I didn't really know much about whirlwind love
or shotgun weddings
Until I went out with a forbidden boy in my new city
almost immediately we were struck by lightning
electric and on fire
with his hand on my face
dancing and kissing and sweating and laughing
someone thought we were married
so to make it right
he got down on one knee and I spent the week as Mrs. S
I broke all my own rules with him
*** with the lights on, holding hands in public
giving up my jaded and calloused heart
my favorite moment?
standing in the shower with him
listening to Beach House
hot water falling on us like sweet honey in the summertime
the soft glow of afternoon sunshine beaming in from the window
we took turns washing each other's hair
and kissing each other's necks
nothing has ever felt so pure
so safe
so beautiful
-

every single day there are things that make me think
"huh, I should write about this"
and I make a mental note of it
and then I forget all about it
until the next day
when I see patches of green moss creeping along the cold cement sidewalks
or the warmth of his hand against the small of my back as we boogie down on the dance floor at the Mineshaft to Come On Eileen
playing spin the bottle in a haunted hotel room at four in the morning and hoping to land on the same girl over and over and over again cause her lips taste like cigarettes and Burt's Bees peppermint chapstick and I just ******* crave that **** ya know?
I crave the things that make me want to write, that make me feel inspired, that make me feel human
and at the end of the day it doesn't matter if I write any of it down because I still felt it and I still love it and it still happened and it still counts
life still ******* counts
-

not everything is a big deal
just a little something I've been trying to remind myself of these days

I live in a very old house with yellow walls and tall ceilings and creaky doors
Every day I subconsciously make the same wrinkley dissatisfied face towards the smell of rotting peaches that line the walkway
The house is much prettier when everything is dead
I haven't made love in this house
though it's not to be said that love has been absent
In fact I have never loved anyone or anything more in any other house than in this old slanted set of walls
It was here that I began to fall in love with myself and with my life
It was here that recovery became more of a lifestyle and less of a chore
Now I here on my bed in my tiny room in my tiny old house with my tiny little puppy
thinking about all of the things that used to keep me up at night
and none of it matters anymore
because not everything is a big deal
-

I wish I wasn't so afraid all the time
it's a default
I mean ****, my earliest human memory is of being afraid of something on the tv
He told me it's a huge flaw, problematic
that I need to have a better grasp on reality
I asked him how he does it
how is he not afraid
"Science, baby. It's all about basic science."
He doesn't believe in ghosts or spirits
aliens nor monsters
I think the only thing he is truly afraid of is himself
(but he'll never admit that)
I'm afraid of him, too
afraid of falling for another broken man
afraid of the addiction and the sickness
You know it is really true what they say,
we fall for people who remind us of our parents

pt. 2
We were sittin there on his driveway
beer in his hand, a joint in mine
and he said to me
You can leave at any point and I wouldn't blame you. I would be okay. But God do I want you to stay.
and I couldn't think of anything to say
the silence choked me
so we went inside and sat on his bed
his hand in mine
and we looked at a book full of all of Van Gogh's paintings
I cried
He cried
we're trying
-

trying to fix broken people isn't romantic
hoping that with enough love and compassion you will be able to end a viscous cycle of addiction isn't romantic
there is nothing pure or golden about it
neither noble nor valliant
it's just stupid and selfish and idealistic
so let them drink
and drink and drink
because no matter how hard you try
they won't stop
till it's too late
-

I am so much better than I used to be
in every way possible
I don't cry as much anymore
I don't scream as much anymore
I don't let unworthy men put their ***** hands on my body anymore
Recovery comes in waves, big and small
and sometimes it is hard to celebrate the little victories
so here's to those triumphs, the forgotten ones
Here's to getting out of bed before noon
here's to not calling in sick to work
remembering to return the dvd's on time
eating food that will make me feel good
eating food in general
bringing my inhaler with me when I know I'm going to smoke cigarettes
not beating myself up for smoking said cigarettes
here's to a summer in which I am actually comfortable in my own skin
and here's to daily progress
-

my knees hurt when I sit in the same position for too long
my heart hurts in the same way
I am restless, fleeting
like the thunderstorm outside right now
banging the shutters against the window
forcing them to kiss
like a child with two dolls
or like a boy with bad intentions
-

I like the way I still feel that thing
that thing I feel when you tilt you head back with laughter
I think it's something about the way the light
fills you, fills your dark
(even if it's just for a second)
you are warm in that laughter
it reminds me of the warmth I felt
when you looked at me
like I was some kind of wonderful
because I was, I still am
and so are you
so please,
don't stop laughing
-

it was the last time we were gonna see each other for a little while
she's going off to Austria
studyin' music, seein' things
we walked next to each other
up and down the streets of downtown
tears eagerly making their way down our cheeks
I didn't want to waste a second of my time with her
I wanted it to really mean something
just in case, ya know?
I was so worried it was just going to be over
she would get in her dad's truck and drive away
out of town
out of my life
but then she stopped and picked up the most beautiful
butterfly
that I had ever seen
we held its perfect lifeless body in our shaky hands
and we cried together
and we laughed together
and we shouted "this is a sign, this is a sign!"
and it truly was a sign
and every day that she is gone
I will hold the butterfly
sending her my love, sending her my warmth
until it is her I get to hold once again
-

I came barreling around around the corner
in the passenger's seat of a white jeep
that belonged to a handsome fellow
And that was when I saw her
beautiful, furious
fuller than I have seen her in a long time
She was waiting there for me
just as she always is and always will be
she loves, she cleanses, she consumes
Her colors effortlessly paint a smile across my chapped lips
and I am reminded of what matters in this undecided existence
To surround ourselves with the things that make us feel the most alive
-

depression is like a lot of things
tonight it is like this:
-empathizing with the tea kettle who screams and screams until someone comes along and removes her from the fire
-clutching tightly onto a way too hot mug despite the discomfort because at least you feel something tangible (sidenote, related) comparable to holding a piece of your own heart/a piece of someone else's
-listening to every song you can think of that will make you cry and doing absolutely nothing about it
-coming home from work with expectations of accomplishment but staying in bed/isolating for the remainder of the day
-avoiding mirrors, or even worse getting lost in them for a half hour trying to figure out what exactly you even look like
-inducing an early sleep cycle to avoid any further feelings of heaviness

but it is ok!
or at least it will be!
tomorrow is a new day for us all
-

I have been wanting to write about someone new
someone who gives me a different feeling
from the familiar heartache others have gifted me
but I never thought it was going to be you
until you held my hand at the New Year's party
and let me put my Viva Glam III lipstick on you
yes, it was then that I knew I wanted more
oh how I wanted to kiss you in that moment
to make a mural of reds and pinks on one another's mouths
next time I won't hold back
next time I will be brave
-

I think that the hardest part of moving on is letting go
I used to believe that they were synonymous
boy, was I wrong
I've moved on plenty of times with plenty of people
but I never truly let go of him
I was afraid that if I loosened my grip and really let go,
I would never hold on to anyone again
(which I know now to be utterly false)
So, I again loved and lost and loved and lost
but now I am faced with the same familiar dilemma
of coordinating my demands with my extrinsic muscles
and unclenching my fists that I have so tightly latched onto you
(I just can't seem to let this one go)
-

the pain in my chest comes and goes in waves now
I am not sure if it has anything to do with the cycle of the Moon or not
(but it probably does, She controls everything)
-
I got really sick at the same time you decided to walk away from me
my lungs were infected and starting to fail, but you weren't there
maybe that's why it was so hard for my body to fight back
it was too busy trying to heal my heart
well, it's been almost three months now
and my lungs are working again
I guess now I am just waiting for my heart to get to the same page
-

if there is one thing I have learned from loving the broken
it is to never use it as an excuse to stop loving myself
to not neglect my own damaged heart in hopes of repairing another's
it's like how on an airplane they tell you to put on your own oxygen mask first and then assist others in need
because it is impossible to save someone else while you are also suffocating
-

I danced on table tops with beautiful people dripping in sweat
moving, swaying, touching with hands and feeling with mouths
I thought about you when I was pressed up against her
thought about the nights I used to spend pressed up against you
oh, how I long to have that back
you once said the word "always" in the same sentence as the word "love"
and I haven't been okay since then
-

the night when you held my hand and talked to me about the constellations and I started getting a rash from the grass but I ignored it because I didn't want anything to ruin the feeling growing inside of my chest and I think you could tell but you didn't say anything either maybe it's because you felt the same way I mean you did kiss me didn't that mean something didn't I mean something how could you let that go how could you let me go I thought you were the colors of the sunset and the first breath after being under water but you aren't you are just a rainstorm on a day I forgot to bring an umbrella
-

for a while now I have thought that maybe I just forgot how to write
but I think as I have gotten older
and more and more ****** up things happen
I have lost the ability to articulate my thoughts and feelings and messes into words or actual poetry
everything I write now is some form of a journal entry or list
it's a ******, really
I thought maybe I could be someone someday
that my writing could make a difference
you know?
now I just sit here alone in my dimly lit room on a friday night with a joint in my hand tapping my foot along to an old B 52's record given to me for my birthday by a wonderful boy who I used to spend countless nights writing about because it was all I knew how to do and it's hard for me to even believe that I was once capable of that because writing about anything now seems so........
-

summer was my favorite yellow sweater
a poly blend of cotton, mental stability, and personal triumphs from the previous months
my summer sweater was the best I ever had
smelling of campfires and kisses and travels and euphoria
but, it had one fatal flaw
the loose thread
the loose thread that I chose to ignore until it got snagged on his car door handle the night he kissed me
the loose thread that then began to unravel the sweater
for a little while, it was still wearable
I could keep it together with the assistance of safety pins and wishful thinking
but now I sit here, naked on the hard wood floor
clinging to the big bright yellow mess that was once my favorite summer sweater
wishing I could go back to the beginning and just tie that ******* loose thread a little tighter
so that I would never have to let go of my favorite summer sweater
-

the wolves howl at the same time every night
echoing through the valley like an empty stomach in a quiet room
they remind me of you
(for obvious reasons)
I'm not ready to admit (out loud) that I feel something when I see your name
and that my heart skips a beat when you touch me
-

he said he didn't know why he kissed me that night
(a familiar line for me)
he tells me he loves me and wants to protect me
picks me up from parties when I am too drunk to move
makes silly sounds on his keyboard to stop my crying
plays board games with me until two in the morning when I can't sleep
he is a light at the end of the hallway that I am getting closer and closer to reaching
but he said he didn't know why he kissed me
-

I paid for my father's day present with a twenty dollar bill that still had traces of ******* on it from the previous night's festivities

A pretty girl with blonde hair got a text from her dad while we were doing lines off of her phone (i love you angel, you make me so proud)

happy father's day to all the dads who have no idea what their children are actually up to
-

sometimes I think I am loveless and cold, and that's why I hate the heat and get sick all the time
but she reminded me of all the love I do have
love that fills the room and echoes like a choir's song on a Sunday
love that burns through me like a match in a grassy field
I have love for the trees and for the river and for the smooth rocks and even for the jagged ones that cut my knees
there is love every time she forgets to put on sunscreen and there is love when I take care of her so she can be high on acid
I give love to my father and mother, who watched me destroy myself for years and held my hand as I walked out of the darkness
but I think most important of all
is that I have love for myself
for my scars and my freckles and my stretch marks and my illness and my flat feet and my small hands and my messy hair and my sweaty palms and for everything that makes me who I am
I have love
-

I've been sleeping in my parents' bed while they're away
the same bed I could crawl into as a child when I would have the night terrors
Dad is different now, different than he was back then
now he always has a drink in his hand, accompanied by a forced smile
He used to have a sparkle in his eyes, now I realize that was just his contact lens.
Sometimes I think it's my fault,
that I'm the one who broke him.
-

I almost wrote about you
about your curls and your small hands and your maroon sweater that you stole from american eagle
how teardrops slid down your cheeks when you told me about things you haven't said out loud in years
how teardrops slid down your cheeks when I told you that I have had a similar trauma
the way you held my face in your hands when you kissed me as the sun rose and how safe I felt when you held me tightly during the thunderstorm that rattled all the doors in the house for hours and hours

but then you told me you weren't ready to feel things
(I should have seen that coming)
-

feeling small and alone in a thunder storm
waking up next to someone who said they love you but only after you said it first
bruises and bite marks left by a boy who tries to **** himself every other week
a flickering candle that illuminates the silhouettes of the flowers on the windowsill
seeing your ex boyfriend at a show in the city
seeing your ex boyfriend at a show in the city with another girl
seeing your ex boyfriend at a show in the city with another girl while you are with another boy
using human flesh and physical contact to fill the void left by years of abuse and traumas
taking medication that makes you violently ill but keeps the darkness at bay
making lists of things that keep me awake at night in hopes of gaining some kind of peace of mind
-

the kinds of things i think about after taking seven shots of tequila:

he looks really great his eyes aren't dead anymore and we even hugged for the first time in years

she doesn't deserve him or the way he carries her around when she is too drunk to stand up on her own

my hair has gotten so long remember when I cut it all off in the bathroom at Erin's house because I was too weak to cut my wrists open and bleed to death

did I take my medication today? why do I keep forgetting to take my medication? Why am I so scared of my medication?

I really wish he was here right now so I could kiss him and sit on top of him and pull his hair. I hope he doesn't **** himself. I am starting to like him too much.

-

kissing him was like licking a battery
static electricity when you go down the slide on the playground
I want to be the cigarette between his fingers that he so politely asks if he can smoke
he has a darkness, but I like that
I have a darkness too, but he likes that
(my glasses fogged up when his tongue was in my mouth on the park bench in the middle of the rose garden as people around watched with disgust)
-

it was the night I fell in love with the universe
the night I fell in love with myself
the night I fell in love with every hand that touched me
every petal on every flower in ever garden
I fell in love with the twinkle lights along the window
and the wind chimes that line the front porch

the one with the orange hair pulled me close
she promised we would always be sisters
and sealed the promise with a kiss on my forehead
she knew I needed that reassurance

the one with the freckles held my hand tight
she reminded me that I was as beautiful as the stars
and gave me her favorite rock to hold onto
she knew I needed that permanence

and the rest of us, we danced into oblivion
in a smoke filled room and on a candle lit porch
with jaws clenched and teeth grinding
I felt what it is like to be a human being again
-

the bad days aren't so bad anymore
and the good days are plentiful
I don't tremble at the thought of going outside alone
or ***** when I see my reflection in the mirror
the only scars being left on my body now are ones granted to me by a late night adventure or a tumble at the river
even my parents are educating themselves on what exactly is going on inside me
what exactly is going on inside me?
an unfortunate series of chemical reactions passed down from generation to generation like a family heirloom
thanks, mom
maybe if I was normal he would have loved me more
maybe if I was normal he would have stayed
but hey, at least the bad days aren't so bad anymore
-

for years I have given field maps and guided tours to travelers seeking adventure and yet I have never explored for myself the epidermal greatness that protects bones, my, blood, my organs

each freckle, a landmark of monumental proportion
yet one is no greater than the other
(except for the one on my left collar bone, that one is my favorite)
each scar, a canyon with secrets to share with those brave enough to venture down into

I need not compass, nor backpack
all I need is to get completely and utterly lost
(in myself)
-

there is no greater regret that I hold
than how terribly I treated the ones I loved
when I did not love myself

a thousand apologies can't make up for
the times I lost control of myself
and let the darkness take over, consume me

it happened with the first boy
it happened with the second boy
but it sure as hell won't happen to the next
-

the clock is ticking and talking
to me with its hands around my neck
until my throat is bruised, black and blue
reminding me of past events, of past lives
(I have died three times)
there's a boy, another boy, and another boy
no
there's a wolf, another wolf, and another wolf
they all must have the same taste in meat
(young and vulnerable, marinated in alcohol)
they aren't from the same pack, but they feel the same
when they hold you down and devour you
leaving nothing left but a pile of bones
(and a lifetime of paranoia, trust issues, bitterness, panic attacks, depression, rage, therapy bills, suicide attempts, hospital visits, scars, addictions, alcoholism, low self-esteem, family estrangement, failures, eating disorders, and the ever-present feeling that I am being watched)
-

when I see her, I see the color orange
(which is funny because that's her least favorite color)
not because of her orange curls that tangle in my hands
not because of the constellations of orange freckles on her cheeks
but because she is the sun in which my solar system gravitates around
she is warmth, she is light
she makes the flowers grow just by looking at them
she is the brightest star in the sky, yet she cannot see that for herself
and if the sun were to ever disappear or burn out
my heart would freeze over
and my world would be in eternal darkness
-

this woman I knew died in a car crash
her husband died, too
I guess that's better than just one of them dying
you know?
and the other one being left to pick up the pieces
having to wake up in the morning without her
setting the table for one instead of for two
filling cardboard boxes with his clothes
going through life with a heart half empty

****,
call me cynical but
I think it was a miracle
that neither of them survived
-

(it makes me sick to my stomach thinking about anything happening to you - i want to go if you go)

driving 90 mph on the freeway with the windows down and the storm makes the sky look like the bruise your teeth left on my neck when we made love on my white sheets with the fan on full blast

2. waking up in a cold sweat from some type of horrific nightmare and staring at the moon in the black night wishing you were right there next to me telling me it is all going to be okay even when I fear it won't be

3. jumping off of rocks into the river with a slight intention of never resurfacing only to realize how cold and dark it is at the bottom and I find myself reaching for the light and gasping for air

a storm rolled in today
but not the dark kind of storm
no, not a winter storm
it was a spring storm
in which sunlight kissed
each and every drop of rain
before the rain came down
and kissed my forehead
as if it was sent just for me
to remind me that I am alive
-

you see,
I like to think that I am a seedling
and with the right amount of love and nurturing
I will someday grow into a beautiful flower
and you will love me in the warm sunlight
-

sometimes my parents will ask me
"are you really going down that road again"
with such disdain and bitterness
and it just makes me so angry
because they do not realize that depression
is not a road one chooses to go down
and it is not a road one can easily exit
it is an unpaved road riddled with cracks and potholes
with no street signs or stoplights to guide us safely home
and to accuse someone of willingly taking that road?
well, that is how some of us end up there in the first place
-

someone I once (loved) kills himself every day
with various darkness and poisons
because he hates the way he was made
-
someone he once (loved) wakes up every day
with various dreams and flowers
because she learned to love the way she was made

the rain is making small rivers
in the parking lots and crosswalks
I could drown in one on accident
or get struck by lightning
the thunder is so strong that
a painting could fall off the wall
and crack my head open
this is all so terrifying
I feel small, like a child
(I am insignificant)
-

I still think about that boy sometimes
in the same way that someone who breaks their kneecap
gets a ***** put in it to hold their bones together
but they are only reminded of it
when they are at the airport and they
have to walk through a metal detector
-

flowers are effortlessly beautiful in life
and they are effortlessly beautiful in death
(there are some mornings when I can't
even bring myself to look in the mirror)
-

I can't draw worth ****
even my stick figures suffer
my paintings look like
pathetic Jackson ******* wanna-be's
spilled milk is more ascetically pleasing
than my attempts at water color
but there is one art I have mastered
(I'm not really okay)
-

one of my favorite places in the world
is a beach made entirely of glass
each little piece of color was once a broken story
sharp and jagged, it could cut open veins with ease
but the sea was patient with the shards
spent time polishing and softening their edges
until their true beauty was revealed
-
(you are the waves
I am the glass
you make me beautiful)

you are a shadow
wherever I go
there you are
-