Listen closely to the sound , this seashell that has floated upon the shore  of white sand, as you place it's magic upon your ear, the rippling sound of the crashing waves is what you hear.
Oh how I wish I could fit inside, for the tide descending back into these Waters of blue, carrying me into the majestic ocean floor beyond the sands never touched by man, the beauty these Waters allow us to see, I am imagining how mysterious the rest could be, for we haven't a clue.    Laying beneath the so much unseen , lost city's, sunken vessels, treasures of a time long ago , the story of another time  all buried beneath a place we dare not go. Laying beneath the grounds of our feet another world  left undiscovered , only to imagine, the the secrets it keeps , the magestic land that remains unseen.

This isn't a poem, this is written from the heart of a hurting girl...

I am that girl, the pure title, and definition of fearing commitment. The funny thing, it’s the farthest thing I ever want to be.

Deep down I see marriage, 2.5 kids, white picket fences, and all the dogs you’ll let me have. Oh yes, it’s a beautiful future there, yet my so-called “relationships” last maybe a few months, because you throw words out there like love, and moving in together, being my rock and everything I long for. Yeah, I might say those words back, I may play along with what our wedding will look like, and that gorgeous ring that adds a beautiful symbol of commitment on my scrawny little finger and its beautiful because deeply that is what my poor beaten-up heart is yearning for. But instead, those feelings of bliss I so wistfully yearn for are replaced with panic and pure distaste for wanting stick it out and stay by your side.

So, what do I do? I run. I am the star of “Runaway from Stability”. Why? If you could answer that for me and fix me, you would probably be a millionaire and sell lots of books on it. And speaking of books, my shelves are littered with self-help books that only exist to make you think that I read them, but I don’t… I collect literature that fuels my fantasy that there is nothing wrong with me.

I can dig deep down and do the years of therapy for you and blame my father that never wanted me in his life, who constantly let me down... I can blame the fact I am a serial dater due to walking away time and time again... I can blame my mother, who by the way shares the same fear I do, and you could say the apple falls right next to the **** tree. (Love you so much, mom)... You could blame the men (more like “boys”) that promised me the world and broke my heart after all I saw was them in my future.

Yeah, sure the list goes on with who I could “blame”. But the problem still exists that I can’t change, I can’t get attached, I can’t get hurt. Yeah yeah yeah…. Can’t means you won’t, but maybe that is it. Maybe I won’t budge. Maybe I absolutely won't stick it out despite all the right words I know I need to consistently hear.

And you come along, you’re sweet, you’re understanding, you’re that list my best friend told me to make of qualities we've all made throughout our lives after each heartbreak, after each "I am done dating" of qualifications a man must have before you date them.

And you know what?... I like you... So much, I could even say every ounce of me has fallen for you. But that my inner fear comes up like ***** and that's it! There is no chance holding it down…

I don’t think I can ever be the girl with hearts in her eyes that doodles your name all over my notes at work. No, I won’t be… I used to be that girl that was lovesick with an unrealistic crush on someone.

That little girl won’t come back. I miss her, but she’s not there...

Yeah, I am sure you’ve Googled all the articles that tell you how to deal with a “Commitment Phobic Girlfriend” and yeah, I’ve read them too which spiral my mind out of control how to fix myself. My friends all say the same thing, “You’ve got to be happy with yourself before you can be happy with anyone else Bri!” ---insert eye roll--- So far that’s all I got because this really doesn’t make me happy, and maybe that’s it?

Life keeps crumpling me up and spitting me out and I deem myself a pool of chaos, that I am not really wanted if people knew the truth of how broken I am inside, how much I don’t respect myself anymore because of my commitment-phobia-self-proclaimed-title…

I don’t know why I chose to write this article, maybe because I am not the only one? A cry for help? The attention YOU THINK I am wanting... Ha, no...

At least I can hope I am not the only one who struggles with this battle, and I am sure I am not... But why? Why is it that way?

(Heck, maybe a therapist wouldn’t be a bad idea at this point. YAY! Progress! ---insert another eye roll---)

I do know this, despite everything, I have learned the true meaning of love, (Crazy right?!) Because some of you I have run away from, love me, and always will... You've shown it, you've proven it even. And yet STILL, I believe in my heart I am truly unlovable.

To my friends who know the phobia, the constant relationship hopping, you all love me still, and that's hard for me to wrap my head around. You all are my rock, I love you all so very much. And thank you, thank you for not giving up on me in my train-wreck of a life because I could never do this without you.

there's a girl with red hair
and vintage red polka dot dresses
she doesn't miss anything
save for the five foot mark
she's a short little firecracker
full of opinions and wit
soft souled
one of those girls with an affinity for quaint little boutiques
with over priced trinkets
(don't even get me started on used book stores)
a grounded free spirit
who buys tea at coffee shops
I couldn't remember her order if I tried
pictures never capture her
moments fill her feed
she holds nothing back
(vulnerability excluded)
toddlers make her laugh more than cute boys
her heroes consist of Ron Paul and Leslie Knope
(can't forget John Mulaney)
car trouble every other day
single handly solos twelve hour road trips
not a moments hesitation
spontaneous and steadfast
drives an hour just for donuts
southern baptist?
heels and tights
more stories than battle scars
titles fill her desk
from poetry pages to presidential plaques
her range is astronomical
no shame in wearing pajama pants
into gas stations or grocery stores
her heart gives itself away
in water color paintings and chocolate chip cookies
no no she can't eat that
"I'm lactose intolerant, remember?"
laughs and eats it anyway
I could sum her up in a sentence, but an encyclopedia is not enough

You might be late to say hello,
To drop a message, ask a question,
Express your love, how much you owe,
You might be late in your expression.

You might be planning for tomorrow,
To call, to say, to come, to write.
Your planning might be good and thorough
That ”it will be”, not even ”might”.

And you will come, with love and care,
You’ll make a call on chosen day...
To find with pain you’d hardly bear
That you are deadly late to say...

...You will be late to say hello,
To drop a message, ask a question,
Express your love, how much you owe...
You will be late in your expression.

I missed him.
His glowing presence
And warm nature
Brought back the color
Of the ground.
He brought me
Back to life
After a season
Of death.
His existence
Was clouded by worries,
But he came back
Today.