Most of my life is a forgotten cliffside. There's nothing you can really do about it, it's just the consequence you pay for being alive.

I don't remember a lot of my childhood. I can remember my schools, my friends, my parents, my teachers. But I don't remember my sisters. Only my brother, the little boy carrying the family name on his shoulder blades... But he is not ready for that.

As for my sisters... I do not officially "know them" until they begin to leave. I was 11 when they started leaving my house, and 13 when they started re-entering my life.

There is no excuse for arriving late to my life crisis. But what crisis is there anyway?

I grew up alone.

Sisters too old, brother too young, parents too protective.
And me...

Too eager to run through the halls of my early life, and high school is not what I expected the years to be. But I am still here... alive.

And there will always be that to hold on to when the sky falls from the stars that pin up the rest of the universe.

Or the the clouds fall from the blue sky just before that cliffside collapses into the abyss.

This is the artistry that is my life on a power surge. Feeling the shock of the first kiss, and the break of the last word.

The many voices, and single sayings. The before and after. The push and then the fall.

The feeling of all my memories being shot.

But not killed.

This is the joy of living off of the electric tower... or the Eiffel tower.

This is life made wild, love made public, friends made family, me made whole again.

Me surviving the cliffside fall for the 378th time this week.

Safety nets were never written in the fine print of this circus act.

But this feeling can **** as much as it can save. It is, and always will be a cosmic shot across the front of my skull...

Opening my mind into eternity. Until I decide to go back to that cliffside...

Again.

Hey God...

I have a confession.

I am not a good person.

I know it isn't original, and I know you've heard this too many times from too many broken people.

But it's the only shred of honesty I can give so please accept it...
Because I do not know how to forgive myself for this tower of lies I built over the last month and a half.

I am not a good friend.

I try...

And you know I try. But I haven't been trying as hard as I used to.
But I want to try and make things right.

I have convinced myself that heaven seems too high up for me to get to.
And I'm here asking you to tell me there is still a chance for me to be saved from my life.

I went to church today for the first time in months.
I saw old friends, and read new verses... I learned more.
Although I still feel like an outcast in this place we call "safe".

I can't feel your presence near me even when I pray.
It's like I've cut the communication lines and there is no repairing them.

I am willing to work for my life.
I will build houses of faith and sing praises until I drop, but it won't be enough.

I work well under pressure. So if you told me that getting to heaven was as simple as building a ladder as high as I could in 24 hours, I would work through war and hellfire to get there.

I would climb every rung until the ladder ended above the clouds and started feeling like the solid foundation of a life restarted.

I can only hope you will accept me with open arms, forgiveness...

And a "hello."

I used to walk down the block to the bus stop everyday.
Whether it was a bright sunny day, or a dark icy winter before the sun woke up, I was there...

Walking.

Backpack slung over my shoulder, alto saxophone in its case in my right hand. Leaning to the left to balance out the weight so I didn't fall over walking over the uneven rectangles of grey rock.

Artificial building blocks that make the world flat.

When I was little, I rode my bike to a nearby school park. They had a water park right by the school and surrounding the drain was a wide circle of bricks set in the ground.

But they had to take some of the bricks out of the ground, I don't know why. But they filled the gap with cement...

And lucky for me, I had gotten to that water park just before the liquid rock turned to solid ground. I pressed my right foot into that patch of grey. Just barely leaving the treads of my shoe in the cement.

I sometimes stop by to visit that old water park. Some 10 years later and that mark in the cement is still there. And no one will know it was me who left a temporary mark on that patch of grey all those years ago.

My footsteps are bigger now. I can run faster now.

Or maybe I can just walk.

I am older now. I don't take the bus much anymore. I drive my car to get where I'm going. I run everywhere, I don't take the time to walk through my life. I live too fast.

I've made mistakes.
I have regrets.

And even if I don't want to...

I have to walk with them.

I have to accept my actions and live with the consequences. I must walk slowly with my choices. My rights and wrongs... my own self inflicted pain.

I step in rhythm with the music playing through my headphones. I don't step on the lines that divide the building blocks of my pathway. I follow the grey brick road, not traveling with anyone this time.

So now I am leaving.
I will take everything.

My guilt.
My shame.
My regret.
My heart.
My mind.

I will go...

Song lyrics slung across my backbone...
Guitar in my right hand.
Ipod in my left hand.

I look ahead at the sidewalk before me.
I feel the sun on my skin, and the wind in my hair.
I breathe...

And I walk.

Fact:** My sister is a wonderful human being.


After hearing about the tragedies happening around us, she decides to make paper stars. Lots and lots of stars.

She asks for empty bottles from the neighbours and her friends. She fills the bottles with these stars, folding away all her problems into glass bottles and jars of all shapes and sizes. After she fills the bottles and jars she hands them to her friends and family.

She gives one to me.

The paper stars in a rainbow pattern, they seem so full of wonder. Even if they are nothing more than paper encased in glass.

I take the glass jar and place it on the top shelf of my school locker. Reminding me that I can keep a piece of home and happiness close to me.

But it didn't last.

After I made some mistakes I didn't feel as though I wanted any happiness near me. I wanted to take every bit of hope and hide it away.

I took the jar of paper stars out of my locker 2 days ago.

Holding it close to my chest as I walked down the halls of my school.

My head hanging.
Eyes glued to the floor.

Walking away from everything.

But still sort of hopeful...
Wishing for a bit more optimism.

A shining star.

I met you 3 years ago.

5' 2" and terrifying.

You never got any taller, but your rockstar personality shot right to the moon and back. And you never let anybody bring you down or tell you what to do. I admired that about you.

I remember the dumbest things about our friendship. I remember working with you on a group project we both didn't care about. I remember becoming friends with you like it was an easy thing, like we both knew we would be friends eventually.

I remember the first song I ever sent to you, and not expecting you to like it but you did anyway. You told me the song would even get stuck in your head. I promised to send you every song I would ever write.

We were close. I would always make time to talk to you. It didn't matter whether or not you were interrupting anything, I would set anything aside to talk to you.

We shared our jokes, and our pain. Our laughter and longing, we were good friends and we never let each other down.

Until now.

And I will admit that this is my fault.
Please don't place all of the blame on her.
She may be guilty, but so am I.
2 out of the 3 problems were caused by my impulses.
I can handle 66.7% of the blame and consequences.
I can do that.

You can hate me if you want.
You tell me you don't want to talk to her anymore.

I tell you I respect your decision and that I will be here if you need me.

I am sorry.

I know I ******* up our friendship, and I wish I could take it all back.
I wish you could remember me as the innocent songwriter who held out arms of comfort instead of words of contradiction.

I am terrible.

And you don't need me.

But if your heart finds enough forgiveness to see past this.
I will give you a way out.
And if you choose not to take it.
Then maybe you believe that I am worth taking back.

That our friendship is worth fixing.

So tell me:

If I am worth that much...

Are you okay with the idea of starting over?

Because I want to make this better.
You don't have to be around me if you don't want to.

But if I can start over.

I will live through my life thankful that I got a second chance at all.