i had a friend once,
and she taught me
not to say "i love you too,"
because it sounds false and inauthentic,
and little white lies are worse than the cold, hard
truth.

i had a friend once,
and she taught me
that you don't have to do anything;
it's simply a matter of whether you should
or shouldn't.

i had a friend once,
and she lived in a small, boring town
with small boring people.

i had a friend once,
and she was not a small, boring person.

i had a friend once,
and she hated herself,
every last inch of her,
but she still always knew
how to make me smile.

i had a friend once,
and she would always reference books
or music
or movies,
because to her,
the real world just wasn't as appealing.

i had a friend once,
and i left her.

she stayed.

she waited.

i'm sure her hope wavered at times,
but she waited still.

and i came back,
only to leave again.

she didn't stick around this time, though.

so, you see,
i had a friend once,
and she taught me
to think deeply,
to live freely,
and to love truly.

i had a friend once.

she's gone now.

(a.m.)

When I was a newborn, less than 4 days old, you bought as many stuffed toys as your car could fit and surrounded them around my crib, ignoring my grandmother who kept telling mom that newborns don't know how to look at objects.
I moved my eyes and looked at them.

When I was a toddler, you encouraged me to watch Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin and didn't want me to watch Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty because you "wanted your daughter to learn a lesson, not just waste time".

When I was 7 you took me everywhere with you and didn't mind me listening to your friends' political arguments. On our way home though you always told me "Don't grow up to be like them.  Don't let people lead you."
And I didn't. I pushed a girl because she wanted to be the group leader in our science project.

When I was 11 you started discussing books by Stephen Covey and made me listen to Zig Ziglar cassettes. "Don't blindly follow the crowd," you said. "Always raise your neck and look around. If you don't like where they're going, take another road."
And I did. Girls my age were giggling about boys and bras while my eyes were wide open and excited about all the facts I read from my science textbook.

When I got to middle school and got my eating disorder, I refused to eat the apple in algebra class so that I could take my quiz, and didn't mind my teacher calling you to pick me up for my "resistance".
I got in the car waiting for you to pat my back and tell me I did well for refusing to give in to her ultimatum. I waited for you to tell me that I didn't need help anyways. But the drive back home was silent.

When I was 14 and went to my brother's school to beat up the kid bullying him, you called. I thought you called to give me a pep talk, or give me some tips on how to break his nose. All you said was "stay in the car. Leave the beating for the boys". I came back home confused.

When I was 17 and told you about my goals, you said "When you're young, you have unrealistic dreams. You feel like flying from your positive energy and like you have the whole world in the palm of your hand. But you grow up and realize that you need to be realistic."
I opened my mouth but closed it right after remembering you telling me "Think before you speak. If the outcome of what you'll say is useful, say it. If it'll hurt people, don't." I don't think it would've been useful. What use would it be to scream in your face about how that 'unrealistic dream' was the only goal I had, the only distraction from suicide. What use would it be to tell you that I don't remember the last time I felt like I was about to burst from the positive energy that I had?

You taught me how to be different. You taught me to love math and science. You taught me to be my own person and not let people decide what I should do in my life. But what you forgot to do is teach me how to feel okay. You didn't teach me how to reply to people who tell me that I watch too many American shows and that I let go of our traditions because of my opinion on marriage. You didn't teach me how to not feel lonely as hell when it's 3 am and I'm spewing out everything I binged and wiping my tears away while my throat bleeds and the music is playing to cover up the sound of me choking on the last words I screamed at myself and the gasps of relief when I purge out all my feelings and lay on the floor feeling numb. You didn't teach me how to pretend to blend in when the girls my age would take boys' phone numbers and I'd ask them questions like "but how are you guys together now? You don't know each other's personalities. You only just met." You taught me how to be smart, educated Belle and rebellious, going-by-her-own-rules Jasmine..

Daddy, you taught me how to be my own person in a place where you're supposed to be everyone else's clone, and I am forever grateful.. But sometimes, just sometimes, I wish you had taught me how to pretend to be like Aurora or Snow White.

She’s a desert and
you’re just another drop
of water for her to
soak up
you’ll feel fury and pain
a Hiroshima heartbeat
decimating the skyline
she carved on your back
you won’t feel anything
but he empty touch of
an ice cube
her fingertips criss-cross
your torso like a kite
Stamps her lips on
yours and sends you
Away; express mail
no return address
In to the palm of her
hand

Someone asked me the other day
If I knew you.
A million replies shot through my head,
But the one that came out of my mouth
Was, "No, not anymore."
At first I thought this was a straight up lie,
But as I started to turn away
And move on to something else,
I realized it wasn't.

I don't know you anymore.
I can't remember what your face looks like.
That might have something to do with
The fact that I try to avoid
All photos of you.
Actually, I avoid anything
That might send a memory of you
Flashing across my eyelids.
I'm wary of sleeping again
Because I don't want to dream of you.
I've stopped listening to country music
Because the emotions it evokes from me
Remind me of the times I was with you.
I've stopped playing my guitar and violin
Because I was happiest
Playing them for you.
I've stopped living because without you,
It's just not good enough.
You told me that you'd never leave,
That no matter what our relationship
Eventually looked like
You'd always be my family.
But you did leave,
And I don't have a family.
I've been wallowing in
That for months now.
Bemoaning my loss.
Not exactly grieving,
For to grieve involves
Facing certain things and
Deciding to let them go and move on.
No,
I have been wallowing in a hole of self-pity.
And it's rather disgusting.
Covered with the mud and
**** that is my life.
No wonder people don't want
Long-term relationships with me.
I'm broken and not worth their time
Or energy or life.

I've got to face the music now.
I've got to decide to stand up,
Wash myself off, and leave
This somewhat
Comfortable-only-because-it's-familiar hole.
And I think that I've somewhat
Begun to do that.
I mean, how else could I have said
"No, not anymore"
And meant it.
It's a good thing
I don't know you anymore.
You were part of my past.
But you were also someone
Who kept me in that hole.
And even though
A part of my heart loved you,
I don't want that hole to be my life.

So I'm standing up for myself now.
I'm washing myself off.
And this time, I'm doing the walking away.
From now on, when someone asks me
if I know you,
I think I'll continue to reply,

*"No, not anymore."

i hope you see this.

i don't know what i would want you to feel if you did see this.

anger?

sadness?

pain?

would you even know it was for you?

look,
i don't want to dwell
on the unimportant details,
like who's fault it was,
or who left first.

maybe it was you,
maybe it was me,
maybe it was both of us.

i don't care much.

the important part is that you're gone.

i am gone.

we are gone.

i am not the person i once was, and i doubt you are the person you once were.

whether that's a good or bad thing,
i don't know.

what i do know is that everything is falling.

but whether it's falling into or out of place?

well,
i don't know that either.

(a.m.)