I imagine a perfect Christmas waking up to the sunshine on your heavy eyelids.
I imagine a perfect Christmas racing to the tree, slipping and sliding in your warm fuzzy slippers, to see how many bundles surrounded the tree.
I imagine a perfect Christmas, a Christmas unlike mine.

Now, I’m not saying I had a terrible Christmas, but it was untraditional to say the least.

As a child, I felt so special.
I had one of those blessings from an event the exact opposite of that.
I had two Christmases, one with my mother and one with my father.
Christmas Eve was always my mother’s and Christmas Day was always my father’s.
When I was little, my mom would tell me that she called Santa every year to tell him to come to my grandmas house, where we did presents, a night early.
Imagine, as a child, thinking that you were so incredibly special that THE Santa Clause, came to your house an ENTIRE night early.
I actually felt like the queen.
My mother and I had Christmas on Christmas Eve at night, and let me tell you, seeing the presents under the tree and have to wait TWELVE HOURS to open them, that was a child’s hell.
Then when I awoke in the morning, I had to get up and leave to go to my father’s.
My father got every Christmas, which I never thought was fair, but what do kids know?
Right?

So yes I had two Christmases
So yes I got ‘more’ presents,
But now as I grow up
I miss the perfect Christmas
I imagine this perfect Christmas.
A Normal Christmas.

I miss my best friend
I miss giggling
I miss arts and crafts
I miss netflix watching
I miss my best friend

Letting go of your favorite balloon as a child was heartbreaking but you almost felt at peace knowing it was going up and going to reach the stars one day
Maybe I need to think that
Why does high school need to tear apart good friendships and create groups of plastics
Best Friend is a not a label i give out lightly
So how do i rip it from someone that i’ve superglued it on to and it’s sit for 4 years

I cannot make their decisions
I cannot choose their actions
All I can do is sit and pray
And it kills me
I see her change
I see she is not like before
I see that she doesn’t really care

I see that group rubbing off on her like sharp cheddar on a grader
Collecting all of think mold inside of her
She become so full of it she forgets to clean herself off.

She forgets her roots
Her tree is flourishing with fruits and leaves that the people around her validate her for
She forgets her roots that i loved
I cannot cut her down
I cannot turn her into a stump
The only thing I can do it sit along her trunk and wait to see
Wait to see if when all her fruits falls down she remembers
Wait to see if my balloon comes floating down
Wait to see if that superglue held on
Wait to see if my best friend comes back

She was determined and depressed
She was motivational and melancholy
She was happy and heart broken

All wrapped with a bright red bow on top.

She had the love of her life
She had the world's most fabulous mother
She had the most inspirational best friend ever, strong and fighting the odds.
She had this smile of light and a life to be lived.

Why did her brain have to tell her otherwise?

Beaten and abused
Used and broken time after time again
Everytime I rupture there is this pain of becoming new again
As soon as I feel I am worthy
As soon as I feel I am sharp
I become broken again
The two sides of me become worn and tattered
As people use me to correct the mistakes they have made.
They are the one who have made the mistake, yet I pay for it.
No matter the bite marks I get, or the hands that have explicitly touch me.
Nobody keeps me for long
I become thrown on the ground
Walked all over
Though one might pick me up, I always end up back on harsh, hard flooring.
Looking up to the heavens
I grow continually weary as more and more use me.
I can feel myself shrinking into this nothingness.
They sometimes try to even disguise me to make me new again
Added accessories to me to cover up my flaws.
But under it all I am fatigued and overworked.
But under it all I still show the burnt yellow and pink top
But under it all I am still myself
For I am just a pencil.

She looked at me and asked,
Tell me about the sun in the sky
Tell me how it feels to have the rays peek through your eyes and into your body.
Tell me how the sunlight warms your skin and kisses your hair.
I looked at her, confused and concerned.
Yet she gave me this look in her eyes, like a stubborn bull, and she would not let me back down. This women of this radiance. Who dress falls on her like it was made for her. Everyone of those flowers stitched for her, but the lines seamless. I feel like I would picture her running through a field barefooted, for no reason than because she can.
A women who I look at to be.
I blinked back, acknowledging her stare but needing time to think.

Not much of a talker, I press my lips together, breathe and let my introvert go.

Well - I begin
The sun is just a huge star right? I look to her for validation but her eyes trance me and more words spill out of me.
And you can ‘buy’ stars and name them after people right? More looking, and my head follows my eyes to the ground.
I always thought that whoever gets the sun named after them is a pretty lucky fellow.

I continue with no hesitation-
The sun is warm tea
Not too hot, such as fresh off the kettle
And not too cold, like when sitting on the balcony all morning.
It has the flawless recipe. The perfect amount of the spice, honey and sugar flowing through you. Down your throat like a peaceful waterfall, not rambunctious and over powering, but a steady flow of heavy water kissing the surface of the lake before it descends into it’s body.

I feel tears rolling down my cheek, and I don’t question why, because I begin to feel a warm daisy in my stomach, slowing blossoming, giving me a reason to continue on.

The sun is a child’s smile.
It’s not hurtful like wind
Or like adults.
The nature made the sun, and the sun made nature.
They move in rhythm, never focused on anything but themselves.
But no, not in a selfish way
More of an understanding way.
Toddlers leaping giggling at the only thing to be described as nothing at all.



I pause, knowing that it’s not all sunny everyday.

Breathe.
The sun is, not always there.
The sun is sometimes covered behind gray condensation, as if it’s playing peek-a-boo with a toddler.
I never understood how toddlers just thought something was gone when it was covered,
But with the sun it makes perfect sense.

Even on the cloudy days I must remember, the sun is a flower in the sky
A sign of peace
A sign of happiness
A sign of hope that may not always be visible, but you know it will come back one day, every day.

When does love stop and become not-love?

How does someone hold your frail hand, look into your eyes, to tell you they love you in sickness and in health, making the biggest promise of their life?
How do you know when that ‘one’ is ‘the one’?
When does flipping pancakes in love become cold coffee left on the counter from the one who slept on the couch that night?
When did a promise become a suggestion?
And that suggestion became a chore?
And the chore became more?
Once you were drowning in love, head over heels, now upside-down drowning in your tears over a promise,
a suggestion,
a chore,
How does one go through something so painful and the arms they once ran into and no longer open, but clenched with the blood stains from your aching heart.
The one that you told all your secrets too,
The one that loves you...
loved you…
How can anybody really stay in love?
When did that lust, turned to love, turned to loved.
You feel that your world is flipped,
but I promise you, you will see the horizon again.
You will smile as beautiful as you did on your wedding day
You will laugh as you did on your third glass of champagne on your honeymoon
You will feel as loved as you did in the beginning.
One day, you’ll be okay.
And it’s okay if it’s not today.
It’s okay to have little footsteps waddle up to you and ask, “Mommy, why are you crying?”
You are her superhero, but superheros are okay to cry.
Even superman flies low on some days, but you can do this.
Wipe the sorrow away, though the scars may stay the war is over and the peace has begun
Stand brave warrior, you have a whole army behind you, ready to catch you when you fall and push you up on your feet when you can’t do it yourself.
Because when you stand strong on the mountain of tears and fears, with your baby girl in your arms,
You will see the horizon again.

Anybody that is anybody knows the most fabulous and trendy accessory are socks.
Crew, No-Show, Knee high.
The ever versatile socks are the most righteous thing.
The Ancient Greeks may have had some dark ages, but they were the first people that we know of that thought,
Hey shoes are cool, but what if we made them more flexible and soft.
Thus the mighty sock was born.
Now there are some of you who may think completely different about socks.
Maybe they are boring, or annoying.
You are feeling the Albert Einstein side of socks. (He didn’t wear socks because he didn’t see the point, tragic huh?)
Well friends, though you may be genius you are completely idiotic.
Socks are little hugs wrapped around your feet. All day. They are like butterfly kisses that mae you smile every time you look down. What is better than that?
The answer is nothing.
Queen Freaking Elizabeth loved socks and went to the inventor of the knitting machine (which was originally created to make socks) to have custom socks made.
Not only are socks just incredibly wonderful and stylish, they were invented to help save the world… from sticky feet.
Socks help prevent your human sweat drops from seeping into your shoes, making a perfect nesting place for the teenage mutant ninja turtles. Disgusing
In conclusion, nothing can or ever will be more awe founding or perfect than socks

Hands in my pea coat pockets I shuffle down 8th avenue looking down. Whenever a pair of shoes that have seem to be worn in adventure passes I lift my head to stop them.
Excuse me, Excuse me.  I ask the intriguing shoes.
I’m either met with a puzzled look, an impatience look , or a sympathetic look. Sometimes there is a look of all three
Looking at the owner of said shoes I boldly ask,Do you have a story?
Here, I can usually guess their response based on one of the three looks they gave me.
A look of puzzled usually leads to more confusion on their face expressed in lines created in their face by a furrowed brow and scrunched nose.
A look of impatience usually leads to a *******, and a cold shoulder met with an even faster pace, or a phrase along the lines of ******, Freak and more ****** phrases that I’m sure you can guess. (My favorite so far has been ******, now that’s a story)
With a look of sympathy I’m sometimes given a quick sorry followed by a cold shoulder (see example 2), sometimes a Sorry, what? Due to their actual interest in what I have to say. These looks lead to the best stories.

One rainy day I was met with lady bug rain boots scuffed around the bottom, yet still shining a bright red that I guess wasn’t even that beautiful on the store shelf, and my guess a size 2. Looking up I find wide green eyes staring right back.
Now this was no look of the three I’ve experienced, it was a whole new look.
A look of curiosity, but not puzzled.
A look of eagerness, not impatient.
A look of care, not sympathy.
And so many more looks hidden in those big green eyes that seem to hold the world.

Though I was aware of the tiny feet, I was mildly surprise when I was met with those green eyes at an almost 2 foot level.

Excuse me, excuse me, Do you have a story?
The ladybug boots with green eyes smiled at me.
Everyone has a story, but I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain this to you.

Walking in a forest of naked trees, stripped of their leaves too soon, shivering in the wind.
Cold soil beneath my curled toes seeming to pull me under.
Pulling me under to where I wish to be on these frigid days.
Maybe the earth will keep me warm because God knows I feel nothing but chill wind above it.
They tell me the orange bottles with white caps will harden the soil beneath me some days.
Hell some days I even convince myself that I’m actually going somewhere.
What a joke.
But the delusion can’t last for long.
One wrong step and I fall into a hole, deeper than the one before
I keep thinking I hit the lowest one until life goes so low I look up to see hell.
Why do the doctors think locking me up will help me.
Why do the doctor think if they chain me to ceiling the ground will stop pulling.
Because it ******* doesn’t.
It stretches you.
It pulls you.
It yanks your body, your mind, in a thousand directions.
All while they tell you to focus on them.
They put a mirror in front of your ******* face.
Reminding you that you won’t ever be normal.
Look at your skin. Scars make you a warrior right?
Well why am I never a veteran
I’m a soldier every day
In a constant battle
With naked trees surrounding me
Making the cold soil beneath me
Seem warmer and warmer with each day

Walking on cobbles stones under my feet the world seems so small,
the bees and butterflies float
and the sky seems so blue,
but when I reached my hand to the sky and see the sun, millions and millions of miles away, is bigger than the size of my stretched out palm,
I begin to feel small.
The empty minded drivers racing on the highway with their phone in one hand and a burger in the other seem to remember their babies in the back seat too late.
This world isn’t so small after all, as soon as you think you’ve got it figured out,
the world gets a little bigger,
your heart sinks a little deeper,
and your mind thinks a little sadder.
How did the cobblestones under my feets grow into boulders on my shoulders weighing down my shoulder, which are already fatigued by the other weights already there.
When we were younger we couldn't wait to grow up. And now I’m here and I want to be taken back, please take me back, please take me…
To a cloud filled sky where I would pick out shapes to see, yet now I see no clouds because what’s the point of looking up, because we all know when we look up we see the world at it’s biggest and ourselves at our lowest.

You didn't love her.
You loved the substance of frail warm body.
Which meant not being alone.


You didn't love her.
You loved how she was swift in bed and touched ever nerve in your body.
Which meant *** every night, even if she didn't want it.


You didn't love her.
You loved the idea of her. The idea of someone to lift you up.
Which meant forgetting about all your faults by putting them on her.


You didn't love her.
God ****** you didn't


Because while you were wildly in love with your moonlit fantasy,
you made her think she actually mattered.
Because while you made her undress in shaking hands and tears welted in her eyes,
you made her think she actually mattered.
Because while you stared in her eyes whispering lies of the future when you were only thinking about what she was wearing under her dress,
you made her think she actually ******* mattered.


So no, my dear friend.
You didn't love her.
Because you do not break people that you love.

The whispers that would once soothe now crawl down my spine like roaches invading wet wood.


My spine, turned to wood, splinters my heart.
And know it hurts to breathe but I do anyway because for a split second, pure air brushes against my lips, the way you once did.


I walk on broken glass, on my hands and knees clearing the way for you,
But you walk right over me looks across the ****** cracks on the floor. On my heart.


Why do I miss you. Why do I miss the cuts. Why do I miss the yelling.


Because I miss you. I miss the way you'd looked at me sleeping.
The way you'd watch me singing in the car.
The way you'd look at me while in your bed.


When did your eyes of love turn to lust?
When did I turn to a human being that meant nothing anymore.
When did 10 months of your life just hit ctrl delete and now you can't find the files but you are still my desktop picture.


How does this happen?
I try to rip apart your gifts on my dresser, and the pictures on my walls
but I can't because part of me is hoping one day you'll be at my door with my favorite flowers,
my favorite flowers,
my favorite flowers...
that I can't ******* think of because you have taken over my mind.


Just apologizing
Tell me this is some sick joke
Please tell me this is some sick joke
Because I can't handle this sick life.


I see you walk. You don't walk the same anymore
I see you talk. You don't talk the same anymore.
I see you. You aren't the same anymore.

There’s a fire in his eyes
Burning so very bright.
A fire unlike any other.
A fire that keeps you warm but give you a breath of cold air
A fire that holds you close but lets you run freely, as you are his ember
A fire that speaks peculiar words but are a melody when whispered in your ear
His body is a fire.
Burning bright and beautiful, bold flames.
But engulfed in himself.

To those who want to start an awakening in minds willing to listen
To those who have wide eyes, bold pupils and furrowed brows staring unspoken words in the face.
To those who want to begin a movement
To march
To yell
To pause
To breathe
To those, you must remember
To admit defeat, but never to apologize in the standing.
To keep walking, because even if you shake, a step is still a step.
Push those toes in the ground like its warm sand.
Feel every grain on your feet, thinking of the story of every one of them and what stone they came from.
A stone once skipped across the calm water by a young boy and his father, making memories that last forever.
Or a stone once stepped on by girl somewhere and a boy picking her up to carry her back to the car, knowing that he was going to marry her one day.
Breathe
Dig your heals in the ground...
Stronger than that.
Plant your feet like a tree that's been there for years.
A willow tree whose roots reach the opposite end of the earth.
Whose roots are far too deep, far too grounded, for even the strongest to yank up
Stay. Grounded.
To those, you must remember
Stand tall in your posture with every vertebrae lined up, creating a tower of bodies of ossein reaching to the stars in your brain.
All stretching out to grasp a part of the infinite cosmos in your brilliant head.
Full of unheard of galaxies and not yet discovered planets.
An entire new world to explore
To those, you must remember
To want to start a change
To bring awareness
And to end...
Just to begin again
To those who will start an awakening in minds willing to listen.

When his lips touched my forehead, I wish you were there to see the way his eyes gazed on my face.
They way you used to.
But, I think you were there.
Maybe you weren’t, but seeing you I feel like you know...
You know that I don’t go to bed thinking about you anymore, but him, and myself and so many great things.
I can see that you feel lost and confused, maybe I should feel some guilt, and I do.
But you did it to yourself sweetheart.
You broke me
You left me in my tight silk gown
In my caked makeup
In my stiff hair
Staring off into a gray wall letting your words hit me like a semi truck
but I didn’t flinch a muscle.
So why should I feel guilt…
I’m happy.
On my own,
Not because of some new boy
Because I am now my own.
I hold my own lock and key
You dropped me when my wings became cramp and you couldn’t see the beautiful dove you fell in love with
And now I’m flying, flying higher than ever
and you want me again
But darling,
I found another bird to fly with
Who lifts me above him
Who doesn’t call me princess, but my name
Which I prefer more
Because it’s me
How many other girls are called princess?
How many girls have you called princess?
I don’t want to be a princess.
I am a warrior.
I’m my own knight in shining armor
And now I have that and more.
I’m not a nameless girl in her smeared makeup at a pancake house at 2 am
I’m a bird, The Bird.
And I can fly high
You can’t clip my wings now, sweetheart
I broke free of your grasp
And now I’m here for myself.

Holding him in my arms.
I don’t know his name.
He wasn’t in my unit.
He was just another face smeared with blood, sweat, dirt and god knows what else.
He would end up being another boy going back home to his mom, but not at her door step with flowers and balloons.
But at her door step in a brown box, followed by wilting flowers and cards, that she never wanted to get.

My ears have become numb to the screaming, piercing through the smoke, caused by the  bombs dropping around me.
Now I’m focused on his brown eyes.
His eyes were the color of rich soil. The power of life surging through it, yet only if the sun shines on it perfectly.
But, by God, there is no sun shining today.
His brown eyes.
His brown eyes of determination.
The eyes that followed the stroke of his hand when he signed up for this.
The eyes that scanned his families face one last time before he boarded the plane.
The eyes that won’t be there for his mother in comfort when the sergeant comes knocking on her door.
The eyes that won’t see her collapse on the floor, cursing God for letting her son go. Were her prayers never heard?

I look down from his eyes, once full of warmth, now stone cold, like the Statue of Liberty on a January day in Manhattan.
He wears a gold cross around his neck. I’ve never been religious but I say a prayer to the Big Man in the clouds for him.

These green and brown colors that cover his body, like mine, are normal. Once they kick you off that helicopter, the day when you are hit with the fact that this is real, they seem to give you a pair of goggles that changed your vision to brown and green. To make you block out the real world.
As if you would forget it.
But you do.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here, but long enough to hear a booming voice screaming “Get the hell out of here!” I don’t know if it was God or my lieutenant, but I didn’t move a muscle.
I sat there continuing to hold this boy, this man. He seemed no more than 20 years old, yet he was driven to serve and his years were cut short. Too short.

All of the sudden an arm grabbed ahold of me and yanked me away. Screaming into my hear something I can’t comprehend. My legs follows but my eyes continue to be locked on the motionless body.

I didn’t even know his name.