You are the voices in my head
You are the snickering beneath my bed
The flashbacks,
The voices;
You are.
You are the moments I never want to live again
But you are.
You are my over and over
You are my blood, you are my pain, you are my why.
You are.
And you are the reasons my communication is impaired
Lips cold,
And locked.
You are,
You were
My emotion.
My unaccompanied darkness.
A thought to lay down to.
You were a highlighter to my paper,bolded
Any other words
As if, forgotten
But
You are my strength
And by that I mean the reason I can run,
Run away
There should be more to me than just you
There is
Oh, but you,
You are.

The feeling
underwater
embodies you
A feeling
of time
almost appearing
non existent
Hands motion
slow,
graceful
Sunlight
beats down,
touches your
bare skin
The sun,
deceitful
Wants you
All of you
stay,
stay.
Just a little bit longer..
Down,
A silky temperature;
euphoric.
You love it here.
Your weight
A simple balance;
above
But down,
Go down,
But up,
You're up.
The air in your lungs
competes to keep you up.
An unwelcoming gasp
of O2.
You don't want it.
You don't want it.
The desire
No,
The need
for more attention.
Remember the water
will kiss
that pretty face.
You're back!
Welcome,
Welcome!
This time
with rocks?
They can come too!
Oh yes, Company!
But,
It's been too long
Down here
and you have changed
The rocks
did this to you.
You no longer allow
the water
to comb
your gleaming
shimmering
hair
That skin
is no longer sun kissed
A shadow
above
your still body.
Your hands,
lost
their playful
intentions
We miss that.

The smell of cologne couldn't disguise the smell of *** on your breath
It was remarkable
Rememberable
Your arms around mine
Comfortable
In a way,
Safe.
Safer.
Feelings were mutual
But nothing had been said
The thoughts in our complex minds clicked instead
So still
So comfortable
Wrapped under
One blanket.
You're gone now
The smell
Still,
In my bed.

I woke up to bear leaves
I asked myself,
where has the time gone?

I fell asleep to dinner conversations and thought
when did everyone get this old?

I walked into the classroom and wondered
when did we stop talking?

I looked into my brothers room staring at his old toy trucks
and said
we used to play with these..

I looked up at the tree we used to climb in the front of my house
and I swear
it used to be so much bigger
I could've sworn

I lost that old swing set.
The one with the monkey bars we'd hang upside down from
and make silly faces on

And where did the neighbors of countless pbj sandwiches on plastic spongebob plates move?
That boy and the girl, Russian family.
The girl would only leave when she cried home for a band-aid.

I looked back at the amusement park pictures
from 07;
we used to go there
and the strangers always seemed so happy
It used to be a magical night that ended in a dripping cone of ice cream and laughter
or was it just a $4.00 cone?

I looked up as the band played their last song and
realized this concert will soon end and I could rarely remember what I had just experienced
After a couple days,
It seemed
this concert will only be small flashbacks
and was just another night
deriving from a 30 second video I took of my favorite song
as I continued to smile and cheer with delight as the crowd lifted their hands in the air
because I genuinely was happy,
but I can still only remember that last act
that 30 second, small screened, iphone video of a last act

Then I think back to the bear leaves.
I did watch them,
As I waited for the bus,
each day, grow more bare.
It was always happening,
just didn't seem as slow as it really was

Time will do its thing
and so will I,
paying close attention to what I tell myself I am doing
and what I have done
but the space between us;
me and time
from the present to the past
are the memories
that I want back

Let me relive them the way I had preserved them
on their shelf
Just as they used to seem
from when I was young
The ones that won't disappear
and leave to make me feel so empty.
I can only look,
not take them down
I want to remember them
like I had never grown.

Carrying change in my pocket and a couple singles from lunch
we’re laying in the crevices of the immense rocks
Playing amongst these boulder rocks
A spot to call our own
A perfect to place my traveling blanket on
It may just be the most beautiful morning of this entire summer.

We’re setting up a picnic
I have on a loose yellow dress
Buttons laced down the whole thing
and barefoot I stand

The lilies by the water
-a perfect center piece.
Inviting all my friends,
Arms stretched wide
My breathing never
felt so full
like my lungs had been
entangled by the warmth of the sun
and by the blades of grass on the hillside.

The wind
at the slightest of a chill it could have possibly been.
And the breeze that dances across shoulders
not asking for one to put back on a knitted sweater
The type letting eyes rest open and aware
-a courteous wind.

Lilacs
sway against the boulder rocks.
Pick one,
Pick two,
I’m having a picnic.

I glance at my dirt felt toes,
stare at the highlighted grass,
then at the geese that cross the water.
The water that fills the ground,
circulates its deep blues,
and sweeps rims of waves across its vastness.

The picnic invite list includes
myself
the sun,
and the picturesque scene I’d placed myself upon.

The sunset is in the past
The sunset rests on the back window panel of your car
It is behind us and soft and orange.
The humming of the engine
Might be loud
But on the inside of the car
It sounds soft
Every little bump
Doesn't have much impact
Comforting to the mind
Keep your music playing
Humming
It keeps my body in the present
Daydreaming about the past
Living in this moment
I love a good car ride
The music moves me
I'm sitting with no shoes
My clothes fit me well
They're casual and comfortable
Casual and comfortable, the way someone should feel
Before making decisions
My hands placed
on my comfy pants
and Indian styled sitting
The way to sit with ease
I count the change you keep in the ashtray of your car
Keep tapping the steering wheel
Keep my body in the present
The soft orange sun is tickling the back of your neck
It's peering through the black lined back window of your car
It's a gentle quiet
The engine is soft, the music is fogged and the sun caresses the back of your neck
Long drives
moving past houses and feeling at home
Long drives
I look forward.

You’re not the type
To tap along to the drumbeat I’ve started to embed on your bedroom wall in response to the melody that infuriates the inside of my head
Or the type to laugh at a reenactment I’ve foolishly performed from some commercial that was on the tv last week while we were out at the diner
You put more sugar in your coffee than I do; my coffee looks darker, but the cups themselves, identical

Our eyes both equidistantly tiresome
But thoughts; wandrous
Always on different wavelengths, different pages, different channels
Our thoughts veer off and I am curious to know what you think about
Because sometimes your eyes dig graves
Keeping low to the ground
The mutuality in eye contact faints and gets buried
Tucked under somewhere far,
but always seeking adventure, they meet up again

I don’t mind that you never go under both sheets
even though sometimes it creates space between us two
It doesn’t bother me that you didn’t acknowledge the dream I told you I had last night
Because I understand your eyes still feel like they hadn’t woken up
But I was barely awake too

I tried to get you to wake up
You love the taste of coffee,
But not my coffee.
You like the taste of sugar
Was I not sweet enough to create a sparkle in your eyes?

A crazy thought
that we need one hundred years
in order to feel as if we’ve fulfilled some prophecy
or a purpose for our once lived lives.
I probably haven’t seen enough under the sun,
Yet
Maybe I have,
Maybe I’ve been to the zoo just enough times.
I’ve seen a zebra once or twice.
I’ve watched the ducks waddle
crossing parks with their posse of friends
The sun;
I’ve seen it rise,
I’ve seen it set
Just enough times for my 17 years of life and light.
How many times have I fallen off of my bed?
Is it good enough
that it wasn’t that often?
I’ve thought about this.
How many times have I done an action?
How many days have I spent alive?
6,250.
How many Saturdays?
I don’t know.
I do know that I don’t really care
and that there are way too many complicated calculations that would have to go into these completely non fascinating and unimportant questions
Maybe if I stay, I’ll grow old, and in a place where the sun doesn’t reach, or shine through.  
I’ll walk
Float,
like a pale ghost. If the sun doesn’t hit me can I turn into a ghost?
or are ghosts only reserved for the dead?
I’d like to be a ghost
But not just like any ghost
The kind of ghost that you’d see in cartoons.
the white sheeted ones with spooky midnight eyes.
and I wouldn’t be noticeable.
but oh so full of madness and trickery.
It seems so fairly Intriguing
And life feels like the punching of numbers into a calculator