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 Jul 2018 Kendall Seers
When you were 7, you had two words carved into your soul.

The first, was different.

And maybe now it would have made you bitter, but all it did then was make you kind. (Because no one ever understood you because you were different, so you decided to do your best to understand everyone else instead.)

The second word, worthless.

And you never quite managed to believe otherwise.

When you were 10, it was the first time you couldn't sleep. So from March til June of the following year, you went to sleep between 8 and 11 at night, woke up at 2am almost without fail, imagining the ground shaking all around you. Somehow, it slipped your mind to tell anyone else.

Around 12, you started crying yourself to sleep, and around 13 it became a daily occurrence.

At 14, you started losing vision. Started having moments when your head would spin, and everything around you would fade out to black for five to ten seconds at a time. And when it upped to twenty, you learned to walk through it, to study your surroundings always so you could act normal when it hit. But the first one that terrified you properly was when it lasted a full five minutes: when your vision went completely black and the sound around you dimmed and you felt yourself swaying back and forth without control. A year and a half after the first happening, yet you didn't tell a soul.

At 14, also, you slipped and fell on stairs at a far-away summer camp, sprained your ankle badly enough you could only just barely walk a week after when it was over, and it took you a month to be able to imitate running. You winced and gasped your painful way through 9th grade Phys-Ed, but you never did tell anyone.

When you were 15, though, you did something consciously idiotic, albeit innocent at the time.

When you were 15 trapped between two Phys-Ed credits that most often occurred directly after your lunch period, you decided to stop eating lunch. Not completely, not then, just with that particular happenstance, and certainly not on weekends. But by the time summer came and your parents worked to avoid each other (and you, by association) you'd cut breakfast to coffee or tea (depending on which parent) and actual food to just supper. And when school came back in the fall, just looking at the food made you feel nauseous, much less eating it, so you didn't. And you didn't. And you didn't. Just coffee in the morning. Just supper in the evening. Just enough to sufficiently fake normality.

When you were 16, you went back to not sleeping, except not sleeping meant not sleeping, just an hour or two from 4 or 5am if you were lucky. And the few days you perhaps would have slept were exchanged for purposefulall nighters, studying advanced subjects into oblivion without making heads nor tails.

When you were 16, your hands and body started shaking, at random intervals you had no control over.

When you were 16, you started being unable to hide your overwhelming sadness.

And at 16, with great frequency, you utilized your ability to lie astonishingly well.

Days before you turned 17, your parents sat you down, and asked if anything was wrong, and 'are you sure you're really eating enough?'

You barely flinched, only almost wanted to scoff and say, 'really, now you think something might be wrong with me?' You lied, instead. Completely and utterly with minimal hesitation. They don't ask again.

You start to realize things, after that.

How you used to just flinch away from hugs, because you weren't used to them, initially, yes, but also because you thought you didn't deserve the feeling of being held and safe.

How you purposely kept biting your lip until it became a habit because you wanted to make it bleed.

How when you tapped rhythms out with pencils on your hand, the led end was always the one scraping against it, not the harmless side of the eraser.

How when ice results from snowfall, you walk on the more dangerous path, dare yourself to slip and fall and get hurt.

How you spent parts of December and January sans a coat, in place of borrowing one from several willing parties.

How you went out in thunderstorms, "forgetting" umbrella and hood alike. Came back drenched to the core.

How all these self-destructive tendencies have piled up around you.

And you don't quite even want to stop them.
 Jun 2018 Kendall Seers
You love like it’s effortless.
Like it grew in with your bones,
like you have always known how to, like the idea of not openly expressing love is foreign.
(Love is a choice, you say,
like it’s obvious and certain,
Love does not intend harm)

You love like you are waiting for someone to stab you in the back.
Careless, and freely given, until the line is drawn on the grass and you expected this in the first place - you live as though you expect to need to cut your losses at any second. (Until that point, however, you love wholeheartedly— hell hath fury on those who harm the ones you love.)

You love as though it will break you if you don’t. Your emotions are bursting on the surface, and it will hurt you more to turn a blind eye than it will to take a trip down another’s misery. You love earnestly and obviously, and your own bleeding heart will come second always, but you understand what can happen, heartbreak - will risk it again and again despite that the odds may now be ever against you.

You love like it’s a forgone conclusion that everyone knows love exists. Like it’s just there, and of course it’s supposed to be good, and of course it’s supposed to be freely given and returned. (And you seem so confused when others do not follow your simple ideology.)

You love cautiously. Because you thought they weren’t out to get you, once, but they were. (And not all parts of you survived it.) So now everything terrifies you, and you create holes to jump through, tests to run - your use of the word trust is seldom, of love rarer still.

You love in secret. Like a facade will protect you from life, but all it does drive people away who don’t come back for the second look. You love as though you’re unlovable, but you know what it’s like to be loved, and you willingly go with the ones who come back through.

You love people like they will save you. A hope that they will rally to your side. You need them, but you need them to need you, and you know how to be calculating, but you didn’t want to be. You love freely, though, until they burn the bridges you once crossed together.

You love people who don’t expect it, and you love like you’re on a mission, non-malicious, because you’re really just trying to give others a little piece of the world they don’t yet have, and the love and affection that comes afterwards is an unintended, albeit not unwelcome consequence.

I love like it’s forbidden.
As though the minute it is admitted, the love will disappear, by nature of simply acknowledging the fact.
(And so they fade away without ever knowing.)

You love like it’s an afterthought,
like you didn’t know you were allowed to.
It drips from your shoulders,
in an array of colors
I have never seen before.
And yet, it’s kept tight against your body
As if you’d rather it be hurt then you.

(You’re allowed to be loved, and love in return. You already are.)
10 interpretations of how different people love, the first 9, of 9 different people from my perspective, the 10th an interpretation by my friend in response to reading the poem, on person 9 (me).
 May 2018 Kendall Seers
falling in love is easy.
effortless, even.
(unaware until you’ve already fallen)

staying in love is conscious
(because at some point or another, you notice it, and it either takes your breath away in awe, or it sends ice down your spine-
and you run, run fast.)

once you let yourself fall,
then your heart is no longer yours.

(it can be a wonderful thing, two pieces of two hearts,
given away freely and replacing the other,
healing rather than harming, uniting.)

the thing about the ones
who don’t love you back, is that
you give your whole heart away,
and they slowly crush it
in return;
you do not see it until only pieces remain-
(after all, you were in love.)

the thing about the ones who
don’t love you back,
is that then, it becomes your fault -
(because who would have ever chosen to love you in the first place?)

but it’s going to take you years
to realize that it isn’t on you,
as you assemble back the broken pieces,
try to breathe with just half a soul,
start to learn that you deserve just as much love as you give.

it’s going to take time,
because now you’re afraid
that this is the story with everyone -
(you’re not sure you could survive this again)

the thing about the ones who
don’t love you back,
is that they break you.

you trust them, and their charade is flawless.
(Of course they love you,
of course this is mutual) of course
this is all your fault.
 May 2018 Kendall Seers
And this, it is all your failings, all the ways you cannot hide:

Biting your lip to stop tears until that stops working, then using it to block frowns in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent the former;

Blinking too fast to stop tears, and realizing, then, that you can allow your eyes to fill up with water, and so long as they don’t fall -
no one will notice.

Breathing desperately through your nose or not at all, to pretend the panic doesn’t exist, so it can consume you later, alone and vulnerable and afraid, rocking back and forth on various surfaces of floor. (Because you have convinced yourself it is your curse to bear alone, because bringing people pain for when they help you is not your idea of giving back to the world - (and the world owes you nothing, and if it did, it would not be this.)

Basking - or at least, accepting, compliments of others, in order to detach yourself from them more completely - (because the best way to hide is to make them believe you’ve gotten better, to make their worry dissipate and turn to some other better-deserving cause, for them not to realize this precarious state, because you are still only half way on the wagon, because without them you are far more likely to fall off - but these are not the things you want them to understand, you who are burden enough already, arguments aside, and know it.)

And because you keep secrets.
Theirs, and everyone else’s, and your own.
(Once, it was the weight of being all of their confidants that crushed you - now it is being your own.)

You can lie.
Not callously, not yet -
but you have gone beyond necessity,
have gone past only lies which could be considered kind.

And you have gone beyond feeling,
beyond the always soul-crushing guilt;
beyond the point where you have an intact fear of death;
beyond the point of being selfless,
of accepting help from others only when they genuinely want to,
and only when you desperately need it.

And what might terrify you,
  (other than the discovery of this)
  (other than them leaving)
is that they think you are still good.
still kind, still nice, still theirs
(and you are utterly petrified, of hurting them to save yourself.)

Because the nice ones flow under the radar, and the kind ones have the most power. And the difference, between you, and them, is that they do not know it, like you didn’t know it, and now you do - and here you are, using it to your own advantage. And by the time their belief no longer blinds them to your failings -
by then, it will be far too late.
 Mar 2018 Kendall Seers
You switched countries the first time when you were 3.
Stayed in one place 14 and a half years,
then switched from living on one continent and visiting another,
to just staying on one (other) continent,
and flip-flopping between two countries.

The Gross Total: 3 continents;
4 countries (lived), 14 countries (visited);
3 languages, 5 schools;
10 places of living (house, home, apartment - pick a word you like.)

*And you're one of the lucky ones.
 Mar 2018 Kendall Seers
 Mar 2018 Kendall Seers
I don't do anger (this is not a lie.)
Don't do rage, or fury.
Just sad. Just broken. Just hurt.

Because how can you feel anger,
when you are too empathetic
for your own **** good?
When understanding comes
before fury ever has a chance to?

Apparently, you let yourself shout
at the stars,
surrounded by a crowd
who muffles your volume
with their own,
and doesn't care about you
in the slightest,
encouraged along
by the hand
holding tight
to your own.

Apparently, you let yourself feel
everything you can:
the hurt
the terror
the loneliness
the overwhelming sense
and hollowing out of it all

And you let your tears run free
And have your voice follow.

There is nothing beautiful about it;
suppressed emotions forcing their way out in stutters and run-on sentences alike, the cadence of it all jumping through octaves, shrill and not enough air to low and soft and quiet, heartbeat too fast and too slow all at once, scared to death of confessing too much yet relieved, all at the same time.

There is nothing beautiful about it,
but it looks like and sounds like and feels like anger.

Like fury.
Like rage.

It feels directed at everything more so than anything specific, but more than that - it feels like something.

*Like being alive again.
 Mar 2018 Kendall Seers
tell your friends you love them today.
its love day
 Mar 2018 Kendall Seers
 Mar 2018 Kendall Seers
It is so strange (beautiful)
to rediscover
all the reasons
you fell in love with her
in the first place

(and realize they're all still true.)
And if you are to love,
Love as the moon loves.
It doesn't steal the night,
It only unveils the beauty of the dark.

And if you are to love,
Love as the rain loves.
It doesn't wet the bodies,
It only washes the sad dirt of the souls.

And if you are to love,
Love as the wind loves.
It doesn't drift away,
It only cleanse you to the core by invading through each pore.

And if you are to love,
Love as the sun loves.
It doesn't radiates heat,
It only pours its warmth on you to enlighten your way.

And if you are to love,
Love as the star loves.
It doesn't delightfully twinkles,
It only reminds you that not even death can separate two hearts.

And so forth,
if you are to love
Love as the whole universe
& not just a part of it.
 Mar 2018 Kendall Seers
 Mar 2018 Kendall Seers
the moment a poet
falls in love with you

is the moment
you live

f o r e v e r
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