angry words. While everyone doubted, she yet hoped.
Because she knew as they didn't the way his eyes constantly searched her face, watching for a smile or some envoy of friendship.
She knew as they did not the nervous glances exchanged between the two.
She saw in him the promise they refused to see in the world and she let it fill her up.
Bursting with nerves and smiles and pent up exhilaration, she set her sights on that impossibly high peak of joy, certain for some reason that he could aid her in the journey.
And she found solace in the idea of resting beside him when they reached the top.

Watching the World Wake Up

She liked to watch the world wake up.
As the silence gave way to the slow drip of the faucet and the shower.
And the floor boards begin to creak.
And the gentle chirping of one lone bird fading into two and then three and then all of them together in a beautiful morning symphony.
As the streetlights click off and hand over luminescent power to the rising sun.
And the sky fades from black to hues of yellow and orange and finally to blue.
And the free freeway comes to life, humming and buzzing and beeping.
And the promised morrow at last puts the deep night to sleep.

All He Needed

She watched him walking away as her heart sank to her toes.  She couldn't let it end like this.  His words still burning her mind were heavy on her chest. 
I just want to hear you say yes.  Say you trust me.
"Wait!"  She cried.  The tears staining the sweatshirt that was suffocating her dotted the fabric in a dismal pattern of pain.  The clouds parted and the earth stopped spinning as he turned around.  Did she mean it?  Could she try to let him put the pieces back together.
"Please, I'm just scared."  She whispered.
Those blue eyes cut into her soul to a depth no other human had found.  How could he still love her when she let him see it all?  When he saw all of her issues, he'd be sure to leave.  But until he left, she couldn't let him walk away wanting her and thinking she didn't want him.  Time slowed as he crossed the space between them and his hands were on her elbows.
"Trust me.  Just say you trust me."  He whispered, searching her eyes for some hint of hopeful truth.
"I can try."
And that was all he needed.
He crushed her to his chest, the girl with the dazzling smile and the ocean colored eyes.  His whole world was in his arms and never in his life had he felt more scared or more sure of anything he'd ever done.  He could put her back together, even though she was beautiful in all her broken pieces.  All she ever wanted was to be whole again, and if it took him forever, that was what he was going to do.

He and Me

He was more than a person.
He was an experience.
He was a phenomenon.

He walked into a room and caught every eye, turned every head.
His easy smile was contagious.
His genuine interest made you feel like one in a million.

He was bliss.
He was perfection.

And every step he took, brought him closer to me.

 

And by some chance, some miracle of heaven, we became one.

We were unstoppable.

We were a force to be reckoned with.

 

He smoothed out my roughness.

He eased my ferocity.

He was the calm to my crazy and everything about him made sense to me.

 

We had a glow like fire.

Catching the light and spinning it around the walls.

We were magnificent.

 

Everything in our world was picturesque.

Nothing out of place, not a single smudge on our perfect white.

And for those few moments, however fleeting they were, we existed in complete impeccability.

Painted Glass

She used to be see through,

The glass girl in the shadows.

 

Fragile and delicate with a smile that held a universe of stars

was planted on her face.

 

She was easy to read.  Her personality was always on display,

until one day they brought the paint.

 

A drop from a word here,

A dab from a sneer there.

And drop by drop they painted the glass dark.

 

No colors but red and black, the colors of pain.

Blocking out any clear spots that showed the brightness of the day.

 

And over time, she accepted the paint.

She stopped trying to wipe it off.

Stopped trying to wash it away.

Until all she was, was a mess of black and red paint.

Today

It's been a long time since I just let myself be.

A long time since I walked out of a building giddy with laughter and surrounded by friends.

It's been a long time since I feel this good about people.

 

I have been so bitter, so calloused, so cold, that I forgot what it felt like to make a friend.

But today...today was insane.

I let my guard down, I let these strangers see me for who I am.

My awkward timing, my sarcastic comments, my easily embarrassed disposition.

I let them see the real me.

The one who says dude a lot and smiles and snorts when she laughs.

The one who has a constant and irrational fear of doing something stupid and being judged.

And no one left.

No one gawked or jeered.

No one gasped.

No one was put off.

 

I spent a long time being ashamed of who I was.

I spent all of my friendships being judged for being too loud, too selfish, too nice, too this, too that, too much all together, that I think I started to believe it.

And today I was reminded that I am not too much of anything. 

I am the perfect proportion of every piece of me and I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.

 

I was me today, 100 percent me, and I actually made friends for the first time in six years. 

I actually have inside jokes again.

I have people who can look at me, and know what I'm thinking.

I have people who want to be around me, who laugh when I make a joke.

I have people who can make fun of me without being mean spirited.

I have people.

 

My face seriously burned for like an hour after class, because I was so worried that I had made a bad impression, but not one single memory of a mean glance comes to mind.

 

They liked me.

They actually liked me.

 

And I still cant stop smiling.

I look ridiculous, I look insane because I just smile for no reason, out of nowhere.

And I'm really freaking happy.

 

So, to the old "friends" who said I was a bad friend.  To the friends who abandoned me when I joined drill team just because it wasn't band.  To the friend who said I was selfish.  To each and every one of you, I send a sincere wish of absolute nothingness.

I don't hate you.  But I am sincerely glad you aren't around anymore.  Because you were all types of poison, and how dare you crush me that way and make me think I was worthless.

 

And to the people who laughed with me today, the ones that walked across campus and made me feel like I was worth something again, I send the most heartfelt thanks and a genuine excitement for what our futures hold.

 

 

The Butterflies

I thought they died, the butterflies.
Never to be seen again.
But here I am, struggling to catch my breath as they flood my nerves once again.
I thought he broke me.
To a point where I couldn't be fixed.
And yet you've managed to stir up the very thing he put to rest.

Is it just the nervous way you smile to yourself?
Or perhaps it's the way you can't sit still and I know the feeling.
I can't put my finger on it but nevertheless sleep evades me tonight, driven out of mind by these darned butterflies.
And while I'd love to say I hate the sensation, it wouldn't be the most true thing to pass from my lips.
I sort of love that you do this to me.
That this time it's you and not him.

Fleeting Condtradictions

Contradictions can be beautiful, but rarely can they last.
Morning and night struggle in the sky, fighting in such a breath taking way that it hardly seems a fight at all. 
In the moment, all the colors twirl and dance to create a masterpiece by natures own hand.
But once and for all, either morning or night must give in to the other and fail.
Seconds, minutes of beauty are they worth the inevitable losing of one side?
If you asked me a week ago, I'd say absolutely.
And now, I'd say no.
Because in a sunset, in a sunrise, no one gets hurt.
But in matters of the heart, when light tries to bond to dark, one must overcome the other.
The two cannot coexist, they cannot inhabit the same space.
Dark will suffocate the light, and Light will overpower the dark.
Suffocation, overpowering, neither are enjoyable. 
Someone has to hurt in the end.
So those brief moments of beauty, those seconds of bliss, they don't make up for the heartbreak.
They don't outweigh the pain.
I was in a state of rose-colored-glass delusion.
I thought we could live as one and the same.
But living with you was like the sun trying to be out at night.
It was impossible.
It changed the entire meaning of us.
And while I look back with a heavy heart at our brief period of beautiful contradiction, I will never go back.

Mortified Memories

I thought about you today.
I thought about that stupid bracelet I made you.
Out of those stupid coke tabs.
I don't think I'll ever forget sitting in the middle of the floor making it when you walked in.
And I tried to ignore you, because I was trying to be cool.
But you didn't let me get away with that.
You just had to come back and hug me.
I don't know if that was your decision or you merely giving into the pressure of the girls sitting around me, and from what I remember, gesturing wildly for you to initiate some kind of contact with me.

I think about that stupid bracelet and I'm absolutely mortified.
So, in case you're reading this, I apologize for offering such a stupid gift.
And for giving it to you.

But I don't apologize for the butterflies in my stomach when you had me tie it on your wrist backstage.  Or for the pride I felt that you even wore it at all, whether you wanted to or were just trying to be nice.  Because that moment is one of the many moments burned into my memory and stuck in the ever growing file with your name on it.
That was a good day for me.
I felt like you cared.
I felt special.
I felt acknowledged.
Even if it was only because of a stupid, admittedly atrocious, poorly made bracelet.

And those are the feelings I miss when I miss you.

Unseen

I've always loved blending in.
Disappearing into the crowd.
Being just another face that doesn't get pointed out.

It's been difficult with a name like mine, and a face that mirrors that of my mother's. People like to comment on how strange a name such as mine is. How unique. How different.
They like to talk about the resemblance I bear to my mother. How we wear the same smile. How we could be sisters.

My family is an outgoing one. My dad has never met a stranger. My brother embraces everyone he sees with open arms and a warm smile. Even my mom has a kind and friendly disposition.

And then there is me.

I used to be so shy, so introverted. And then I caught up with the rest of my kin. I was loud, friendly, bright.
Too bad misfortune and betrayal have such a way of tainting bright hearts.

I have reverted. Not all the way, but some, back to the shy girl I was back in my youth.

Here, here it is easy to disappear. Thousands of faces cloud me as we float across the campus in a mass. I am unknown here. I have blended.
At long last, I am unseen.

Paradise

I look across the glassy water, rippling gently with waves.

Salty sea spray tickles my cheeks and the tip of my nose,  but I hardly feel the intrusion at all.

Across the briny deep, lights twinkle and glint in windows of far off buildings.

It has the effect of gold glitter, hanging, suspended in time and space, continually reflecting light and sparkling across the sky.

A deep gulp of fresh air, tinted with the scent of seaweed and sand and salt fills my lungs, like I'm actually breathing the scene in and I close my eyes.

This is ecstasy.

This is bliss.

Forever scorched by the rays of the beating sun and roughed up by the jagged, minuscule grains of sand.

Tanned and smooth, like a rock weathered down to a polished pebble, constantly altered by the never ending influence of my surroundings.

No music is needed here, for nature provides a cacophonous symphony all it's own.

Gulls screech and waves break and breezes blow, swirling together in a harmony unlike any other.

This is true euphoria.

This is paradise.