but i wonder, did i ever return?
i love you both, and can never
not even if all of our dreams
came true five, ten, fifteenfold
repay you for all you have done.
but i need a bigger knife, now.
to cut the tension and to saw
out a hole just for me to see
that i can breathe, if i step out.
out from the inner circle, this
circle of motherfucking truth,
that you granted me access to
and similarly damned me to.
the pressure is too great, your
expectations are too high for me.
i cannot hold this family up;
certainly hold it together.
i won't be running away again but
please stop making me wish i would.
someone told me once that i was an all or nothing type of girl.
and they meant it as a compliment, or rather an insult
draped and disguised to look like one.
but it's true, i know this.
and i have locked onto that phrase for years and years.
because i am so afraid to love someone wrong
that i love everyone too much, maybe.
or maybe not ever at all.
i can tell you what a crush feels like, list symptoms and
cross things off on a list one by exciting, miserable
one. but i cannot write on the excitement
of the brush of someone's fingers
or the bone-rattling nerves of an across-the-room glance.
i can't remember what rejection feels like and if
you asked me, i could not properly say
that i care about that anyway.
but i am familiar with this, the anxiety and this yearning.
to talk and laugh and say out loud what was said
to me and oh, however shall i respond?
that's what i'd say.
if i had a crush, anyway. but i am a girl who just...
does things all at once or not at all, and so
i find myself terribly frightened
to feel anything at all.
this was going to be a poem of epic proportions.
but not even poetry stands up to you and i anymore.
and every year it gets harder to explain this to you.
because i love you for everything you are, have been,
will be, cannot be, refuse to be, and try to be.
and that's really all there is to it.
we're still tragic and all wrong and we feel it, sometimes.
but i hope that no matter where you go next year,
i am with you somehow, even if you just remember me.
because whatever we are is not meant to die, fizzle, or explode.
it is meant to reassure and to be patient and to hold hands.
and that's really all there is to it.
there will always be somewhere that you can call collect.
i solemnly swear to accept any and all charges billed to me.
i would follow you until the ends of the earth, but only for us.
not for me or for you or poetry's sake, only if we needed it.
this is my "i'll see you soon," when you go away from me.
i will never be farther than you would like me to be.
play them like a game
and very quickly you will find
that there's really nothing
to worry about.
so take a hand and lead
them into the dark.
where monsters hide and
the light does nothing
but make shadows dance.
then you'll be forced to remember
that you are nothing but bones
nothing but bones and dust.
so fuck you, honestly. because until tonight i thought i felt okay, but i think i’m lonely.
my heart sticks to the walls of my chest and i’m thankful for the cold because it means i can wear mittens and have an excuse for the spaces between my fingers to be empty.
it’s a quarter after three in the morning, and i miss you.
and i don’t even know who i’m talking to, really.
but that’s kind of the problem, too. i’m not talking to anyone.
everyone’s sleeping, and i’d be sad but i don’t want to be sad anymore.
so i sing to my dog for an hour and do some laundry, and wonder where my words went.
and soon i’ll take a shower, and soon i’ll go to bed,
and soon you’ll wake up and not think of me.
and that’s okay, because as strangers, i have no place in your life.
and as strangers, you have no place in my heart or in my head.
but you, you are everywhere else. and that’s kind of the problem, too.
but i guess i understand why they say lonely people are always up in the middle of the night, because i am. because until tonight i thought i felt okay, but i think i’m lonely.
nothing feels any different and nothing has changed
but i feel husked out and full of echoes.
nothing inside me makes any sense
and i can’t bring myself to talk about it
because i don’t understand it,
i can’t make the words make sense in my head and
even if i could i don’t think i’d want to say anything out loud.
i want to crumble collar bones in my hands while i shake from the inside out
and tell my story to a fresh pair of ears, i want to talk but i want to be prompted,
i want someone to know what questions to ask or at least fake it.
i want someone to love me, to just plain old-fashioned love me
and i want to love them in return.
i want to be able to at least entertain the notion that one day i can be somebody’s and.
me and, she came over and, we went out last weekend and,
i just want to be somebody’s and.
i want to be somebody’s distraction.
i see you.
in the way the light filters through the blinds.
at sunrise, soft and gray and tired, fingertipped conversations.
at sunset, languid and creaking, bones and skin and heavy eyelids.
in cemeteries, reading between the lines of nervous laughter and laced fingers.
in passenger seats, spinning tires while we spun out the sun with conversation.
on empty pages, aching for a way to get rid of a year’s worth of words.
i don't think i love you right,
and maybe i don't even love you at all.
because there's something in you so sick
and all-consuming that there's no room for anything else.
you are an all-seasons grinch,
ready with a bitter wit and a heart three sizes too small.
and that's supposed to be funny and timely
but it falls so flatly from my fingertips onto these keys.
and i don't even know what season it was when
you kissed me but i remember it didn't matter
and if i could do it again, i'd kiss you back.
but i don't love you and you sure as hell
don't love me and i can live with that
and i will always wonder why?
i've made a terrible mistake with you,
and i will always wonder what it was.
fall has never felt more like falling
than my head on your shoulder
and your hand on my hip
but there isn't a damn thing poetic
about things you can't have and
things you don't want but
i just remember so much
and it comes in flashes, like
laughing too hard at jim carrey
being regulars wherever we went
getting caught in the cold and
just plain getting caught
you told me if i walk slower,
i won't get as wet from the rain.
so i tried it, and it didn't work.
and where's the poetry in that?
the only thing i'm good at is
keeping you around, but
always too far away.
if i can't make us sound pretty,
i suppose that means i'm over it
and if i'm sick of trying to, well
i suppose that means we're okay
and if i keep trying...
i suppose that means i love you.
i don't know which birds sing in the mornings.
i like sunrises, but only if i haven't been to bed yet.
i like to emerge from my sheets and pillows when the sun is high
and the shadows are gone.
before then, the sun is too young and exuberant
and i have such an old and heartbreakingly tired soul.
the sun was barely over the old church outside your bedroom,
painting the bare walls of your room with the colors of the last supper.
you woke me up, soft and sweet,
like i know you can be, when you put to rest your premature bitterness and apathy.
i don't know how long you lay beside me, the balls of your feet pressed against my shins,
your pinky finger tracing the freckles on my arm in the same pattern, countless times.
but it was the softest way i've ever woken up, and it reminds me of summer.
it reminds me that bruised does not mean broken,
and even shattered pieces can be reassembled.
it reminds me that there is love everywhere,
and we once had it in the most morning-sun way.
and i'm so sorry, but not really.
because i know this is just a waste
of otherwise blank and empty space
but my god, i just want to make you know
how hard it is to organize the feelings
in my head and the thoughts in my heart
when my greatest wish, to make the world stop,
is forgotten and replaced before it can even be;
because i can't keep thoughts in my head, ever
because if i do they fester, and if they fester,
here they come, up and out and i can't stop them
and then i can't take them back
and then you'll know
and i won't.
and if i close my eyes tonight,
just to see your face,
it certainly won't be the first.
and it certainly won't be the last.
and if i slow my breathing,
if i calm my pounding heart,
i promise i will listen to you,
to all your bullshit, start to stop.
and you'll tell me everything,
everything i know and don't.
but i've heard it all before;
tonight is no different from the last.
i swear to god i love you more in death,
i love you more as this fictional corpse,
than i could have ever loved you alive.
and i swear to god you're beautiful.
and i swear to god you're all mine.
but you had a face your mother didn't even love.
i'd have loved you enough for the both of us.
i think what i'm most unhappy with is the title.
edit: feb 10, 3:26am, 2012.
you're an ass.
and you deserve to be lonely.
and i hate you.
and i love you.
and i hate to love you.
and i fucking love to hate you.
but you're just a boy.
and i'm just a girl.
and we're just something that never happened.
and we're just a big, fucked up, mistake.
and we're nothing special at all, really.
and we're going to be forgotten.
but i'm just a girl.
and you're just a boy.
and i'm still in love with you.
and i'm hellbent on hating you.
and i'm looking for another you.
and i'm convinced i won't find him.
so you're still an ass.
and i'm still in love.
but i'm heading out.
and i'll find someone.
i whispered, "baby, i need you now more than ever."
i whispered, "i may be the driver, but this car is out of control."
i whispered, "there's nothing for us at the end of this road."
and you said, "crash, bang, smoke."
i really don't understand why i am this way.
why every day is a struggle, why i have to dredge up
every single fucking positive thought from the parts of my heart
that continue to beat and bleed.
i really don't understand why i can do this.
why i can sling excuses and bullshit, why i can talk away
every single fucking positive thing that could happen to me when
all i want is something to smile at.
i really don't understand what keeps me here.
what keeps me holding on to you, what makes me think of
every single fucking positive thing you did for me
when there was so much negative.
i really, really don't understand why everything i write
is so angry, so sad, so fucking angsty,
even when i've had a wonderful day and i could swear to you,
i could swear it doesn't hurt anymore.
nothing hurts anymore, and nothing makes me angry.
walk away from everything i felt for you
and everything i did for you
and all the tears i fucking cried for you,
and it won't hurt me, not this time.
in the darkness behind your closed eyes,
in the space behind clenched lips.
that's where they're not.
in lonely nights spent pressed into corners,
in bitter tears and trembling hands.
that's where they're not.
unfinished, but i'm trying to write something everyday. 4-10-2011.
i'm so tired of being a joke.
and i'm so tired of.
stop hurting me.
i do my best, always.
it's tearing me apart.
you can't see me crying.
and i'm not going to tell.
but i can't seem to stop.
i love you, too much.
fuck you, i don't want to care.
nothing makes sense.
especially when you.
when you can't.
can't remember anything.
She asked me to tell her story for you all today.
I wanted to say no, but how do you say no to a dead girl?
I didn’t think you could, either.
So here I am.
But I've been thinking- we all know her story.
You’ve been fed her story by her caring, devoted parents.
So I’m going to tell you my story.
I was with her every step of the way.
[Except when it mattered, except for at the end.]
I was there when her caring, devoted parents called her a liar,
called her a thief, and called her a slut.
[Then lovingly announced it was a character building exercise. ]
I was there when instead of getting help for their daughter
as she repeatedly cut and destroyed her body,
they praised her, bought her new razorblades,
picked up her various painkillers.
Oh yes, her parents are real gems,
ladies and gentlemen.
They were very involved in Jamie’s life.
Always made sure she had
everything she wanted.
You know what?
They spoiled her to death.
Oh, too soon for suicide humor?
My apologies. I guess I’m bitter.
The last thing I need to say is,
Jamie wanted me to thank you all.
She wanted to thank you all for letting her go.
there's no delicate, politically correct way to say this.
as soon as i saw you leaning against the wall of the bp,
with your pants halfway down your ass,
your wifebeater thrown over your shoulder,
your big brimmed hat on crooked,
and your white skin pockmarked with needle tracks,
i wasn't scared of you, i was disgusted.
my first thought? burned out wigger.
my second? just please don't say anything to me.
my third? fuck, he's probably looking at my shitty white girl ass.
my fourth? he just opened the door for me.
i think what i said was, "oh! thank you. excuse me."
and i think what you said was, "ain't no thang."
and i saw on your forearm not needle tracks,
but the very same scars that have lined my hips and thighs.
i looked at the sodas, and you pointed out the cheap ones.
"my girl drank three sodas an hour before she passed.
i guess you could call me a cheapskate, but it's worth it."
i was lost for words, so i just thanked you again.
you got in line, asked for the usual. you got your cigarettes.
i bought my soda, and turned around to you holding the door.
i said, "thank you again." and walked away.
i don't know you. i don't know your life.
i don't ever feel bad about making snap judgements.
but you radically changed my view of you in two short minutes.
if there was any way for you to know, i'd like to say i'm sorry.
and thank you...you've inspired me to change.
day 21 out of a 30 day challenge. very overdue.
apologies from you are unheard of.
so when you apologized, i was shocked.
i immediately forgave you. i felt so relieved.
because, brandon...when we're on point, we're on point.
you're either nothing to me, or one of my favorite people.
i know which one i prefer, but it's so hard.
you're so abrasive, and i don't roll over and take it anymore.
i've changed a lot, and i don't want to be treated badly anymore.
i've told you before i love you, and i mean it. you just hurt me, a lot.
i'm sorry you don't approve of some of my actions.
just please trust me, i know what i'm doing.
i have my reasons. i'm doing the best i can.
i don't like disappointing you, but i have no choice.
this is who i am now, and if you don't want to be friends, well.
i won't understand. i won't like it. i won't say it's okay.
but i'll accept it, like i accepted your apology. carefully, but quickly.
the apology even hurt, because of what you followed it with.
i threw the apology and the forgiveness away, until today.
but i talked to your mom, and she reminded me of who you really are.
and i miss him, so i'm throwing away the shit we've said lately.
i'm wiping our slate clean, in my head.
will you accept it?
letter 22 out of 30 in a 30 day challenge. overdue.