Once, and again, and again.
How many times will I hear the same words?
The same diagnosis?

I can tell you all about how it’s not fair and how I’m sick of the people I love being told how long they can expect to live.
But this is so common.

Get over it, right?

Until I hear it again.

“He’s actually been less angry since…well, probably since he thought I was going to die.”

I stop and stare at her. Didn’t expect her to say that, but it makes sense. I had forgotten about her diagnosis. “…right.”

“He hasn’t said that to me but from how he was during that time, I think that’s what he thought,” She explains, breaking eye contact. I don’t want to remember this. I don’t want to talk about this. She hugs her arms.

I flashback to the drive back home with him.

“The drainage port got infected and those idiots, the doctors, they didn’t notice.” His brow furrows, but his eyes betray his resolve, tearing up as he tells me. He wipes his face and clears his throat. “She nearly died from that, you know.”

I didn’t know. I was 15 and all I knew was that I was getting picked up from my at-the-time girlfriend’s house because he texted me that she was in the ICU. I lied to my ex. Told her it was an appointment. I was scared. I think I was in denial, probably. I know that I didn’t stay in the room with her very long because I couldn’t keep pretending like everything was okay.

I don’t like talking about this, but I don’t like pretending like it’s not reality, or ignoring her when she’s still clearly sick even when she’s not on chemo anymore.

Still. I hate the uncertainty. I hate not knowing how much longer I’ll have my mom for.

Back in the present again. “Maybe.” I reply.

I’ve been thinking about writing this for a while but I got stuck on how I thought it should sound and look and read so i thought to myself “**** it” and decided to just write down exactly what i want to say.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t know how to say what I feel, actually scratch that, all the time I don’t know how to say what I feel. I wanted to write this as a nice cute song but I got hung up on trying to make stuff rhyme and it’s not about it being good to anyone else I just crave approval so I know that I didn’t **** up. But enough about me.

This is for you and you know who you are and if you don’t, well then, if it resonates with you then it’s for you.


I don’t know how to describe how I feel love, but I know that I feel it.
It’s not something I can pin down with a word like other people can, how they say “exhilarating” and “selfless”.
It feels like a fluttering, an overwhelming joy, but at the same time it feels nothing like that, it feels like a cool breeze off the lake.
So, for me, the feeling of love is always changing.
But I can see it.
I can see how I love you when I look at pictures of us.
I can see my love when I feel my eyes crinkle and my cheeks ache from a smile.
Everyone around me has always tried to define my love for me, but my love is not like theirs because it is subtle and quiet.

I’ve been working on saying it out loud when I feel it.
If it’s ever changing for me, it must be confusing as hell to everyone else.
Because others have tried to identify what they think is my love based on what they think they know love to be.
It is not a universal feeling, I understand.
So, you may see a blank face sometimes, but I provide the clarity, and I say,

I love you.

I wanna write a song
I wanna tell the whole world something on my mind
Make it catchy and fun and rhyme
But I’m afraid I’d get it all wrong

I wanna write a song
And sing it for everyone to hear
But my voice isn’t that great and my uke sits unplayed
I’m sure nobody would sing along

Oh look what I’ve done
In spite of it all, in the height of it all
I’ve put the words on the page, I’ve won.
Despite the stupid insistence of my thoughts; so persistent
I’ve gone and wrote a song

I want to make someone proud
Not in the way they’ve told me they are
I want to see it on their face and be able to tell
Without them saying it aloud

I just wanna write a song
It doesn’t even have to make any sense (cents?)
I really wanna put something out there
And prove to myself what I’ve know all along

Oh look what I’ve done
In spite of it all, in the height of it all
I’ve put the words on the page, I’ve won.
Despite the stupid insistence of my thoughts; so persistent
I’ve gone and wrote a song

And I know it doesn’t seem like much but to me it’s a first
Here’s to all of the others who think everything they make is the worst

Am I recovering or just distracted?

You don’t know what’s next, and that’s alright
You never really understood the idea of success
It is, in its nature, a self-defined word

You always thought you had to prove your worth
Why?
You felt the need to change something, and become noticed.
You wanted to be known.

I can only offer what I know so far.
You have to learn to validate yourself
Otherwise you will live your whole life trying to please other people.

I know that twisted wrist behind your back, I know that fake plastered smile,
I know the gritted teeth and the tired eyes.

Walk away.

"If you're a guy, why do you carry around a purse?"

I stare at her, hard.
My gender therapist, questioning me?

To carry my ****. Why else?
Don't impose these stereotypes on me.


Also,
my jeans don't have pockets.