Last cherry blossom
Falling, dancing with my gaze
A distant echo

I wrote you a poem,
But you never saw it.
All those years ago,
Folded in my pocket.
It didn't say much.
It was short and it was sweet.
It said just enough,
Explained my thoughts complete.
I can still remember
Just how it goes:
I said that I loved you,
But now you'll never know.

I meant to be cliche,
Slip it in your notebook.
Something you could read
When you were alone, but
I guess I chickened out,
Or perhaps I just forgot
Because the next thing I know
I sent it through the wash.
Couldn't read a thing.
Ruined, had to go.
I wrote that I loved you,
But now you wouldn't know.

Never was the one
To discuss my feelings.
Couldn't open up,
Reveal vulnerabilities.
So instead I wrote them down.
It seemed safe that way.
But I knew if you read it
The result would be the same.
So I never tried again,
I let it go.
Still knew that I loved you,
Relieved you'd never know.

Perhaps it was fate
Or the things I couldn't say,
But we reached that point
Where you went your separate way.
Now I only write
For myself and strangers.
Anonymity means
Very little danger.
And I understand
Why you had to go,
But I'll love you forever,
Even if you never know.

I can still see it. I am twelve years old looking at my mom lay in her hospital bed. They told me she had a hole in her esophagus, and not too long ago, had been dying of blood loss. I stand still too shocked to cry, and in my trance I hear the hum of the t.v. behind me. And I know that if I flip through the channels right now I’ll land on a commercial depicting false paradise. Toned, tanned, pretty people on a beach smiling like they were in Heaven as they swallow down the drink that put my mom and my family through hell.

I am a biased person. This tragedy that I have gone through has made me biased about all subjects relating alcohol. If I were to have one wish, it would be to expel the very idea of alcohol from our heads. But I can’t do that, just as I can’t let my opinions cloud my vision for the future of the families of America. In this simple vision, alcohol advertising is banned from television and radio.

Researchers found that an average of 29 percent of alcohol TV ads in Houston, Los Angeles, Dallas, Atlanta and Chicago don’t abide by voluntary standards set by the industry, which involve not being shown during t.v. shows where at most 30 percent of the audience are kids. One out of eleven radio ads for alcoholic beverages in 75 markets across the nation in 2009 failed to comply with the alcohol industry’s voluntary standard for the placement of advertising.

Alcohol advertisements aren’t the only type of ads that violate our industry’s standards. We see it all the time, when some sketchy commercial on t.v. has microscopic words at the bottom or a radio ad has the bad information sped up quicker than our ears can catch.

I believe that alcohol shouldn’t be prohibited, because I believe that people are born with the right to choose what they want to do with their life. But with that in mind, let’s let them choose! No more brainwashing commercials that promise a good time, let us decide what we need in order to have a good time.

Maybe then there wouldn’t be 30 percent of American adults and one in five teenagers living with alcoholism, 6.6 million children living with alcoholic parents and tens of thousands of alcohol induced car crashes. I believe that this will change. But I don’t just believe for those numbers I said. Thirty, five, one, 6.6 million--what do numbers mean? Nothing.

I believe for the kid who thinks drinking might solve her problems. For the other kid who wants heaven, but doesn’t want to get there too quickly. I believe for the little boy who has to take care of his siblings because his father is a drunk and his mother works hard. For the guilt ridden, God fearing man who can’t stop falling asleep with a bottle in his hand, I believe.

I believe that for the good of America, alcoholic ads can be, and should be banned. Because I never want my mom to have to sit me down again and say, “Bailey, I fell off the wagon” all because of our bandwagon, conspicuous consumer society. Because there are moms and dads here, wishing their kids were in paradise--playing volleyball, building sandcastles, and collecting sand dollars. Because approximately 100,000 people will die this year of alcohol related deaths, 4,700 of them, teenagers.

In the 1970’s, Cigarette advertisements were banned from our television sets and radios. The 70’s were considered the “me” generation. Hopefully, alcohol advertising will be banned as well in 2016, because we are the generation of activists. We are the “we” generation.

Hello friend, how have you been?
I don't think I'll ever see you again.
And I'm not sure if I ever want to.
Ask me again in a few years time.

I know it is because of you
That I am where I am.
It is because of you that I ever learned to swim.
It is because of you I learned how to survive.
But only because you left me there to die.

But you were young;
We both were young.
So I don't blame you.
I try not to.
And yet,
I still blame you a little bit.
Maybe a lot a bit.
I am ambivalent.

I am torn between
Thanking you for
What you did for me and
Hating you for
What you did to me.

But I have been thinking about you a lot lately.
Not of you, I guess.
I don't really remember you.
But of me.
I've been thinking of me
And what I use to be.

I have changed so much
Since you left;
Because you left.
Not in anyway you would notice.
I still act the same.
And look the same.
Still the socially awkward,
A little bit hefty,
Un-styled.
Perhaps I'm unaltered. Physically at least.
But I love myself.
And that makes all the difference.

But I am also more timid.
More sheepish and reluctant
To speak up, to say things, to try things.
And that's because you scared me.
And that fear, it scarred me.

I am not sure why you left.
I have an idea. A pretty good guess.
But I never asked and you never said.
And that question, the reason, it still hangs there
Between us.
Between all these miles.
Between all this time.

Did you know that this year,
This August,
It marks the sixth year?
We were only friends for five.
In the eleven years I've known you
I have been missing you,
Hating you,
You have been a somebody I use to know
Longer than you have ever been my friend.
And that seems significant.

But maybe my math is wrong.
Maybe I shouldn't stop counting in August.
Maybe I should stop in May.
Earlier? You tell me.
When did you really leave?
Either way, the fact remains.

And I don't hate you,
Not really.
Whoever you are now is not who you were.
And your decision,
Regardless of reason,
Left me for the better.

Eventually it did, at least,
But it took a long time.
And even now, even here,
Where and when I love myself,
I love my friends,
I love my life.
Even here, even now,
I still remember you.
I still bear the scars.
And I still wonder what was wrong with me.
Why don't I ever ask what was wrong with you?

I'll never ask you for the reason.
I'll never tell you how it felt.
Maybe you already know.
Maybe you don't.
I'll never ask even though it still haunts me,
Even though you're still haunting.
Because I know you couldn't tell me straight.
Just like I couldn't tell you straight.
I can't even tell myself straight.

There is no straight line between cause and effect;
No logical conclusion from all that has happened.
You are a reason I am where I am,
That I am who I am,
And I was who I was.
But not the only one.

It is a mash up of tragedies
And comedies
And dramas
And fantasies.
It's life.
And in the grand scheme, you won't matter.
What you did won't matter.

I'm sure it doesn't matter to you.
I don't think you think of me.
I don't think you have been counting the years,
The moments.
I don't think you've cried.
I don't think you have wondered what you might say
If we ever ran into each other.
I don't think you would know to apologize.

And if I never cross your mind,
If you don't think of me when making new friends,
When meeting new people,
Or when you read a new book
And really love it (even though it's stupid),
Or when you need someone to go to a midnight premier with you,
If you don't remember me,
If you don't remember you when we were us,
If you never wonder what if,
If you never cried about what happened,
Then I don't want your apology.
Because it would be empty.

Not because you don't mean it.
Maybe you would mean it.
Maybe you have had a lot of time to reflect.
Maybe you regret it.
Maybe you don't.
But if you haven't felt what I have felt,
If your life went on with no diversion,
Then any apology you might have to offer me
Would echo in the abyss of my what if,
While my forgiveness could never echo in yours.
Because you wouldn't have one.
And the lack of somewhere to put my forgiveness
Means the apology you gave to me never took up any space.
And it will just echo a few times,
Weakening as it bounces,
Until finally dying out
With no sign it was ever there.
Is that what I was to you? An echo?

And I am sure you don't imagine that the decision you made,
That decision to leave,
Could have ever had such a long lasting ripple.
That I would ever remember
Or fixate
Or cry about it
For this long.
I don't know why you are still on my mind.
I know that I want you gone.

I want to forget,
And to get over it.
For it to be something stupid
That happened when I was young.
Like losing a friend because we didn't have the same favorite color.
But six years later
I still remember.
It still hurts not knowing why.
And it is only within the last two years
That I no longer cry.

And, as much as I wish it didn't,
It matters.
As much as I wish I didn't,
I care.

And I have thought many times about what I would say
If I ever saw you standing there:
I would first try to hide,
But if you saw me I would smile.
Probably say hi.
And if you did nothing more than smile back,
If you didn't ask me how things were or how I've been,
I wouldn't ask you and just let you walk away.
The question. The reason.
Still hanging.

And if you did ask I would tell you,
But only the basic details,
Not any of the real meaning behind them.
And I would return with polite questions of my own
And we would part with kind words.
Just like nothing ever happened at all.
The question. The reason.
Still hanging.

And I would regret not doing
Or asking
Or saying anything more.
But I would also know that, if I could do it again,
I wouldn't change a thing.
There is nothing more I need
Or want
Or seek
From you.
I don't want the truth.
Not now.

Because I don't remember you.
You are just a face and a name I put to a change,
To a time in my life I cannot forget.
And who you are now
And who you were then,
It doesn't matter in my story.
Only what you did.

And this poem
Or this letter
Or whatever this has become,
It is not for you.
It is for me.
Because your memory persists
In all my rhymes and relationships.
You persist in all the books
And poems I read
And movies I see
And friends I meet.
I think of you and cry for you and write of you,
Even though I don't want to.
Because you represent my greatest fear:
Being rejected for all that I cannot change about myself.

You are a reason I am where I am,
That I am who I am now.
And I don't forgive you.
I don't think you need me to.
Though, I thank you anyhow.
But I hope I'll never see you again.
I hope you see me,
Happy and healthy and wonderful,
And regret, even just a little bit,
That you gave up any opportunity of knowing me,
Even just a little bit.

And if by some miracle,
Or disaster,
These words ever find you,
If you ever read this,
I am sure it will confuse you.
Because I am sure you do not remember as I do.
Or hurt as I do.
And that's why I hate you.
Or rather hate the idea of you.
Because you just walked away and left me to deal with the consequences.
My world was upended.
And six years later I am not okay.
What you did was not okay.

And I don't know how to end this.
I'm not sure if I have more to say.
Or if I have said too much.
Or if what I said is all meaningless anyway.
I don't wish you well,
But I don't wish you ill.
And though I still think about you
It is not really you I am thinking about.
You are a stranger now.
You have been for a long time.
And I feel for you just as I feel for any random stranger,
Perhaps even less,
Because I actively try to feel nothing at all.

So I'll say to you now what you never said.
Not sure why, but
There was an entire conversation we never had,
Though I know how it would have ended,
What I would have said if given the chance:
Goodbye.

I’ve gone insane.
It's nothing new.
Been down this road a time or two.
But this time I've made a decision
About the health of my cognition:
I'm staying here!
No round trip!
For why would I when there is this?
A world exactly as I need it.
Everything just as I see it.

Reality made me contort
To rules and norms and other sorts.
I've bruised my limbs,
Threw out my back,
My everything is out of whack.
I'm done I tell you!
Through with it!
That box, that there, I cannot fit!

And in the past you have always
Coaxed me back to your mores.
And I would whine and ***** and moan.
Throw a tantrum. You would groan,
And you would say I must behave:
"Proper people don't act this way!"
I don't doubt this:
Your forced fed fodder,
But I have no interest in being "proper."

So I’ve gone insane.
And I’m staying!
Not because it's easy.
Not because I’m lazy.
But because, going back?
Well, that would just be crazy!

Kicked puppy me.
Mad, mad him.
Don't understand, misunderstand.
No yell, just mad.
I say sorry.
I say why.
Still mad.
Why?
Tears.
Still mad.
Why?
He send me away.
I sit.
Sit here me.
Sit here sad.
Cry me.
Why?

Her eyes were wet.
Her soul: a wreck.
There was no fixing her heart.
She fell to her knees,
Unable to breath,
And finally fell apart.