"It's okay to be a glowstick. Sometimes you have to break before you can shine."

you can call me names
you can make me cry
but all the things you do
only help me learn to fly

you can call me stupid
say I just don't got a clue
but you're the one who's clueless
of the things that I've been through

But go ahead & try to hurt me
I've got a secret you don't know
anytime somebody breaks me
like a glowstick, they make me glow

So just try to bring me down
go ahead and cross that line
and just like any other glowstick
you'll only make me shine

In life, it is a rarity
to meet someone
who smiles
from the bottom of their soul;
who grins, not as an expression
and certainly not for others,
but because they simply
cannot help
themselves.

Precious, treasured memories
Floating by on the summer breeze.
Magical, swinging melodies;
Looking back on a world of dreams.

The golden heat from the gleaming lights,
Wav’ring forms in spectators’ sights,
Costumes and set-pieces, perfect delights;
Looking back on a world of art.

Voices ringing through the breathless air,
Some words forgotten and some still there,
Cries and laughter, joy and despair;
Looking back on a world of sound.

The smile on my lips as the crowd’s cheers roar
We hold hands and bow as they shout “encore!”
For two nights only, then never more,
Looking back on a world gone wild.

Then, in an eyeblink, the daydream fades
Our paths intertwined, but now we’ve parted our ways
The magic in memory alone remains,
Making way for the world of fall.

Golden trees with sun-kissed leaves
Wings of midnight cotton
Floating high in cedar hills
Are dreams inside a coffin

****** rose with sappy petals
Warrior wings with fewer scales
Coasting into deeper woodland
Are the graves of the lost and frail

My pen wrote of loss
And with an evasive tongue, it spoke
My quivering lips succumbed to terror
And so on the truth, I choked

Azure sea reflected me
Singing wading tunes
As I dipped the toe of fear
My fear hid in the dunes

Golden rays throw blinding flames
As the setting sun burst color
Broken shells still pierce my heart
As it yearns to rid this dolor

My pen wrote of drowning
And with an evasive tongue, it spoke
My quivering lips succumbed to terror
And so on the truth, I choked

My pen then wrote the face of cowardice
And with a change of tongue, I spoke
My lips would brave the words of reason
And the birds would fly in happy notes.

A halo of envy
Steamed a green fog
Upon her dreamy sky
The faint shape of him
Unveiled her heart
And she shivered
With a chill of denial
But hope was a’gliding
And a’rising at Dawn
and He, so humble to beauty,
Was flowering notes
And willed solace afloat
This crystalline sky,
Fuming boldly.

When I was five,
my mother told me I was loved.
Years later, she asked me to leave because
I was the reminder of the gruesome past that haunted her.

When I was ten,
my father told me he believed in me.
Years later, he refused to accompany me because
I was an embarrassment to him in front of the society.

When I was fifteen,
my friends told me I was funny.
Years later, they all laughed at me because
I was the gullible teenager who fell for their flawless façade.

When I was twenty,
this guy said I was beautiful.
Years later, he trashed me, tormented me because
I was ignorant enough to overlook my inevitable flaws.

So, sorry for not believing in you,
for questioning your intentions, inclusively, in-depth
when you told me you loved me because
I didn’t want to wind up years later,
learning it the hard way that people often don’t mean what they say.

Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t just been the backseat of your car,
Intoxicated. My first drunk hook up. My first. Period.
I picture myself being champagne on Valentine’s Day.
I picture myself being you, nervous in the car, holding Starbucks
because you know I love coffee. Sometimes, I picture myself as her,
calling you a stalker and ignoring your calls,
but then I see myself. I call you beautiful,
turn you into poetry, laugh at your bad jokes,
I see myself as I become your drunk Wednesday night
when you’re sad. I see myself as I say no,
I become a “this is not a good idea”
and you a “we’ll deal with the consequences in the morning.”
We laugh because this hurts too much.
You take her out for dinner and I burrow money
for Plan B because you forgot you don’t like condoms
and clearly have no idea how children are made.
I have already named him. He has your curls and
my anxiety. He is smart. Except, I never wanted kids and
you would be a great father. Instead, you tell her
the beach reminds you of her and I cry in a McDonald’s
bathroom with my friend as relief floods through me that
the test comes negative. I stop talking to you,
move forward, meet someone new and before long
see myself becoming you. Because isn’t that the cycle?
Bad men turn good women into bad women who turn
good men into bad men. I’ll set him free so he can hurt
someone like me, and I drink red wine as I read her
poems about him and me.

4 and a half years later,

I still find traces of you

On my body
In my mind

And not in the good way

The way

I flinch from raised hands
Tight grips
Or sharp words

The way

I question my self worth

The way

I don’t say stop when it’s not
okay
Or stay
Still for too long

The way

So here’s to hoping they’re almost
gone

As I’ve been unwinding these patterns for 4 and a half **** years

Surely,

The time it took to learn them
is proportional to how long it will take to rid them from my brain

Surely,

-wishful thinking