You miss him. Yes, you do. Even though you shake your head and reassure your best friend laying on your bed that he’s not worth your time, you do. You miss him. And he wasn’t ever yours, that’s the catch. You miss the small grins, the surprised laughs, the crinkle his eyes made when he smiled at you. and through all of the pain that the world has thrown at you, all you want to do is talk to him. Lay under his 4 blankets and 6 pillows with him. Become him. Crawl underneath his skin and live there. he is so close to your heart, this insignificant boy. So close and yet you’ve never touched him like he was. The only time you brushed a finger against his you memorized the sensation. Your friend casually mentioned she saw his at the store. Bed bath and Beyond. Getting bedding with his brother. How can you explain the ache your heart felt at those words? The blind pain behind your ribcage at the thought of him? How your mind ran over and over the shy way he would meet your eyes? The way he nearly teared up talking to you about his old friends made your heart cave in on itself and all you wanted to do was hold him. He was yours, in that moment. In the office with the pool outside dark and nearly empty, all that existed was you two in that room nearly overflowing with ‘what-ifs’. Each conversation laced with secret meaning. And you will probably never see him again. And you act like it doesn’t hurt, because he was never yours in the first place, obviously. But in a way, he was. In a way he belonged to you, in those moments in the office. He was yours and you loved him, just a little bit. And you fall in love fast, you know you do. You create infatuations from shy smiles and you know you should forget it ever happened. But somehow you find yourself running a finger along the spines of your memories. Memories of him and his curly hair and the smile he gave you when you clapped excitedly or pointed towards the sunset or caught his eye from the pool. Because you miss him. And today is the first day of an existence without him. The panic that sentence induces almost makes you wild with recklessness. What if you text him? What if you tell him you want to see him before you leave? Will it hurt more? Will it be worth it? What if he doesn’t feel the same? How can you know? How can anyone ever know?
Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 3:56 AM UTC
i find it so heartbreaking
that there are a few times in someone’s life
when you meet someone that you know
could be your favorite thing.
that there is a bright red bud
of possibility within your meeting
and sometimes it works
but other times,
too often in my opinion,
something is not quite right-
just a bit off-
and you walk away knowing all too well
the what-if’s, the almost’s, the could-be’s.
what a terrible thing.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 7:59 PM UTC
“where does it hurt” he asked me one morning
“in my stomach” i said. (sometimes i traced over memories so often i carved holes into them)
“where does it hurt?” he asked again, days later.
“in my heart” i said once again. (the doctor said there’s no medical term for heartbreak and i said what about pain or torment or please-god-make-it-stop)
“where does it hurt” he asked, before he could finish i blurted out, “in my head”. (some dandelion fluff had gotten stuck when the pretty boy from work had smiled at me and his eyes crinkled)
“where does it hurt” he asked when i had come home one day, exhaustion leaking into every crack in my surface.
“everywhere” i said. everywhere.
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 7:58 PM UTC
“is it lovely where you live?”
the man at the bus stop is talking to me today
a change from the polite silence we usually grant each other with
i think for a moment
“yes. yes i suppose it is”
“and do you laugh often?”
i smile at the question
“i would like to think so”
his face, worn and browned like old leather, looked at me curiously
“and yet?”
i turn to him completely
before, we had been sitting side by side on the bench, facing forward as we watched the cars
take off down the road
but now i turned to face him
“i don’t understand”
my voice seemed somehow strangled.
he smiled,
“you are unknowable”
i blinked.
“yes. yes i suppose i am”
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 7:57 PM UTC
all i’m saying is that
i cut myself washing dishes this morning
and i watched the blood form a raindrop
slowly slowly slowly
it dripped onto the cutting board and stayed put,
a shiny, red as a rose, drop of blood.
and all i’m saying is that
i watched it fall
and i cocked my head at that one, tiny drop of blood
how small
how fragile
one poke and it would dissipate
how metallic it would taste,
that one small drop of blood.
it would burn my tongue, i think.
all i’m saying is that
sometimes i feel like that drop of blood
that fell so far from its home
all i’m saying is that the sun is shining outside and i am watching this speck of blood and wishing desperately that it would rain
and the water sloshing around in my brain would leak
down down down
and the sun would come out inside of my head
it would leak through my eyes and
onto the sidewalk
and into the river two blocks down
all i’m saying is that i think
i would like to be a spot of sun
rather than a spot of blood
Sep 7, 2019
Sep 7, 2019 at 7:56 PM UTC
i am not the girl who wins.
in the humid days where we sit around the table at my grandparents house and play cribbage,
i am not the girl who wins.
even in the games of hide and seek i love so dearly,
played in between meals in summer afternoons,
i am not the girl who wins.
“your little sister is a firecracker”
they say
can they see how they break my heart with those words?
“your little sister is trouble” they say
and there is love in their eyes and they look at her like she’s the sun
yes, she’s a firecracker, maybe
but i always thought i had fire in my veins, too.
and my little sister beats my father in board games
and i’m not the girl who wins.
and maybe it is this that is the foundation of the melancholy that has settled so deep in my soul it got stuck and now won’t come out.
when it rains i think yes- come cleanse me, soak down, down, down
into the rotten bone.
make me clean.
because i am not the girl who wins.
people shake they’re head and me and say
“you always were such a quiet girl, always dreaming”
and yet it is said as an insult,
something made to burn
and they turn from me as if i bore them,
because i am not the girl who wins.
by the warm fire with la vie en rose playing a room away,
my father's sisters are drinking hot chocolate.
my mouth is frozen shut.
i want to make them laugh and tell me i'm wicked
but
their eyes glaze over when they look toward me,
with my head in the clouds and my mouth too heavy to open.
and for years
for years
i have been hidden behind the old linen couch in my grandmother's house
begging for people to take another look
to come and see
"look at me," i want to say, "i am also a fire"
and our world loves the glittering people,
but i am not the girl who wins.
Apr 3, 2019
Apr 3, 2019 at 11:51 AM UTC
the process of healing is a strange,
shy thing.
it sneaks up on you slowly,
honey coating the tongue,
nectar dripping from the lips like blood upon the pavement.
and at first, you step away from it,
you are not used to being handled gently,
and the memory of cuts and scrapes is far too harsh against your mind.
but it starts slow,
first in the smiles stolen from secret glances,
then the swell of your chest when you realize that anger no longer makes a home in your heart,
and healing finally breaks through the
rough, blackened stitches of your heart
when you see the morning sun against the pale purple sunrise,
and you think
"there i am."
it is the first time you feel safe.
Mar 1, 2019
Mar 1, 2019 at 11:24 AM UTC
I went on a walk today.
I wore my blue dress,
the one with the pockets,
you remember?
I went on a walk today.
Two sparrows were singing to each other.
I wondered what they were saying.
I do wish I could sing back,
you know.
I went on a walk today.
The neighbors told me I looked like springtime.
I smiled back and it felt like dancing.
I went on a walk today.
Two skips down the road,
they say,
three skips down the road,
they sing.
I went on a walk today.
The world was dripping with honey.
Sticky sweet. And so thick you
might drown in it.
I went on a walk today.
The trees were sighing in the sun,
and the rusty weather vane was brittle in reply.
I wonder when the last time was
that they danced.
Jan 31, 2019
Jan 31, 2019 at 5:27 PM UTC
i think i might be horrible.
i am too impulsive and too reckless.
i hurt people even when i don’t mean to and sometimes i don’t care.
i very much want to be good.
Jan 24, 2019
Jan 24, 2019 at 1:54 AM UTC
i am desperate
full of need
of wanting
to shake life by the shoulders
and say
“give it all to me”
i want be so heartbroken my hands don’t stop shaking for 7 days
i want to laugh so hard my heart feels like it’s collapsing inside of my ribs
i want to lay outside in the heavy humidity of a
mid summer day,
to feel the heat pressing down around me,
the cicadas’ symphony ringing in my ears
i want to rip the world open with my bare hands
it’s not enough for me,
this endless existence,
i want to live.
i’m trapped,
with only a quiet, persistent desperation
to take life by the throat and spill it’s content on
the wet pavement
i want life’s blood to fill the hollow cracks in between my bones
Jan 10, 2019
Jan 10, 2019 at 5:10 PM UTC