Stage 1
I'm tired of being wrecked
My heart beats in my head
I'm tasting my thoughts
So fresh
My mind is racing
A marathon I never signed up for

Stage 2
I'm sick of being crippled
I'm stuck between two walls
Repressed
But now I can't move
The walls fade away
Into snowing noise
Static Siberia  

Stage 3
I'm bothered by defeat
Sole in this somber corridor
I see my comfy bed with plush linen
Summoning me
With taunting plea
I unfold in my blankets
concede to the voice
The corrupted trap
My wrists and ankles, shackled
Squirming to flee
I can't retreat
The night owl snarling inside my ears
I slam my view

Stage 4
My milky eyes are bleeding
I'm zooming again
Fleeting faster
Things are blurring
Sensory overload
I fall to the ground as my legs buckle
I look up to see..
The finish line!
I hardly stand, treading towards it
The last traces of energy
Escaping me
Yawns of hope
I just want to sleep

Stage 5
Only to find out I'm in a dessert
The finish line, simply an empty mirage
Sadness of lost hope
Disheartened and frustrated
I find myself racing
Repeating my cycle of marathons
Until morning catches up behind me.
Still running inside my tired mind

© Jl 2016

if i were you
i wouldn't fall for a poet
they may be good at making you feel overwhelmed
they can make you fall through their actions
but they'll make you fall even harder with their words

falling for a poet is quite easy
they say,
they're gonna be spending a whole day
pouring their heart out
while tapping their pens rhythmically
with trembling hands
as they write about
your date nights,
movie marathons
and play fights
it will all be written on a piece of paper

i am a poet
i can make you experience life
in comparison to a rollercoaster ride
through poetry
i'm a woman of many emotions
you'll sometimes get confused
about how my brain ticks
i'll write about
the car rides under the stars
and under the city lights
i'll give you the sun,
the moon,
the universe
name it

i'd offer a blank page
and every stanzas
only for you
word per word
line per line
will be spoken with emotion

in photography
every moment was being captured
by the photographer
as well as in poetry
your actions towards a poet
could mean a lot
you'll be surprised
i write
even the heartaches
you have caused
so i wouldn't forget
the pain you inflicted
but i'd still thank you, eventually
for it wasn't for you,
i wouldn't be able to write this

I miss VCR players and Saturday morning cartoons
Star Wars marathons every weekend.
I miss being terrified of the mouldy basement dark
And watching Homestar Runner for hours.
I miss blowing things up in the backyard
And building that tree house, and making ****** movies
On a ****** video camera
With my oldest brother, who in many ways
(such as by blood, and parentage, and legally)
isn’t even my brother at all.

I miss the world the way it used to be,
Before things inside me began to go numb
And other things began to burn like live wires.
I miss the innocence I lost. I miss the cents I lost
To the arcade games and the broken vending machines
To the bullies on the playgrounds
Who even I learned to make excuses for.

I miss the days when a Weezer song
Could fix just about anything at all,
Back when I climbed more trees,
Swung on more swings, ate more candy.
I miss my kidhood, when I thought that
Growing up was going to be just fine.
I miss walking to ****’s for greasy hamburgers.
I miss the way the Space Needle used to
Make me crane my neck to follow its yellow elevators
All the way up to the spinning top.

I miss growing up with you, stuck between Freakmont
And Far East Ballard, going to Archie McPhee’s,
Rubber chickens, refrigerator magnets, hamburger hats,
Bacon soap, Jesus tape, pickle bandaids.
I miss your house that smells like cats
And your wonderful parents, and your too-many brothers.
I miss your kitchen and your living room
And your amazing singing and your air guitar solos.

I don’t want to date you or marry you or *******
But since you started dating that awful girl
Five years ago - FIVE WHOLE YEARS! -
I haven’t seen you all that much.
It wasn’t really a choice, I couldn’t be around her:
She makes you into someone that is not-you.
Someone that is quiet and shy and reserved,
Not loud and strange and outrageous.

I miss you, oldest brother.
I always felt like you understood me in a strange
Sort of distant way. I miss you a lot.
I feel less alone when you’re around.
I hope college changes you, I hope it makes you
Into who you are again. I hope you write more ****** movies
And film them and act in them
And I hope you break up with her
And find someone beautiful who makes you happy,
Who doesn’t make you into not-you.
I miss you, but not the not-you you’ve become.

I miss the first you I ever met,
Too tall, with way too much poofy hair,
And long skinny everything, and thick glasses
And a good sense of humor, and a taste in ****** movies,
Videogames, airsoft guns, horrible puns;
A pyromaniac, a secret fatty, a terrible dancer,
A geeky awkward kid from Tennessee
Who somehow changed everything about me forever.

Assembly line broke down as the mirrors crashed and cracked.
"Angelina!!!" the crooked boss man yelled.
"Get in herre" the crook socks rang like bells.
Angelina poured sweat of the yellow blouse she had bought two days before for another interview in another office and another profession altogether. The room spun for her even though she would rather have it stay still.
"How much longer till this mechanism shifts and all of this stops altogether. Have their been madder women then me? Has there been madder men then me? Have their been madder times or are the times the same just with different tools and gears and nuts and bolts to tirelessly continue, heaving the corpses through the concrete cracked and littered streets?"
"Angelina!!!"
Another nail gun dropped to the floor, firing twenty rounds into fifty blue collared men's tie clips, deflecting them all to the near by wall which held the coats, the hats, the work shoes which the men were not allowed to wear due to "safety intrusions" and "labor union by lateral horizontal negative dairy laws". Another unfortunate fortune from the cracked mirror case but that, of course, is not the story, our story is...
"Angelina!!!"
Angy hurried up the hungry, empty metal n' holy stairs. She lost her high heels in a crack in the stairs but left them there due to the fear. 2011 had been a good year until she had been forced by her landlord, also her boyfriend, to get a real job rather then stuffing her knitted socks with her poetry and trying to haggle them to new age modern morons of the hip near sighters whom glasses were unintelligible but necessary. The mirrors of the conveyor belts reached the top of the platform but the door was shut. The mirrors bent and shattered leaving the splintered pattern of the world outside of them multiplied by the millions.
Noon was her lunch break and it was noon oh two. Angelina would be late with her lunch and the landlord, Nick, was planning to stop in with some home made sandwiches and home made potato chips.
"Nick will have to wait." Angelina thought to herself. "Nick hates to wait."
Angelina entered to stand in the wake of a shaking, sweating purse wearing, purse lipped boss boss. His hair was tossed to one side, struggling to hide his baldness. The subtelty of their relationship was difficult considering Angelina had slept with boss boss to get tossed this job. The act was actually enjoyable, Angelina thought him a good lay, but boss boss was not a fun person to be around, and he was a much worser boss.
"Angelina!!!"
"Hi."
"Your FIRED!"
"Bye then sir..."
"ANGELINA!!!"
"Yes sir?"
"AREN'T YOU GOING TO ASK WHY YOU WERE JUST SO HASTILY AND VIOLENTLY FIRED?"
"It is not my place to inquire why I was fired sir. If I was not doing my specific duty well enough I trust you, as my superior, to have thought what this subtraction would do to your company. If I had questioned you I would be questioning yourself as a boss and I would never want to do that...sir."
"VERY GOOD. DISMISSED!!!"

---

"So he just fired you, no explanation, nothing?"
"There was nothing really to say after the fact."
"You could have demanded an explanation."
"I was in a hurry to meet you. I know you hate to be late for our dates."
"That's sweet."
"And boss boss shouldn't have to explain himself, he IS a professional."
"He works in mirrors which doesn't make at all make him a ropes course supervisor."
"He's very handsome when He means what He says."
The home made potato chips had been burnt because Nick had fallen asleep while watching old re-runs of run marathons from the 80's. Nick had trained for the Olympics in 83' but while home after training and drinking an OK shake, Nick had stubbed his toe while drinking the OK shake and trying to get to a ringing telephone. Nick had collided so perfectly, so quickly and with such for that his right big toe had bent all the way back, his big toe fingernail touching the hairy patch on the top of his foot. The doctors said amputate the toe and save the foot or chop the entire thing off altogether. Nick, not being a dumb ****, opted for the entire foot. He never raced again.
"Are you going to try and get your job back?
"I don't know"
"Well. It's the 28th tomorrow and I need the rent either way. The insurance agency I'm with has been bugging me about percentages and utilities and...well, you don't want to hear about my worries."
"I don't mind sweety."
"Thanks doll. What're you gonna do?"
"Find more work I guess. I haven't written anything in a while, maybe it's a good time to get back on that train, see what comes up."
"I saw a help wanted sign at the mall nail salon."

---

Baby stroller wheels lined with pink and grey gum were lined up against the overwhelming glass wall enclosing the shops from the streets. Trees reflected green with the sun light lined across the clear wall. Birds flew at the top of the block near the ceiling crop, they wanted to come in but were confused how to do so. Children came through the valley with lollipops and balloon powder and strings lined with meats, they were headed to the capitalistic circus, a wonder land that only brought guilt from lovers and their future children's shame.
Angelina stood outside the electronic moment to moment receivers. She was afraid of not being allowed entry. Everyone entering entered easily, but what of she? Would she be accepted? Clicking her unpainted fingernail atop her leopard print clip purse and what was worse she had no cash to get her orange Julius or perhaps see a film if she couldn't conjure of the courage to stop off at the salon. That was why she had come here, right?
"Where had the salon been?" Angelina said aloud.
The mass of the mall was vibrating with a ferocious congruity. Through the fog of meaty torso's lay blank and content faces. Gripping their wares, their steaming quick food, some of it dropping to their foot only to be kicked around on the dirtied floor. At times a rat would scurry from underneath a traveling underwear salesmen to grab a piece of fried bread, half cooked meat, or small pieces of children's hair which floated softly down to the wet and mud streaked floor. Mall cops waved their sticks to each other, some kind of HAIL or CHEER that they were the one's in charge round' these parts and there wasn't nothing no one was going to do about it.
"Do I really want to work here?"
There was no choice though. Angelina needed to pay the rent or her landlord/boyfriend would kick her out on the street and from there, she had no clue where the blue sky would take her. Her parents, both dead thirteen years ago, would be a terrible place to set up camp, especially in a graveyard. Angelina's brother lived over seas working at a ***** clinic trying and failing to heal the weak and unwanted. He had tried to heal her through voodoo practices he gathered up drunk through his 6 month stay in New Orleans but it had only given her a bright blue and red rash for three to four weeks. She never longer trusted her brother with any kind of healing or "feel better" techniques and was no prepared to make the trek to Europe anytime soon, she was in a relationship at the moment anyway and she had a feeling she might be in love.
Angelina stepped through the glass exchanging doors in unison with a family that was entering at the same time. The door seemed to open for any body but was tentative if it would accept hers, this time, it seemed to.
Inside she made her way up "the miracle marbled stairs" which shined bright and blinded Angelina in certain parts of her eyes. They flashed bright red and greens and whites so visciously and fast Angelina thought she might have some kind of seizure. She planted her feet directly on each step as she walked up the 20 to 30 stairs, going very slow and gripping the handrail. People started to gather around behind her shouting "HURRY UP LADY" and "WE DON"T GOT ALL DAY" and giggling to themselves.
"Were they not seeing these lights?" Angelina thought to herself.
"Do you kind people know where the nail salon is?"
Angelina then realized that what she had just said made no sense. Her eyes were gripped shut, her hand tight around the shiny gold handrail, her feet pointed strictly out like some kind of paralyzed summer penguin. The people which had gathered behind her stood bare, jaw slacked, wondering who would step forth to help this poor helpless creature.
A little girl with red sparkled shoes and a orange bow atop her head stepped forth. She smiled even though she knew Angelina had her eyes tightly shut, maybe she would feel the warmth? The girl's mother reached for her so not to get to close to that "crazy lady" but the little girl pulled away, her father saying "If it's her time to go, it's her time to go".
"Miss lady with the tiger purse, I think the hardware nail pull on is on the 8th floor next to the people that sell bread with meat sticks inside."
The little girl stepped gingerly back as Angelina loosened her grip on the now stained golden handrail. She shook her hair out and ran her fingers through it, straightening herself up as if she were about to perform a song or late night poetry reading. Angelina opened her eyes and peered down at the girl.
"Thank you little girl. What's the best way to get there?"
The girl child said nothing. She pointed to a large metal box shooting up and down the length that looked like a rocket straight to heaven. People were gathered all around its foundation, oooing and ahhhing at the sight of the one's which entered. There was a sign over the line of tubes reading "A Shot at the Void".
"A shot at the Void..." Angelina tentaively breathed to herself.
Angelina stepped up the last couple glittering stairs and made her way through the thick crowd of stale clothes, cheap tricks, obsessed teeny boppers, hardware for wear, shoes with no laces, strips of bacon hanging from mouths, lettuce all shredded, soda cans with their lids torn clean off with small splatters of blood lined on the rim, and a perfectly painted fingernail was drawn on the number eight where the long lines and rows of numbers were there to guide the one's to the shot.
"Number eight. Easy enough"
Angelina pushed the button.

---

Inside the tube there was a slow light hum of jazz transfusion and children breathing. There were three little daughters gripping their mother's hands as they bit into their soda pop straws, ******* up the soda inside the plastic and cardboard cups. All three children stared up at her, maybe wondering what she was wondering, which was exactly what Angelina was wondering, a combination of mistaken telepathy, an accident of consciousness that would be never be talked about between the four of them but most surely existed between them.

Smooth as clay they drifted up the translucent clear glass tube, shooting skyward like a man made rocket shot from a man made gun. They passed shops hocking wears of angelic colors: clear pearl pastels shone through the clear blue glass shining into Angelina's eyes forcing Her to squint, dog barks could be heard through the whistling air begging for treats of black and brown, teriyaki chicken strips and duck heads spun absurdly fast with a rhythm that resembled the wave of a crowd at a baseball game waving wildly like children flying from swings never wanting to land in the sand; all this as the three and one flew higher and higher and higher.

---

Ding.

---

Angelina stepped forward, leaving the three children behind Her to fend for themselves. From the looks of the button they had pushed they were headed East. She gripped her bag and peeled Her eyes, twisted her hair in a tight knot to show her aggression, her vigor, her confidence and stepped into the rabid salmon like crowd.

She saw no signs of the nail salon. She saw only posters of rabbits holding artichoke legs and nail guns firing rockets of ice cream and corn bread. These were the mirrors of the supposed revolution but had nothing to do with her nail salon, she needed the cash and she needed it NOW! How hard were the numbers to acquire? How long must she wait before the envelope is sent and the letter read and thrown out? How long Lord, how long?

Questions for a time when the pay checks were easy coming and Her man was by her side. She passed by a little boy playing William Tell with her sister. An apple on the little tots head and in the boys a small, tight and silver ray gun. The boy pulled the trigger but only a small plume of smoke came from the top making the boy ball over crying and wailing and kicking and screaming, nearly catching Angelina in the shin, what a mess...The little girl stayed still in Her spot though because her brother told her "Now don't move a cinch." Wise move my girl, wise move...

At last! Angelina, reaching Her destination saw the brightly neon colored corner of her beloved Nail Salon. The windows shone with pure red glitter, miniatures of poodles lapping up puddles of ice water, women laying out on the sun to catch rays from the Earth, and husbands shaving their backs all in a circle and row.

"How beautiful..." Angelina breathed out.

She entered the store front. Greeted from every corner were beautiful young cupid like angels faces shining divine but with no torsos, floating heads of angels ***** but crying and smiling. Asking Angelina "What would you like today miss?" or "What are you after?", beckoning for her requests, begging for her touch of vulnerability and lack of knowledge of where she was or what she needed.

"Just an application...I heard you all were hiring?"

"Hiring!!!?" the cupid heads screamed in unison.

"You want to become one of us?"

"Yes, part-time...?" Angelina said hesitantly.

As soon as the words "part" had been uttered from Angelina's wise and brave mouth the many heads of cupid began spinning and spinning around Angelina's body. Faster and faster they spun until Angelina herself was spinning with them, unified in a quadruple hurricane stripping her of her former self and slowly manipulating her body, her hair, her other self into her new self.

As Angelina's torso lay in the corner of the store un-bloodied, clothes tattered as well as some scratches  on her elbows from the toss, Angelina's head was floating in the perfect center of the other three hovering cupid heads.

"How beautiful...how beautiful...how beautiful."

"Isn't it?" the three cupid heads answered.

"Yes, everything here is so beautiful," the four of them whispered.

And as soon as Angelina had entered, she just as soon had left.

END

I’m going to relapse tomorrow.
So I’m going to breathe in this moment where I am not in pain
I am going to touch and feel and understand right now
Because I can,
Right now, for the next few hours, I can be an entire human being

I’m going to relapse tomorrow
You’d think it’d be relieving to get a warning inscribed in your genetics,
Building patterns,
To “prepare”
But I cannot be prepared to open my eyes in the morning and see television static
To get out of bed and leave my arm behind
To fall off the leg that can’t hold my weight anymore

I’m going to relapse tomorrow
All I do is dread the pseudo-pain that creeps in when I can see again
You want to talk about fake?
Talk about nurses blowing veins
Talk about nightmares about hospital gowns
Talk about being afraid to ask for a seat on the subway because your illness isn’t real enough

I’m going to relapse tomorrow because that’s how this goes
This in and out like the ocean got angry again
Like I will never run marathons
You can’t run on a numb ankle
You can’t run on exhaustion and giving up
I can’t run on missed birthday parties

I’m going to relapse tomorrow, and I’m terrified
Because I’ve given up on my body before
Because the rest of the world can touch without pins and needles
The rest of the world runs on people can run constantly
I’ve been rusty since age seven,
I was built like an iphone
Meant to break and be thrown away so you’ll buy a new one

I know that I’m going to relapse tomorrow. I know, I know, I know,
I know.

Once I think I've got it right.
Fixed my past and moved on.

Turns out I should've been running.
The past is a world-class marathon runner.

"Look Up" by Gary Turk is a poem I've recently watched / read
& it's message was SO powerful, it's now forever in my head
So deep, well spoken & extremely true....
I hope you'll share it, I know it'll be a lasting impression on you
This video poem & it's message has inspired me to write....
.....guess I'm not sleeping tonight....

Kids nowadays
Entertain themselves differently from my childhood ways
This is what we've become to be
Can't go too long 100% electronically free
Fresh air & drinking from the hose
Have been lost & forgotten I suppose
Of course fresh air & hoses still exist
It's their simplicity that's being overlooked & missed
Kids imagination is becoming rare & isn't creative anymore
Far, far less than all the kids in years before
Glued to some form of a screen
Hours in a line they'd rather wait, the newest game they feel
The parks are all much too quiet now
Their fascination no longer fascinates somehow
playground equipment empty & bare
& it's seems like everyone really doesn't care
The weekends are slowly turning into just another day
With marathons of endless video game play
Not even one foot stepped outside
Instead, like a hermit,just staying inside
Sunshine wasted daily & ignored easily
My opinion...it should be enjoyed worry free & regularly
Go play a game of hide-and-go-seek
& try to start a winning streak
Or how about some good old Red Rover, Red Rover
...Who will you decide to "Send Over"
Maybe it'll be on your secret crush
Just be careful not to blush
Another game I loved to play
Cartoon tag, HURRY & SQUAT what character will you say?!
There's so many games of tag you could choose
& fun & laughter you'll never lose
Like freeze tag or how about tunnel tag
NONE of them at all are dull or close to being a drag
Just one rule I think should always apply
Count to ten after tagged so instant "tag backs" won't cause a cry
Or you could play mother may I?
.....also I recommend giving Red Light, Green Light a try
NOW if sports are more your thing
A glove, bats, ***** & bases are something you should bring
Basketball more your style
Then bring a ball & shoot hoops for a while
If you'd rather just enjoy the day & sunshine
That too, is perfectly fine
Take your dog for a little walk
& bring a friend a long & just talk
Outdoors has so much to offer you
There is endless amounts of options for things to do
Maybe enjoy a scenic little bike ride
Or a new adventure you've always wished you've tried
A park isn't the only outdoor place you can enjoy
Your own swimming pool is a great too with an old tire tube toy
There you can play hours of "Marco Polo"
Or see how your splashes go
Just don't forget to wear sunscreen
Or your results will be red & burn, if you get what I mean
& always , always drink lots of water
Especially when the weather gets hotter
Staying hydrated is without a doubt the best
No need for you body's limits to be put to the test
Back when I was young & carefree
Inside was the last place I wanted to be
Sunrise to sunset outdoors running around
There were times where I even rolled on the ground
As day turned to dusk & the sun was almost gone
That's when the street lights came on
Ending my day covered from head to toe in dirt
& a grass stained T-Shirt
I had an abundant amount of fun
& hated having that day already be done
I was one of the boys for a long time
But smart enough to let them commit any crime
No girls lived on my street at first
& I thought that was just the worst
But I could easily keep up with the boys & their plans
Daily, I'd quickly throw on & tie tight my vans
Riding through all the empty fields & dirt mounds used to jump
Houses being newly built & just a wood frame
Look back now, we had so many adventures & no one of them the same
FINALLY a girl moved in, just my age too
I was excited to the max, more than she ever knew
Barbies was mostly our pick for entertainment
Even outside we'd play them, so many hours we spent
Lego forts we're sleep over fun, that's for sure
So many memories & good times I created with her

2014 is the current year
Children's idea for "fun" is something I fear
Technology is always evolving & growing
& its dependency is definitely showing
Instead of coming home when the street lights come on
Sending a text is the new tradition
Actual words are becoming eliminated
& ridiculously being abbreviated
Which is causing normal speaking to sound absurd
Sometimes it's too horrible & unable to decipher what you've heard
Thanks electronics for advancing & inventing a new language
Now we talk like we have severe brain damage
"Dats Cray, Cray she's my bae"
Uuuuuhhhh WHAT THE **** DID YOU SAY?
Translation: "That's crazy, she's my babe" is what they said
Seriously, they are sounding more & more uneducated
Everyone now has a phone glued to their hand
It's a new trend that I'll never understand
Electronically we're being defeated
Not realizing it's not always needed
Like on a beautiful day & the weather is just perfect
Don't close your blinds because the sunshine you're trying to reject
Instead shut off that power ******* device
Fresh air is waiting & the breeze is nice
Computer games & all those gaming console
Are just disguised as good clean fun but actually they're slowly killing souls
One by one
Until the last one is done
We're just slaves to our electronics
No longer needing hooked on phonics
Dictionaries were quickly replaced
"Just google it" is now popularly phrased
As the years continue to progress
Electronics will advance & more will just obsess
It is kind of like when you're scrolling through a social media board
Reading the latest status your friend posted & beautifully poured
& trying to put down your phone for a bit
But it only managed to last a minute
Not a single change, how lame
So you hit refresh over & over but still nothing changed
All the while hoping some things would've rearranged
Desperate for some kind of excitement or some entertainment
Staring at the screen
Which displays nothing new to be seen
You're wasting your day
You don't want to forever live this way
Missing adventures you could've had, but gave them no chances
A screen brightly glowing hypnotized you, not allowing any reality glances
It puts you secretly in a trance that will mesmerized
Forgetting to blink, helpless they become are your eyes
Don't let it get to that part of no return
& remember what, a long the way you did happen to learn
Control your mind & don't let technology completely drain you...
Electronically free let's you experience all the possibilities you can do
All the new things you can try
...As long as you occasionally disconnect from WIFI

I'd rather keep running this imaginary marathon going
Because the pulse just keeps getting stronger
And i don't get this feeling often
So i'd rather keep up with you until the moments notice
Forget about the tropes that keep us on the rope
I gave the Television all the soap it wanted
Now it's running it's operas
And i'm running the marathon
For something
For something i'm unsure of
For someone?
Whatever it is, it's better than Keeping Up With The Kardashians.
TV rots your brain
I favor going against the grain
No offense guys
But keeping up in Marathons is much healthier
The water companies will thank you
Why should they not?
Thanks for not letting me rot
Whatever it is
Whoever you are
I'd keep up with you.

i can still feel the tiny feet
of the static that
was running marathons when we first kissed.

i can still feel your burning
touch against my skin
and the times you
slipped your tongue in-

i can still feel you in colors like
lavender and grey
the silkiness of the sheets
the hex your body placed upon me.

i can still feel you like
a tug at my entire core.
i am always the one
who wants more.

don't run marathons for people who wouldn't take two steps for you

I dream of rigged lacrosse matches
won in 4th quarter
overtime

of chess games won with en passant
(what exactly is that?)
of horses falling at the first hurdle.

I dream of Martian landscapes
through sand-dunes of heartache
because as a child, at McDonalds
I was never allowed a milk shake,

while in my waking hours I have
absolved a multitude of sins for
lapsed nuns, ringmasters and troubadours.

I have filmed riots,
marathons and abortions.

I have seen things
pickled in jars
holding open heavy doors.

I have tried,
like an idiot
to commit all this to
memory.

I come from innocence:
shared VHS tapes,
Disney movies rewound so many times
they got jammed,
late nights spent searching for a lost Elmo doll,
orange Tic Tacs,
bedtime stories by Dr. Seuss
and later, J. R. R. Tolkien,
when Saturday mornings meant
waking up at 6 to watch cartoons,
and sleepovers involved liters of Mountain Dew
and Godfathers pizza.

I come from a magical world
where number 4 Privet Drive is my second address,
Big Brother is always watching,
and sleeping with windows open are invitations for Peter Pan.
A place where Mr. Darcy is my soul mate,
I have two dogs named Old Dan and Little Ann,
to follow a white rabbit is encouraged behavior,
and if you asked me who my hero is
I’d answer with “Sydney Carton.”

I come from opposite sides of the map:
One half includes
Springfield raised grandparents
giving me 20 first cousins,
29 second cousins,
annual family reunions at the lake,
home grown tomatoes,
and alcoholics.
The other half is four thousand miles away and includes
only two cousins,
phone calls every Sunday before two,
and phrases like “Weltrusten” and “Ik hou van jou”
that sound as English as “Good night” and “I love you.”

I come from transformation:
dance recitals where wearing lipstick and hating it
turned into High School
when we all started wearing eyeliner
because it made us look older,
summers soaked in sunlight
are now dampened with summer jobs,
monsters no longer lived under our beds
but in our heads,
clumsy first kisses went further,
romances disappeared
and were replaced with heartbreak
so agonizing
even chocolate couldn’t help,
funerals became imminent,
trophies won at basketball camp- age 7
mean nothing
when you’re told you’re not good enough- age 17.

I come from friendship:**
stupid fights for no reason
always meant brownies the next day,
five dollar Photobooth pictures at the mall,
scary movies we never finished,
sneaking out at three in the morning to swim in the neighbors pool,
and surprise birthday parties
complete with Silly String.
Learning that it’s okay
to let someone see you cry sometimes.
Dumb ideas like wagon racing,
and glow stick fights
that left welts on our arms and legs.
Lord of the Rings movie marathons,
girls night out at Buffalo Wild Wings,
riding bikes down the middle of the highway,
mix CD’s,
Red Mango runs,
words of comfort,
advice,
love,
and seeing the beauty in each other
even when we can’t see it in our self.

Aside from New Year’s Eve specials, it’s a lean week for original programming. Still, there are a few stand-out offerings. Here’s what caught my eye on television this week:

Sunday: “Undercover Boss” 7 p.m., CBS: Yeah, it’s just a reality program, but it’s one of the only new network offerings tonight, so we’ll take it.

Monday: “Happy New Year, Charlie Brown” 7 p.m., ABC: The ol’ blockhead hunkers down with some choice Tolstoy during these Peanuts’ festivities.

“******: Cape Cod, USA” 8 p.m., HBO: This documentary explores the grip of addiction through the stories of eight twenty-somethings.

Tuesday: “The 38th Annual Kennedy Center Honors” 8 p.m., CBS: Host Stephen Colbert pays tribute to Carole King, George Lucas, Rita Moreno, Cicely Tyson and Seiji Ozawa; James Taylor, Janelle Monáe, Yo-Yo Ma and others perform.

“Almost Genius” 9 p.m., truTV: This new reality comedy series looks at folks who fall just short of their goals. They should be knocking on my door any day now.

Wednesday: “The Twilight Zone” 6 p.m., Syfy: The annual marathon features 156 episodes of the acclaimed anthology series and ends on Jan. 3.

“In Defense of Food” 8 p.m., PBS: Michael Pollan trots the globe in search of people who eat for health.

Thursday: “The Simpsons Movie” and New Year’s marathon, 5 p.m., FXX: The animated motion picture kicks off a back-to-back showing of 56 episodes.7 p.m.

“**** Clark’s Primetime New Year’s Rockin’ Eve With Ryan Seacrest 2016” 7 p.m., ABC: Whew! That title was so long that it’s almost 2017. The special breaks for local news and resumes at 10:30 p.m.

“Pitbull’s New Year’s Revolution, Part 1” 7 p.m., Fox: Jussie Smollett, Shawn Mendes and others help the performer ring in 2016 from Miami.

“Live from Lincoln Center” 7 p.m., PBS: Alan Gilbert leads the New York Philharmonic in a Parisian-themed New Year’s Eve special.

“NBC’s New Year’s Eve Game Night With Andy Cohen” 9 p.m., NBC: The Bravo star hijacks the prime time portion of Carson Daly’s annual holiday event.

“NBC’s New Year’s Eve With Carson Daly” 10:30 p.m., NBC: And again, Daly is relegated to late night.

Friday: “Sherlock on Masterpiece” 8 p.m., PBS: It’s practically the only non-rerun programming on tonight, but it’s really the only programming you need. The special finds Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman’s Holmes and Watson solving a case in 1895 London.

Saturday: “Galavant” 7 p.m., ABC: Four episodes of last season’s surprise hit musical comedy air back-to-back-to-back-to-back.

“Austin City Limits” 7 p.m., PBS: Alabama Shakes and Vintage Trouble perform.

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses

www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses

Cupcakes and jello,
Sun drops of yellow,
A year old prince smiles with glee,
Happiest times started off free.

One foot in and one foot out,
Each step weighted with doubt,
Wan smile for the camera snapping away,
Two years old today.

Messy hair and muddy feet,
Too much energy to take a seat,
Toothy three-year old smiles for Mummy's photo,
Looking as proud as winning the lotto.

Marvel comics and new-found heroes,
Fan-art drawn in multi-colored Biro's,
Cheeky grin to hang on the wall,
Four years old, 3 feet tall.

Backpacks and Elmers' glue,
Cafeteria food that's hard to chew,
Pose in school uniform, charcoal gray,
Five years old on this big day.

Ring pop marriages and rainbow smarties,
Confetti always being thrown at birthday parties,
Yours is no different, cup them in your hand,
Hold out six fingers and composedly stand.

Swimming lessons and soccer practice,
Coaches being overwhelmingly fractious,
Hugging the soccer ball to your chest,
Seven years old, smilin' your best.

TV marathons and video games,
Struggling to learn hockey players' names,
Staring intently at the wrestling match,
Eight years old, hoping to catch.

Game of tag and playground fights,
Pretending to be English knights,
Awkward personality you've yet to define,
No longer eight, now you're nine.

Reruns of Spongebob Squarepants, ******-Doo,
First time trying fried tofu,
New experiences 'cause now you're ten,
Eight years away from joining the men.

6th grade comes and 6th grade passes,
Schedule in hand trying not to be late for classes,
Remember your locker combination 1-20-7,
Sigh of relief that you're eleven.

Too thin, too slim-
Too fat, not "that"-
Hallways you seldom dwell,
Twelve, trapped in a living Hell.

Bitter, reserved, aggressive you turn,
Nagging from parents makes your stomach churn,
Yelling "I hate you," till your face burns red,
Thirteen is an age of words over-said.

In a rash decision, you stole a beer,
A crowd welcomes you with an electric cheer,
Only fourteen, your choices will sway,
With time, you'll rue this day.

Not young, not old,
"Be fun", "be bold",
Caught in the middle of the unforeseen,
Not quite fifty, still fifteen.

A year has passed and you're feeling tired,
Can't bear to tell your father you've been fired,
Sixteen has brought you misery and sorrow,
Dreading the fruits of tomorrow.

Nothing is "for fun" anymore,
All this working out is making you sore,
Your head gives in and you pass out cold,
Seventeen and you've already been sold

Eighteen candles in one big breath,
Closer and closer to inevitable death,
         You feel so old already,
                Want to take it steady...
But you can't.

Tightness invades
Hard
Aching
Ghoulish Blackness smothers joy
Strings of dark energies crawl
Hopelessness Penetrates down, down, down
Mind marathons madness music
Pain ripens like a withered rose
Physical Plane Arduous
Psychic Pain Perpetuated
In this hallowed Hell

You're too far gone,
so I guess it's the end
and I'll quit holding on.

A wise man once said,
"You only lose
what You cling to."

Heartbreak has existed ever since
the world has been turning-
for so long, for so many breaks.

Mine may mean nothing.
It may be forgotten with time,
as time heals all wounds.

As I yearn for the times
where that will be true,
I lay awake late to think.

I think of many things,
including a new break-
Who will he be? And why will he be mine?

Even a new break would be...
well kinder than You,
because You forgot.

You forgot how we talked-
about shows and shopping,
and a silly thing called Dubstep.

You forgot how we bonded-
over church and annoyances,
but never about pain, that's saved for now.

You forgot how we acted-
the stolen looks and the obvious smiles,
and the awkward us.

That was the beauty in all of this-
I was awkward,
and so were You.

That was the irony in all of this-
I was smart,
and You were... not.

That was the fun in all of this-
we could have been perfect,
You and I.

We could have had those marathons,
and dressed up on Halloween,
and gone to those movies.

You could have played guitar,
and I could have been breathless,
and written a thousand words.

You could have taught me to skateboard,
and I could have taught You math,
among so many other things.

The things I would have done for You,
The girl I wanted to be for You,
You have no idea what You caused.

The feelings I felt for the old You
were like nothing before
and nothing since.

You messed me up, even broke me.
I can no longer talk to anyone
other than You.

You don't want me,
but no one else can have me.
How is that fair?

So I am scared.
Scared that I fell to hard, to young
and that only time can heal this girl.

I was never the girl to think
that all the guys must like me,
quite the opposite.

But with You it was different.
With You I knew.
You had to have liked me.

At some point in our short story,
You decided I was beautiful-
I was worth it.

At some point in our short story,
You forgot I was perfect-
I was unwanted.

I will not say I am here crying,
because I am not.
I am wallowing.

The thing is- I'm tired of wallowing.
I want time to give me a remote
so I can fast-forward to the healing.

I am tired
of falling again and again,
over and over.

I fall for your smile each time,
I fall for those blue eyes,
as much as I wish to fall into beautiful water.

I fall for your wierdness,
I fall for your awkwardness,
I fell for You.

Then
You
Changed.

So do me one favor.
Please clean up your life.
You could be perfect once again.

I see You now,
and really I'm not mad,
only disappointed.

Not just in us, but in You.
The You that could have been,
I'm afraid he might be long gone.

I always thought pain
brought people together,
as something to cling to as they fell.

But pain, I believe,
was what drew us apart-
separate pains at the wrong time.

I had my troubles and fears,
and though You stayed silent,
I know You did too.

I saw it on your face,
but time only made it clearer,
Not healed.

They say time heals all wounds.
So maybe, just maybe,
it can heal You as well.

But what if I am wrong?
What if time will heal nothing?
Only open the soul to more of the dark.

I desperately hope I am right
and time will heal both
me and You.

I know what they think.
How could I wish You the best
after the breaks You caused?

My friends see smoke
when they see You.
They only want the best for me.

And the best is no longer You.
I still wish You everything
regardless of the eye rolls.

Because it's true, maybe Someday
Time will end,
And we'll see each other again.

Promise me that You
will have your guitar,
that the nights will not rob You.

Promise me that You
will still have your taste in shows,
that the 'friends' will not rob You.

Promise me that You
will still have your skateboard,
that the pain will not rob You.

Because pain should not come
like a thief cloaked in black
ready to plunder.

Instead it should come
before the healing,
after time.

-The modern day is poor as people continue to act wild
-Lack of accountability been running rounds
for miles
-Marching marathons in remorse for awhile
-Watching expectations come up short as it starts to pile
-Its been a long time that its been a good time now
-Happiness is hard to be found
-Life has emotionally been roller coasting in the pandemic trials
-And time is racing pass the finish line, hoping to make this life count

-I talk pro about growth cause it’s important to me
-But letting go certain habits is a con i’m avoiding in me
-Praying towards my come up. Patience is slow, but surely
-I’ll manage to overcome those traits one day with the burning desire in me
-I know the potential is in me
-Been supporting free speech to damage people to speak out like it’s therapy
-But hold up, who’s volunteering their time for me to hear my story?

-Life’s crazy causing pressure on me
-Single making 50k yearly, but the office career is unhappy
-The girl I love right now not even mentally ready for me
-Of course I love myself but now who’s gonna love me?
-My heart holds hope while beating lonely, and yet
-Waiting patiently for something new and more
-Chances of getting married now is betting a craps game on the floor

-Can’t continue to sleep with this women I have deep feelings for
-If it’s 50/50 we’re not going to be together moving forward
-And if there’s zero chance for us in the future,
then allow me to close our paradise door
-Back to the drawing board of this single world tour
-Letting go is hard, but good for the soul i’m sure
-Healing these deep wounds is speaking straight to the primary source
-So I started writing my confessions in multiple letters to the Lord

-Hoping my sins don’t cast the next stone, which I can’t afford
-Asking God how further away am I from my reward?
-Once I take that first step to obedience, then his light will shine from the door
-This the start when I stop “starting over” and gain a little more
-This the start when blessings touch my hands as they begin to pour
-This the start when feeling apart turns my part into love and adore
-This the start when the heart can fully be restored
-And if there’s a high chance of life turning around, this the time I walk further towards more in store
-Growth is what i’m fighting for

how have you been?
we never talk anymore
god knows I was stupid enough that
afternoon to give up on frisbee and
throw it all away in a few words plopped at your
feet in the grass and sun

and I do regret it, but
there's nothing to be done
to remedy the situation now

I just remember the texting marathons at
two in the morning with phones
plugged into walls because our
batteries couldn't keep pace with our
excitement

I remember Bo and Jenny, your matching dogs
Bo was always the chill one, probably still is
and I remember convincing you, making sure
you knew drugs were never the answer to loneliness

and now it has all
been thrown away for so long
and you've embraced what you will

I only wish I could take it back

Chop down the city lights of Paranoia.
Cathartic beads of sweat roll
off the horrors of your back
under the saggy breast lamps

in the pitched dreams where the nightmare kids
come to watch you sleep.
           Somersaulting walls made of human tissue,
the love of your life overseas, and everything you say
comes out as water torture on hollow centers of hope.

                        poetry is dead.
                                                  Liars smoke ten packs a day,
social criminals stroll in marathons of perdition
across the rot of post-modern vices,
their feet stomp closer to watching faces under the bed.
                                      'This is a story. A dream!'
Everyone sees the fire under the bed.
Watch-fires earthbound by every word
before it is said,
gagged in envy--brought to glow by spineless atoms.

        Every sexless sun has a beard, a saved flirtation that singes
          the vacuum of today's soul,
                             a dead dream because you didn't pull it from the brink.
No one has a name in poetry. A task. A point. An exit.
                                                  One bed-room apartments locked with pearls
                                                     visible only to soloist dogs.
No sorry for vagueness or shut-mouth or bleeding upwards. The meter is running....
to the pharmacy
because it could be pregnant with all the possibilities.
And the whole amphitheater wants to hear one line, the life changer you brought
--here it is: Forget your name.

To the boy I met two days ago,
With words designed to suit the solitude I've wanted me heart to cave in.
And the smile that made security no longer appear as a faraway myth but was now as close to me as your inhale and exhale across my neck.
I could feel your heartbeat,
And the way it raced marathons to convince me that it wasn't just oxygen you were taking in, but with each inhale was a piece of me I'll never be able to recover.
And when you held me, I reluctantly allowed the walls of my mind to romp into temporary forevers
But soon I was yet to discover an abstract truth
From what you whispered in my left ear.
You'd given me detailed descriptions of your childhood games that were enough for me to conclude that you liked to play -
With stones
And sticks
And Lego bricks
But never,
Never did I think you were capable of playing a round of hide-and-go-seek with my feelings.
I feel kisses on my cheek,
As I continue reminiscing about the first words you spoke to me,
that night.
If only I'd known your "Hello" was filled with deceit that concealed it's rise to defeat me.
I was under the impression that a fall into an empty ditch of your promises wouldn't leave me scarred.
To the boy I met two days ago,
You asked me why I struggle with trust issues,
Knowing **** well that two days later you'd reaffirm my bitterness for your entire species.
Don't call me stupid.
Don't even mouth the word, "Crazy"
I remember.. that night.
Being oblivious to everything you uttered,
I took all of it to heart.
And everyone knows I usually doubt a guy's intentions at the start
But this time
This time I was just as naive as those girls I tease for believing in guys like you.
Hypocrisy -
That's what I became a product of.
Even now, I'm still trying so desperately to have a little faith in the things you're telling me.
This - This isn't a merry-go-round, right?
You won't take me to Cloud Nine and then tell me to jump off, right?
Tell your girlfriend I said hey.
Go hide the fact that you asked me out that night,
Then made me feel guilty for saying no.
The next time you see her, look deep into her eyes and tell her that she's the only girl you're currently seeing
Be tormented by the clips of dejavu when you realize you that you;ve said those words to me before.
I want you to know that it took a lot for me to actually believe you,
And to have you take that for granted is obscene.
So I've made up my mind:
No more tossing and turning trying to get sleep at night,
No more getting to close to a guy that they can almost smell the vulnerability in me.
No more sweet talks.
No more intimacy that I feel the temptation rising to give in.
No more being another soul ready for your hands to take advantage of.
No words that seem to good to be true that they aren't.
No more smiles and no more laughter will ever have to be seen.
To the boy I met two days ago,
I left out one thing that night:
I'm an artist.
And I've drawn an all-new perception of you now
The old one, wasn't honest enough
And now, neither is your love for me.

to my (future) husband,
as i sit and write this, i don't know if i've met you yet.
but i honestly hope i have.

if you're reading this,
thank you for honoring my ridiculous request
to do the final dance number that baby and johnny did from ***** dancing
at our wedding
(if we didn't do the lift, it's okay)

thank you for always being there.
through the breakdowns,
the rants,
all the bad.

thank you for always being there.
through the endless summers,
the sunny days that turned into fire lit nights,
the endless godfather marathons,
all the good.

i will always be there for you -
through all the bad
and all the good.
through your successes
and failures
i will be there.

and i will love you until the day i die.

I lay, alone in my closet of unused black dresses
Awaiting the dark blue cool sky to greet me
Staring at the ceiling, attempting to cry out for help
Alone is all I know, the wooden doors divide me from
The burning acids of the unknown, the outside scares me
Blood tears roll down my cheeks
Clumping, carrying a timeline of glass shards in the alley.

I lay, alone in my closet of fading yellow splattered ceiling
That pretty crystal raised to my eye to clearly see
Beauty that was on the other side, guarding me
An old friend I’ve missed for so long, dear absolute satisfaction
Assurance and safety of only when I am ready
Hologram glittered tears roll down my chin
I am a raw human,  and my surroundings, animated sketches.

I lay, alone in my closet, when You sat by a wall between us
Somehow, you knew the magic words to my poorly built tree house
And cupped in arms that always knew, me, this surrendered rag doll
Poorly stuffed with ***** cotton and trinkets
You rinsed out my stains and replaced loose buttons
Pink painted tears roll down into my pores, invade my veins
And for an instant, for a short pause in all that ever was, stood a small child with flowered braids.

I look down at my feet,
toes adorned with chipped nail varnish,
a pitiful plaster clinging to the sole,
and I grimace at the
purple marks, reddening blisters,
cicatrices of stories long forgotten.
The ***** of my feet are thin and worn,
my heels rubbed raw from
shoes I have loved and shoes I have detested,
faded scars from childhood accidents.
I have aged hating my feet,
the discoloured skin, dotted with odious callouses,
my throbbing, wrinkled soles.

They have grown with me,
from tiny clumps unrecognisable as a foetus,
to wide, long size 7s.
My toes are misshapen, twisting this way and that,
freckled with sun kisses from foreign countries.
They’ve been battered and bruised
repeatedly,
victims of my hurtling abuse and mortal neglect.
I have punished them
with verruca socks and freezing ointments,
pin ******, small shoes, razor blades, nail clippers and
not once
have I nurtured them, soaked them with praise.

These feet have walked me up mountains,
aided me in athletic championships,
withstood six inch heels on weekends,
ran me through marathons,
enduring my never-ending physical torment and though
they may buckle,
with weeping blisters and aching pains,
dry skin, broken bones and sprained ankles,
they will recover,
rebuilding the scabrous skin.
Regardless of how unstable my life may become in later years,
whether I am stranded on a deserted island,
or walking the ***** streets of the city, no room to call my own,
my feet will always,
undoubtedly, lead me to safety.
And when I am old
and withered, an exhausted heap of human life,
with my last dying breath,
I will thank my durable, reliable feet.

I just want to feel closure
I want her to close the gap that separates us from getting closer
But there’s canyons of trust issues that become the biggest issue we face
Echoes from past relations along with your unfaithful accusations which leaves us in this abundance of confrontation
But I only wanted to feel closure
I just wanted her to come closer
I'm not trying to fast forward time it’s just life is short so I'm sitting here just trying to pray and debate these feelings
Because I ****** up and caught feelings for her
It was her eyes that caught my eye
The first night she laid her head on my chest and cried because yet another guy got into her mind
Now I’m sitting here with your head on my chest
My shirt drench with a mixture of her sweet aroma and tears realizing I'm just the guy she runs to when some other man runs from her
Thinking maybe it’s my status
Maybe the latitude of my reputation doesn't meet the longitude of her popularity which is why the coordinates of us being together cannot be found on this map of love
But I guess I'm just not high enough to fly with your social standards
It seems like she can't really grasp the thought of a good man
She just wants to exhale the good feelings and inhale the countless amount of pain and strain from ******* guys as her lungs become black holes due to the many hoes she's been replaced by
But if he cheated on his previous boo with you then who the hell said you wouldn't be victim number two?
See I was a little too late
Fate wasn't on my side as I was in a race not even knowing it and I lost because I tried to be a gentlemen and give her something she wasn’t used to but she refused me as she returned to what she was used to
She just wasn't used to me
But she always said she was waiting on her Superman not realizing she’s been passing up Clark Kent every day
And I wasn't going to contemplate with the thought that I should change my ways just to get her
Because I know that even if I get her I'll already be tired of her because I've used all my energy just to get her
Running Boston marathons and getting bombed by my competition just for her attention
I was tired of hearing your voice miles away I wanted it to come closer and reveal your tender exposure
I just wanted your closure
I wanted your presence closer
I had your friendship now I just wanted to feel the whole experience
I was tired of your friend zone
I was tired of working your part time position
I was tired of only feeling closure from you when you needed someone to be close to you
It wasn't even me you wanted you only thirsted for the essence of a human touch
It’s like you used me
But on some real ****
I really just wanted some real ****
I just wanted some closure
I wanted to feel her closer
I wanted her mind body and soul to come closer to me

I was born for misery in every way
When God came by I was fast asleep
when the devil spoke he said I was cheap
When opportunity knocked my door was hollow
when chances were given I insisted to borrow
When marathons were ran I broke my bone
when houses were given I lost my home
When life was produced, Lucinda was taken
when love was excepted, mine was foresakan
When intelligence was tested I was dumb
when reflexes were tried I became numb
When fathers were there mine was gone
when statistics were taken mine were wrong
I am born for misery in every way
When God speaks I do not hear
when the devil threatens I do not fear
When opportunity knocks I answer slow
when chances are given I never know
When marathons are ran I walk along the side
when projects get restless I run and hide
When inteligence is tested I do not study
when reflexes are tried, I am never ready
When first looking out I could not see
when then and now I was born for misery
SDPope

Sometimes I wonder what freedom feels like.
What fresh air feels like in my lungs.
What a "good day" truly feels like.

But then sometimes I wonder what it would be like to not have fears.*
To not be cripppled by anxiety over the thought of being around people.
To not have thoughts running marathons in my head.

And then sometimes I wonder what life would be like without the pain of depression.
What it feels like to be okay.
**What normal feels like.

We found comfort in compatible chaos.

I just wanted to be drunk for the last four
Or five months of my voluntary exile.

When I was young I was praised for my intellect,
I was inflated and strung out on sheer potential
Without focus.
So I wrote sonnets on the merits of photosynthesis and
Trigonometry.
I ran grammar marathons.
I searched for the artist inside me and found civil war histories.

I came home unsure and afraid of the future.
I came home unfinished and.

Pathetic.
That’s what I’d call you.
Just plain miserable
and manipulative.
You tricked me into giving you the world .
Deceived me into believing that you’d never do me *****
You blinded me by your lies
“Forget about them , you have me.”
But , I didn’t really have you ..
Did I ?
You took what you wanted .
You let me put you before myself .
But ?
I don’t even blame you .
Maybe if I would’ve been in your position ,
Being offered the world
And only being asked for friendship in return ..
Maybe then I would’ve robbed you of your trust .
And your love .

You were my best friend .
My ace ,
My platonic soulmate .
And I treated you as much .
But, what was I ?
To you ,
What was I ?
A personal tutor ?
Remember those last two essays that you just couldn’t get done ?
Who helped you ?
Who stayed up after an exhausting day at work ,
After having to bike home in the cold and rain ?
Just so you could pass and not worry.
Maybe , I was just a free ride .
Always taking you places ,
Always giving you the keys and letting you do whatever.
You filled the tank maybe twice
within a nine month period .
And I never once said anything .
Oh I got it , I was your ATM.
Whenever you needed money ,
I was glad to help .
Whether it was for an Uber so you could go to your volleyball tournament
Since your own “mother” couldn’t take you
Or whether it was for a Plan B because
YIKES
Your boyfriend didn’t know how to pull out .
Hm , I guess I was also a personal shopper .
Buying you clothes when I bought me some .
You didn’t wanna spend your money ?
That was fine .
I would spend mine
And you didn’t even have to ask.
I was everything except your friend
and that’s all I wanted to be .

I should’ve seen this coming .
I should have KNOWN .
Looking back
All I can see are the signs ,
Foreshadowing what was to come .
You started to change right in front of my own eyes
but I didn’t want to believe it .
Didn’t want to believe what I could clearly see .
You started to ignore me .
For days on end .
Living in the same house became something like a
Silent war .
Everyone against me .
Including you .
You started to disappear into your room .
There were no more lifetime movie marathons together .
No more staying up and goofing around together .
No more talking about any and everything together .
I lost you way before I knew I lost you
and that makes my heart ache
like a pre-existing bruise
getting hit over and over again .