I wonder if you cried when I wrote "I hate mom" on that piece of notebook paper, when you made me mad for that thing I don't remember.

I wonder if you cried when I told you I didn't want you to come to my birthday party, because big girls didn't need their moms to watch over them.

I wonder if you cried when I yelled at you for trying to keep me away from the girls that used swear words, because you could trust me to know better at my wise age of thirteen.

I wonder if you cried when I replaced the "Mommy-Daughter" days with "Shut the door on your way out" days.

I wonder if you cried when I told you I would never come back when I finally moved out.
I wonder if you cried when I told you that I've smoked  ***.

I wonder if you cried when I hugged you for the first time in over 3 years, without being forced.

I wonder if you cried when I told you I needed you, even if I didn't always act like it.

I wonder if you cried when I told you that you were the person I loved most in the world.

I wonder if you've cried, mom, because I've only ever seen you smile.

I am alive in the most basic sense of the word
breathing
moving
being
alive.

But I am still trying to find the things that make me live.

When you first said "hello", I confessed my newfound love for you with an acknowledging smile.
When you shook my hand, I pulled your body to mine in the form of a slight squeeze of your fingers.
The moment you told me your name I asked you to never leave my side through the words, "Oh, I like that".
I conveyed my undying love, desire, hunger, and fondness of you wih the blush of my cheek and the ring of my laugh at your jokes that weren't that funny.

And even though I wasn't sure if you could hear me, I swear when you finally said goodbye, I could hear you.

I want to be light.

I want to be blown away by the wind.
I want to be lifted into the sky and never come back.  

I want my soul to forget what weighs it down and keep only what floats.

I want to feel baby pink, lace white, and sky blue.  

I want to feel free.

I want to be light.

I've finally seen the most honest version of you.

With your lips on hers, and your bodies locked tight against each other, I finally saw you.

There isn't much to say, but when you look up and see where I stand now,

I hope you see the most unforgiving version of me.

Tightly is how he holds my hand.
Subtly is how I glance in your direction.
Within those stolen milliseconds I drink in every color of you my eyes catch.

The natural pink of your lips and of your flushed cheeks.
The blue, green, grey of your eyes.

I yearn to touch the yellow of your long hair, and marvel at the way it shines gold in the rays of the sun.
I love the faint purple under your eyes when you don't get enough sleep.
I even love the traces of brown under your fingernails from the earth.

Still, of all the colors and all the textures of you, the one I love the most isn't yours at all.
It's  the deep red you make me feel with even the slightest upward twitch of the left corner of your mouth, signaling that you feel my red even when I'm holding his hand.

It's the transparent recognition that you see me, seeing you.

Remembering every good thing hurts worse than the bad things you did.

Thinking of every pretty word you said cuts deeper than every name you called me.

Recalling how happy you made me then, leaves bigger scars than the ones left from how much I hate you now.

Let go. Let go. Let go.