Fact: My sister is a wonderful human being.
After hearing about the tragedies happening around us, she decides to make paper stars. Lots and lots of stars.
She asks for empty bottles from the neighbours and her friends. She fills the bottles with these stars, folding away all her problems into glass bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. After she fills the bottles and jars she hands them to her friends and family.
She gives one to me.
The paper stars in a rainbow pattern, they seem so full of wonder. Even if they are nothing more than paper encased in glass.
I take the glass jar and place it on the top shelf of my school locker. Reminding me that I can keep a piece of home and happiness close to me.
But it didn't last.
After I made some mistakes I didn't feel as though I wanted any happiness near me. I wanted to take every bit of hope and hide it away.
I took the jar of paper stars out of my locker 2 days ago.
Holding it close to my chest as I walked down the halls of my school.
My head hanging.
Eyes glued to the floor.
Walking away from everything.
But still sort of hopeful...
Wishing for a bit more optimism.
A shining star.
I met you 3 years ago.
5' 2" and terrifying.
You never got any taller, but your rockstar personality shot right to the moon and back. And you never let anybody bring you down or tell you what to do. I admired that about you.
I remember the dumbest things about our friendship. I remember working with you on a group project we both didn't care about. I remember becoming friends with you like it was an easy thing, like we both knew we would be friends eventually.
I remember the first song I ever sent to you, and not expecting you to like it but you did anyway. You told me the song would even get stuck in your head. I promised to send you every song I would ever write.
We were close. I would always make time to talk to you. It didn't matter whether or not you were interrupting anything, I would set anything aside to talk to you.
We shared our jokes, and our pain. Our laughter and longing, we were good friends and we never let each other down.
And I will admit that this is my fault.
Please don't place all of the blame on her.
She may be guilty, but so am I.
2 out of the 3 problems were caused by my impulses.
I can handle 66.7% of the blame and consequences.
I can do that.
You can hate me if you want.
You tell me you don't want to talk to her anymore.
I tell you I respect your decision and that I will be here if you need me.
I am sorry.
I know I screwed up our friendship, and I wish I could take it all back.
I wish you could remember me as the innocent songwriter who held out arms of comfort instead of words of contradiction.
I am terrible.
And you don't need me.
But if your heart finds enough forgiveness to see past this.
I will give you a way out.
And if you choose not to take it.
Then maybe you believe that I am worth taking back.
That our friendship is worth fixing.
So tell me:
If I am worth that much...
Are you okay with the idea of starting over?
Because I want to make this better.
You don't have to be around me if you don't want to.
But if I can start over.
I will live through my life thankful that I got a second chance at all.
I woke up sick.
And I feel awful.
But not for the reason you think.
I can assure you that I am fine, I just need some time to lucid dream and wish my worries away. But that might never happen. And honestly, that's okay with me.
I'm wearing the same infected clothes, and wrapping up in the same infected blanket hoping to get better.
I've gotten the rest of my family sick, so good for me.
Because my family is made up of some of the strongest people I know. We never get sick.
And yet, here we are. Bound to our beds and eating soup like it's the elixir of life.
But we will get better. Physically...
As for everything else... we can leave that until tomorrow.
But I'm still in these infected, sick clothes. But I'm too tired to do anything about it. So I'll sleep.
It's the best thing I can do right now.
Don't you think?
This state of limbo is the calmest and scariest place to be.
Where all of these decisions seem to matter long before they've been made.
And here I am just staring down the possibilities...
I can stop you know.
I have self control and that is something I can be sure of.
But even now, what are we supposed to do?
I'll start with saying this:
I'm not going anywhere.
I am not a guarantee for what you might want, but I won't leave.
So here's what I propose:
Stop. Think. Act.
And sure, that's brutal honesty, and it's not easy.
But you've got an iron will do you not?
Just watch some TV with me.
Kind of a loaded question isn’t it?
Is there something you’ve lost?
Something you’ve spent?
Put yourself behind and look ahead
Don’t you gain something if you give something instead?
Do you have a family? Or friends? Who you’d do anything for?
Do you value yourself but see that they’re worth more?
I’m not a perfect person, that I can say
I’m only human but is selfish really the way?
Maybe you’d give up time for pain or for strife
But when it matters the most, do you give up your own life?
Maybe you’ve got it all, and you’ve got a life to live
But those who lose everything for others always have more to give
Maybe you don’t care, you’d give up nothing at all
You put yourself high up on that shelf, I hope you enjoy the fall
After reading some words that needlessly rhyme
I’ll ask the same question, but you answer this time
If everything matters, fate, destiny, and luck,
This question falls to you:
So what do you give up?
To the girl I wrote the song for:
I shouldn't have said what I did over the February break. Sometimes too much truth is just as deadly as one lie. And maybe that's what shot your silence across the ocean.
Even though you told me I shouldn't be sorry for the way I did things, I will continue to to apologize for everything I did. And if I have one request for your next decision, I can only hope that you don't hate me.
Because I can't forgive myself for what happened.
To the girl who watches TV with me:
My impulsive behaviour on that March night was my fault.
I knew what I was doing, I knew people would get hurt, and I did it anyway.
I will admit, the rush was not the worst thing in the world. But it came with too many consequences.
So please, with every episode of a TV show that we both enjoy, just remember that we will never be what we were.
...And I will never let you be sorry.
To my brother:
You were the first person to find out what happened and I asked you to keep me safe by keeping my secrets in your chest. I prayed you wouldn't let the words fall from your heart, I begged you not to tell our parents.
I shouldn't have put that kind of weight on your conscience.
To my parents:
Telling you what happened was the hardest thing for me to do. But I can only hope that I haven't lost all of your trust because of what happened.
To the bodyguard:
Actually.... you are the person I really don't want to apologize to. But I am still sorry.
Mostly for my actions and because what I did hurts the person you love most, and that I can accept that as my fault. I know somewhere in your soul, you hate me. And that's something you and I have in common.
But I can live with you never forgiving me. Because you are just here to protect the people you love. And I am sorry I threatened your comfortable life. I didn't plan on hurting anyone... but I did.
Just promise me this:
Be good to her.
Because if you don't do that...
Then what the hell are you doing?
I cannot be sorry for you.
I can promise you that these next few days will be some of the most painful. And to a point, I am too much of a masochist to care. You will want to punch brick walls and bleed for your mistakes. You will want a perfect stranger to beat you close to death and walk away like it's no big deal.
You will want to apologize every single day until you blow out your vocal chords. You will want to suffer.
But you will not cry.
You will believe that crying is not worth it.
You will choose to be silent, you will choose to become numb to all of your pain. And I will not be sorry for you.
I will never be sorry for you.
But I will tell you that you are not going to feel this forever.
So do me a favour and walk.
Walk with your regrets and live on.
Work for your trust back, and maybe then you'll have a chance to start over.
I hope you find what you're looking for.
It’s 11:30 at night, and I’m staring at a screen that no longer notifies me that anyone I know is awake. For I am once again avoiding sleep, but I am waiting for a reason to stay awake. I do not want to sleep for fear of never waking up, but if you send me a message, I will have a reason to get up in the morning.
Fact: Our communication is more body language than it is words but not that this applies to the text message you will send from your phone. For the only thing that doesn’t involve words in a texting conversation is silence.
You’d be surprised at how often I’ve had to be silent for the sake of others. You see, I have been told by many that I am too selfless, and that I need to look out for myself a little more. But I can’t. I do not have the ability to stop caring about people who need me, even if I am suffering more than they are. It hurts…to know that people I care about are in pain, so I pretend my pain isn’t there.
But slowly, I begin to realize that listening to others and caring for them is not a bad thing, but it does give me a reason to ignore my own problems. I don’t want to ignore my own issues, but I don’t have the courage to tell them to my own friends, why is that?
One time, my brother was so sick he could barely swallow without feeling pain, so I only asked him yes or no questions so he could nod or shake his head to answer. His pain, kept him silent, and my pain keeps me silent. The only difference between his situation and mine is that my communication with him was working and this silence within me prevents me from even saying hi to people.
I want to tell people everything, I want to have 5-hour conversations about everything that makes me silent and I want to be able to send you a text message without worrying about whether or not I just interrupted your life for 2 seconds. I want to tell you that I’m having a bad day, but I can’t because seeing you makes my day so much better that I have to smile. I want to tell you why I hate the weekends because I love school because my friends are at school, and that I had a fight with my parents, and that I hate looking at my own reflection, and that every time I say to someone that I’m sorry, I’m also trying to say that I love them. I am sorry…sorry… I want to tell you that I sometimes feel so much pain that when you say hello or goodbye, I will only have enough energy to give you a small smile and a wave, I am lonely…
I want to get better, I want to say everything and be honest and just WHY GOD WON’T YOU HELP ME?!? I want to play music, and have fun, and live my life, please somebody hear me…
1 New notification:
“Hey, are you still awake? You seemed a little out of it today. I’m always here for you if you need me.”
It’s 12:00am and I’ve missed the moment where today became tomorrow. So maybe today is the day I tell you everything. Maybe our communication isn’t broken. I write back saying: “Thanks for checking in on me, it means a lot. Now that you mention it, there is something that’s been bothering me, I have something I need to tell you…”
The truth about being a superhero, is that only certain people know when to call us at exactly the right time. When the world is about to break into chaos and when the cities need us to be there.
But this isn’t exactly the job I thought it was going to be. I have devoted myself to being the best I can be for the people of my city, for freedom and justice, and for you. And for the first few months of my job, I was everywhere.
People knew my name, I was in every newspaper, children looked up to me, put me on their lunchboxes, they wanted to be me…
They say heroes aren’t born, they’re made. But I was born! Of the kindness of my mother, and the bravery of my father to create this image of strength. I am a superhero! I can fly, can you fly? Can you wear this suit? Can you handle the responsibility?
Not all of my city wanted a superhero. Some of them became the villains. And it’s not like I can’t handle a few bad guys, but sometimes, the citizens are my kryptonite.
Sometimes they don’t want me, one day they praise me and the work that I’ve done, the next day, they say they don’t need another hero, I’m just another problem, they say “Leave us the way that you found us: broken. And not needing anybody around to fix it.”
But I’m not perfect either. I can fly, but gravity still brings me back to earth, I can run, but not from my problems, I can carry cars with my two hands. But the weight of the world still sits on my shoulders.
The day they told me to leave the city, I reminded myself that if I harmed any one person, broke my promise to be the sole keeper of freedom and justice for all. That I would hang up my cape and quit.
And I did. I became human again, I am not as strong as you made me out to be. You told me I wasn’t needed. And soon after the villains had returned and they were shouting for me to save them again.
I thought you didn’t want me, stop it, I’m no hero, I’m just a person. Please, my powers only do so much. Do you still need me to save you? I’m just an alien, a science experiment, a mutant, a drawing in a comic book.
I am not your superhero! I can’t do this anymore! It was you who pushed me away, you fear my powers, you fear me. But I didn’t do anything wrong.
Please… Just let me go. You are the heroes now. Just let me go.
I have never felt stronger than when I allow myself to make choices that nobody else would dare make for me. Because I am the divide between the words “yes” and “no”, I am a choice.
This choice comes to us in many forms but for those of us who wonder about how many choices we have left, we ask ourselves, “Where can we go from here?”
I have never attempted suicide, but I have thought about it many times. I have seen death in many forms. Usually, they come in the most harmless appearances.
I too, have held pills in my hand and felt the weight of death. And it didn’t weigh anything.
Death is a lightweight… and a heavy subject.
I rely on my faith to pull me together but if you turn things the opposite way they can become something terrible. My faith’s cross turned upside down is a representation of the devil and a simple necktie turned upside down is just a fancy way of hanging yourself.
Simple things can become deadly if you let them. The window you used to gaze out of, marveling the world, is now a doorway spiraling downward and few people stand up when they get to the bottom, but everyone stood tall at the top.
A plastic bag can hold your food, a necessary thing for you to live, but plastic can take you oxygen away, another thing you need to live. You need water to live, but you also need water to drown, at least in most cases.
There is a red rope hanging on a hook on my bedroom ceiling, representing a story from the bible, a woman wanted to be saved because she knew that her city was going to crumble into pieces. So she hung a red rope from her window for God’s people to find her and take her away from death.
But the red rope seems to close to a noose now…
So why couldn’t I do it? Why couldn’t I even try to attempt a choice only I have the ability to make, why can’t I do this to myself?!
I know there are people who will actually consider a choice, and go through with it, or they will fail and suffer afterwards. But for me… I have wondered who will miss me when I go. Who will be the first to know, the first to cry, the first one to consider the same choice I made after I made that choice, this choice… Is mine to make…
But I decided to stop. This is not a choice I make for me, it is a reminder that I still have another day, that I have another chance. I am the divide between “yes” and “no”. So for the people who still care about me, I looked death in its eyes… and I said “no”.
Your average human body has hair, a head, arms, legs, a torso, hands and feet, eyes, ears, a brain and heart...
But if my body is made of music, are my arms mallets? Are my legs the legs of a piano?
Is my heart the drum that my feet will always follow? The metronome that my body will always follow?
Is my DNA coded in sheet music?
Are my hands the baton? Are my fingers the keys? Is my spine a xylophone, each vertebrae a singular key?
Fact: The average human body will eventually narrow down to only 207 bones. Are my 207 bones each a separate instrument? All part of the orchestral body,
If they say music never dies, do I die?
Does my soul live on generations after I am gone? Will people still remember me?
If my body is made of music...
Will you still listen?
Even if the song is over?
That can't possibly be right.
I never planned on being this kind of crazy, but I don't hate it. This is not what we expected and yet somehow we're okay with it.
I'm being very vague, I know. But only some of us are going to know what happened. So I don't need to shout it to the rest of the world. The rest of the world doesn't really need to know what happened to us.
I'm not afraid to die some days.
Mainly because when I do get on with living, I get caught up in being so busy that I don't have time for death.
Or maybe that death will be gracious enough not to have time for me.
I wish I knew how to pick up the pieces of my life and try to put them together without losing anything on the way.
You know that I don't belong to anyone. And that no one belongs to me, I am not one to claim anything for myself.
I think that you are awesome. And you can decide to throw that to the back pages of your life story and I won't be mad at you. I'll just decide to keep writing and maybe the book won't seem so heavy on your heart.
But even as I say all of these great things about you. I cannot tell you that I am sure of what will happen to us. You can't have me.
And I will not be able to explain why. But I will say that I feel comfortable where we are now. Held in hugs and folded away with stray sheets of paper. I don't want to lose you, but I cannot say with confidence that I can be what you want.
Because as much as I care about you. We must understand that we are single people looking for connections in the network of our closest friends and family. And we don't always find what we're looking for.
And that is okay.
So when we decide to stop.
I will still call you gorgeous.
I will still walk with you down hallways.
I will still lean on you in the worst of times
I will still call on your name.
I will still call you awesome.
I will still call you amazing.
I will still call you beautiful.
I will still call you...
And I hope you will still call me.
Most of my life is a forgotten cliffside. There's nothing you can really do about it, it's just the consequence you pay for being alive.
I don't remember a lot of my childhood. I can remember my schools, my friends, my parents, my teachers. But I don't remember my sisters. Only my brother, the little boy carrying the family name on his shoulder blades... But he is not ready for that.
As for my sisters... I do not officially "know them" until they begin to leave. I was 11 when they started leaving my house, and 13 when they started re-entering my life.
There is no excuse for arriving late to my life crisis. But what crisis is there anyway?
I grew up alone.
Sisters too old, brother too young, parents too protective.
Too eager to run through the halls of my early life, and high school is not what I expected the years to be. But I am still here... alive.
And there will always be that to hold on to when the sky falls from the stars that pin up the rest of the universe.
Or the the clouds fall from the blue sky just before that cliffside collapses into the abyss.
This is the artistry that is my life on a power surge. Feeling the shock of the first kiss, and the break of the last word.
The many voices, and single sayings. The before and after. The push and then the fall.
The feeling of all my memories being shot.
But not killed.
This is the joy of living off of the electric tower... or the Eiffel tower.
This is life made wild, love made public, friends made family, me made whole again.
Me surviving the cliffside fall for the 378th time this week.
Safety nets were never written in the fine print of this circus act.
But this feeling can kill as much as it can save. It is, and always will be a cosmic shot across the front of my skull...
Opening my mind into eternity. Until I decide to go back to that cliffside...
Definition of Selfless: Putting others before yourself to the point where "you" don't matter anymore.
Definition of Pain: One of the two things that I believe all people have in common. The other thing? Love.
Definition of Love: --ERROR-- Lost in translation.
Definition of Nothing: Nothing...
Definition of Feeling You've got tons of it don't you?
Definition of Me: A personal title I call myself. Also known as "you" in a sense.
High and mighty and greater than "you".
Because "me", a self proclaimed name that doesn't deserve its definition. Because "I" am hurt, and in "pain", and out of "love", and too "selfless" to take care of "me". So that makes "me"...
I have a confession.
I am not a good person.
I know it isn't original, and I know you've heard this too many times from too many broken people.
But it's the only shred of honesty I can give so please accept it...
Because I do not know how to forgive myself for this tower of lies I built over the last month and a half.
I am not a good friend.
And you know I try. But I haven't been trying as hard as I used to.
But I want to try and make things right.
I have convinced myself that heaven seems too high up for me to get to.
And I'm here asking you to tell me there is still a chance for me to be saved from my life.
I went to church today for the first time in months.
I saw old friends, and read new verses... I learned more.
Although I still feel like an outcast in this place we call "safe".
I can't feel your presence near me even when I pray.
It's like I've cut the communication lines and there is no repairing them.
I am willing to work for my life.
I will build houses of faith and sing praises until I drop, but it won't be enough.
I work well under pressure. So if you told me that getting to heaven was as simple as building a ladder as high as I could in 24 hours, I would work through war and hellfire to get there.
I would climb every rung until the ladder ended above the clouds and started feeling like the solid foundation of a life restarted.
I can only hope you will accept me with open arms, forgiveness...
And a "hello."
So you must have something you really care about to call yourself a fighter. There is a certain amount of pride that comes along with that.
I’ll be honest with you, this world will try to bring you down, along with everything you care about. Maybe not all the time, but there will be days when it feels like the world stopped caring. But for some reason you didn’t give up… Why? I guess only you know that.
Everybody has something they’re willing to fight for, and maybe you had to fight physically or internally. But you have something you’re willing to defend. Whether it be your family or possessions, beliefs, or even yourself. And I get that, believe me I do. I may not know you, but I get wanting to stand up for something.
Because everybody’s got something worth fighting for. Why else do we decide to defend ourselves for what we’ve got? So keep fighting. In some cases, it keeps us alive. Take care of yourself. It seems like you’re doing a good job at doing that already. Thanks for finding my letter
They're empty first of all.
And anything or anyone that appears to be there, isn't actually there, you-- are dreaming. Don't believe me?
Let's play a game, it's called, "Where's Waldo?" With you as "Waldo".
Yes, that's right, you-- have to find yourself in this sea of walls, floors and people you do not know.
These people, with stoic faces, walk the same halls, looking for the same thing. They do not care that you are here, and you don't care that they are here.
Just get to the end of the hallway, but don't go into the light, you are not here to die -- you can't. You have to find yourself before you do. But there are some people who die before finding themselves in the "Where's Waldo?" page.
Out of this maze of halls you find yourself in.
You are determined. You will not leave without finding yourself, do not allow yourself to give up!
At the end of the hall! It's you!
You found yourself! You win the search! Now go!
Run! Get to them, yourself is waiting for you at the end of this hall.
RUN! Run as fast as your legs can carry you! Because you do not have time to think, so RUN!
They need you to save them! They're calling out to you, screaming for help, for You.
Get to them, grab their hand, save them!
...And just as you barely make contact with their hand and lock eyes with a body with the same eyes and face as you...
They begin to fade, to disappear!! WAIT! NO!
You were so close to saving them!
You wake up.
It was all just a dream.
You were dreaming right? You know you were dreaming!
You get up. Open the door... exit the room...
And you walk down a hallway...
Listen, I tend to write like I'm speaking in a conversation. Mostly because I wish I had somebody to talk to. And if I'm being honest, you'd be my first pick to talk to. Life never treated us the was we thought it would mostly because we're optimistic than realistic.
I tried talking to you at least 10 times today. And every single time I wish I didn't close up in my own embarrassment. I tried 10 times and didn't talk to you once. and if you ever hear this poem than maybe I finally did succeed in talking to you.
Sometimes, when I write poetry, I hope you're reading over my shoulder so I wouldn't have to say it out loud. I'm sorry that I blame everything on time, and how if I had another minute, I'd tell you "I love you". But I can't...
I'm sorry I make things awkward because I'm scared of telling you what I'm really thinking. I wish I knew how to write this without wishing you were gonna read it. Because maybe you never will.
Part of me will never be okay with that because you may go your whole like never know that somebody wrote pages about you that never made it to your eyes or ears.
I'm sorry that I'll never have enough courage to read this to you. I'll wish I did when you feel sad or unloved. Because something like this will remind you of why we never let anyone take control of our lives because we are Gods right?
Or at least you were.
And I know infinity can't hold up to your brilliance so please don't cry when you the world's grip on your shoulders. You're already stronger that you thought you were.
Part of us will always suffer in the moments we never said what really mattered. But it seems like time is already passing us by.
I know you've already forgotten the lyrics to the first song I ever sent you. And soon my name will fall on that list as well.
Just take a pack of cigarettes to the rooftops like you always said you would.
It's okay if you don't remember why you're up there.
I guess this is where most conversations end.
See you soon.
At 10 years old, I argued for my time back. I don't to play piano anymore, I want my 10 000 hours back.
This is the brokenness I am
At 13 I had a double, nothing in common but the title of their being. And yet that is all it took to become nothing.
This is the brokenness I am
At 14 I spent time with a locker, the only friend I had in the jail of a building. A homeless student living amongst the rich.
This is the brokenness I am
At 15 I was trying to put life together, but it didn't work. Making myself angry about it. Maybe you don't have to accept that life doesn't like you, that people don't like you. That you don't like you.
This is the brokenness I am