When I first told people, so many years ago,
That I could never get cold, no matter what,
I., myself, really, truly believed it.
It wasn’t a lie when it really was the truth.

No one thought that it was actually reality.
But it was my reality, not theirs.
They didn’t have to believe anything I said.
It was their issue, not mine.

Many people refused to believe what I’d
Told them so many years ago and then
Continued on to think was real
For so many more years to come my way

Eventually, the day came when,
I, too thought that. I may be wrong.
Sure, it could have gone a lot worse.
But it also could have gone much better.

The truly funny story comes here
So, see, I'm coming out of swim practice
And there's snow all around me
But I'm dressed for summer.

Coach Beth asks if I'm cold.
And of course I say that I'm not cold
In my flip-flops and camisole.
I really was quite content at that point.

It's unforgettable to everyone
How I would wear shorts
And tanks and sandals
In the dead of winter.

Only because I could.
There was no hidden motive.
No siree, there was nothing more;
I really just enjoyed being that way.

And then years later I ran out
It was the middle of the night
There was a huge wind chill
But I had known that before leaving

And my hair was sopping wet.
And I only could grab flip flops.
And I could not find a jacket to wear.
And I worried, because I was cold.

It happened once before
I was outside late at night
And goosebumps were everywhere
I looked and didn't want a coat.

So I think that I have into
This idea that everyone must get cold
Because all I had wanted to do
Was fit in, and that did something.

But I would not realize until just one
Year later from that date
That cold may sometimes be
More than a physical condition.

See, you can be cold because of
Something silly like the weather
Or you can be cold because of
A serious matter like relationships.

That's what I've learned in the
Wacky time I've spent on this planet.
I've learned that people are the ones
Who end up hurting you the most.

I had never really been wrong
And I still am not, in truth
I never am physically cold
But that isn't what it meant

So it took years to get there
To that weird conclusion of mine.
But now I know that a bad ending
Really can turn you stone cold.

It must have been no less than a week ago when you asked me why it was that I looked so very sad and why it was that I never said anything. You said that you understood, but I highly doubt it. This isn’t just something that is situational and can be pinpointed. If it could be, then I could figure it out. But it’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. I wish that I could explain it to you, but it’s much too complicated.

Do you want to know why….
I never tell anyone what is going on
The world seems like a dark, scary place to me
I still see the world as good, despite evidence to the contrary
Nothing that  you ever really need to be told is said
I will never try to tell you about anything
Please, don’t understand. Because,
I actually really do like you and care about you.

What you don’t know is that I have a really good friend who knows when I need to be left alone and when she can come talk to me. You don’t know that I actually have someone who is okay telling me all about herself and never asking me about my life or how I am. If I really wanted to talk to someone, I would talk to her, a longtime friend of mine, the girl whom I have somehow, and God knows how, made into this.

But it is not that easy, I hate to say, to….
See everyone laughing with friends
Realize that I have no one because of my own doing
Know that I caused all of this hurt
Believe that nothing I ever do is enough
Look around and realize just how little I’m worth to the world
Ponder about life and think how much is out there
Be certain that my dreams really could never come true.

Certainly you realize that I am not an easy person to understand. That girl, who is by best friend, time present, has told be that I am predictable and a surprise. I thought that was lovely. Little did I realize that it would not be so simple to continue being that way when others have found their place in the world and I am still wandering around, in search of mine. But I always was the odd one out. No use changing now.

You don’t believe that I understand.
You don’t believe that this is for my own reasons.
You think that it will stop with help.
You think that “I love you” is all I need to hear.
You thought that it would help out a lot.
You thought coming to talk would be good.
You knew that you were pushing a boundary.
You knew that I wouldn’t want to talk about it.

But you asked me anyway, And so, I haven’t told you a **** thing. I know that it is quite rude and mean and I understand if you want to run and tell the world. But I lost a friend because I wasn’t able to be there for her. I lost a friend because I wanted to be selfish and could not take the time to step back from my own issues to care about her. I lost that friend because I was the problem. So I took all the blame.

One day, I would love to explain to you
Why it is that I have a wall ten stories high,
Crafted out of mortar and brick,
With no room to add in any sort of window.
I’d love to tell you that it is because
Every time I have let it come down,
Even just a very little bit,
The person who knocked it down ran away.

Go ahead, I dare you, try to tear down my cemented wall. Try to change me. Have at it. If you can do it, you’ll have won the most coveted prize of all. But I really don’t know how you’ll be able to do that. Many have tried for so very long to accomplish such a feat. The only one who stands a chance is my best friend. One word, and I’d break it down for her. Yet, she is not daring or bold enough to even try to do something like that.

It would make me so happy if she would try to do that.
If she would even consider pushing the boundary,
Ask a question a second or third time in a row,
Push for an answer that I don’t want to give;
Oh, if she could be so bold as to even try that,
If she could do that, even just for a day,
Then I think that I would have to give in to what she wants
And then she would get every answer she’s ever wanted.

Issue being, you are not she. And she is not you. Were you both to be each other or somehow become the other, then I suppose you’ve found your loophole right there. You have found that which will somehow become my demise or pitfall or whatever the hell you want to call it. But I really just want you to understand that I am not ready or willing, quite frankly, to tell you something that no one else knows.

You are such a sweetheart,
I do want you to know that, okay?
But it is because you are a sweetheart with
So very many friends and such popularity
That I could never ever open up to you
And I really don’t know how else to explain it to you
Except that to say,
Darling dearest, the truth is going to hurt you.
But I know you and I know that you won’t accept that as an answer. I know you, I know that you just want me to tell you everything. But are you aware what the cost of being told all of that is? You will know a secret that I want to be taken with you to the grave, while you will feel obligated and obliged to tell other people because that is, in all honesty, probably the right and noble action to take

I’m very sorry to have to tell you,
But I’ll spare you the waterworks
By only giving you a brief overview.
You have so very many friends.
I have a few, at best, and
Am their last option, on a good day.
You are sought after by so very many
I would **** to have someone even glance my way.

See, I cannot tell you anything because I am all too good at hurting those that matter most to me. I really do believe that you care. But listen to me, hear me out. I have been down this road before, where people care and they really seem to want to know everything about me. But I really don’t want to drag you on the emotional roller coaster that I am. I know that’s not enough for you. But it’s all I’ve got. Take it or leave it.

Yesterday, I thought that my wish had come true
Because I was standing there, thinking everything was now new.
And I thought that things would now be better.
I thought, now everything will be resolved.
Foolishly, I assumed that I had control and I would be fine.

These past five months have been really nice.
Well, the five before the immediate past three.
Good things come in threes, that’s what I was told.
Apparently bad things like that lucky number, too.
Bad things like three and good things like five.

“Three’s a magic number” is something that I have heard quite frequently.
It seems to make sense to everyone,
As a way to explain why things happen the way they do.
So why are things that I don’t like also allowed
To happen to me, in this world, in threes?

“Two’s a crowd, three’s a party” is simply
Another one of those phrases I hear tossed around.
It should make more sense now.
That’s why good chose to come in odd number five.
Add two and three - they make five.

Sure, it was really aggravating to me this time.
Wishing upon shooting stars is supposed to make any and
Every wish come true, every single time.
Trust me, it actually did come true, and that was lovely.
Even if it was only for a very short time.

So, they don’t let you know that it’s easy to be ready.
All I hear on the topic, is: steady, or, “ready, Freddy?”

It was so very easy, with myself, to be concerned.
But look at me now, all these things, with which I’m adorned.

Everyone is so easy to be around today
A big change, but a great one, I say.

They seem to look at me, thinking that I’m pulling a stunt.
Although they think I cannot see their worry, I can; they are being rather blunt.

Were I to have been told that being fine would be so easy peasy
I may not have been as concerned about giving in, lemon squeezy.

For once, I ran around and played some games with others out there.
We all were in it to win it; they needed me, to be fair.

Yet, it seems as though they really truly like me.
Maybe myself really is the best thing to be.

Today I laughed, screamed, ran, shouted, had a **** good time
Should anyone ask me, I can only say: It was sublime!

That was yesterday, when I promised to be more daring.
Do not fear, it does not mean I cannot also be caring.

This feeling is so wonderful, so nice.
If it could last forever, man, that would suffice.

I made a wish last night, as I looked up high at the stars,
Please, I asked them, let this last awhile. Let me go far.

At the young age of fifteen I dragged a blade across my skin
After fingers went way down my throat.
And sure, I felt like Hell, and I knew it was wrong
But, honey, I was going to look like Heaven sent me down.

It had become apparent to me that no one was going to believe
That some poor, lonely girl could ever become problematic
Because she didn’t look the part
And so she could never ever play it.

So I knew that I had something going for me
Even though I still doubted that I really belonged.
Because, sure, love, I had no one there,
But that also meant that I received no unwanted questions.

There was a little voice inside my head,
My conscience, holder of my sense of rights and wrongs,
Telling me it wasn’t right, it hurt,
Telling me that I should stop before I went too far.

But the voice telling me the reasons I should was stronger.
It’s not like anyone will care, it said, you have no one.
All people want is someone who will look like who you’re going to become,
Then you’ll have friends, real ones this time, it said.

Sadly to say, or so I’m told, it’s supposed to be sad,
I went on and on doing stupid things,
Not once caring about how much I was destroying myself,
How I only continued to feel worse and more alone.

Day after day, I did the same **** things that I had been
Told were wrong for any young person to do.
Yes, it really was something that I was not proud of
Ask around, or don’t, it’s not as though I told a single soul.

I did not want them to feel bad for me
I did not want their fake pity and concerned glances
I did not want to find out that I was only wanted
When I was troubled and nothing but a charity case to be fixed.

A few months passed and only red marks
Resembling lines, some straight, some intertwined,
Of sadness and shame that I still felt,
Were how I chose to release everything I felt.

I was not concerned with anything more than being
Alone and able to chose how my life was
Without anyone else trying to dictate my life for me.
I was not letting those I don’t like write my story.

Only later would I find out that I am able to
Write my story myself and call my own shots.
There are still purple marks all over forearms and thighs.
But, for the next few months, I may just be alright.

I did not feel the need to do anything stupid
Anything that I could not undo or fix.
And so, for a few months, I was alright.
I somehow found the will to fight myself.

I found that I had the power to decide not to do this
It was really nice, you know?
And so, for the time being, I really am happy.
The issue is, the problem is myself,

So many people ask me what I would do if my words were limited
And never do they ask me about what they should do,
Were their words the ones being limited.

They all stand there, so content, so easy going, so willing
Just to be themselves. And so they scream and shout,
Never realizing that words are something to not take lightly.

Did it never occur to them that they’ll have to say something more
Than just the words that they think people will need to hear?
Why do they ask me what to do? Why do they think I’ll know?

Should I know how to reserve my words and still say something,
Were I not confined to only knowing that words are beautiful,
That they all mean something,

Perhaps then I could help them out,
Use more words in a sentence than I would in an essay,
Possibly end up helping them out.

But at what cost? At what price?
I have been selected because I say so little.
Should I ruin it once to help out many more?

My heart tells me that words need to be reserved and
People need to conserve their syllables
Or else no one will listen, because everything will become background noise.

Stupidly, my mind disagrees with my loving heart.
It would be better to risk everything just one time
Because what’s the loss of one when it means the rescue of many?

As always, I embark on quite a debate with myself on the matter.
Do I want to do this, when so much is at stake?
There’s a great chance that I may be inclined to say more, again.

So many people continue asking how I say so little.
I sit them down, say it will only be said once.
Once silence falls, they finally understand that
Silence can have as much power as words.

Napoleon Bonaparte once said that it takes more courage to suffer than to die.
Unfortunately for me, and perhaps for others, I am not courageous.

I look out into the world and everything it stands for, and all i can think is that, even though I am all alone here, there must be someone out there who is more alone, more lonely, and I should get over myself. It may be very self-destructive and will bring me no good, but it is a constant in my life. At least I know, no matter what I am doing, I will always look out at the moon, think about my life and other people on this earth, and, despite my loneliness, still care.

As I sit out On my porch and stare up at the stars way up above, I am again five years old, chasing fireflies with an open jelly jar as i stare up at the sky and only want to dream. I have always dreamed. It seems to be the one thing that I am actually good at. Sure, living would be nice, but what about dreams? In dreams, I get to say what happens and when. I get to have as many “re-do”s as I want and there is no one to stop me from the insanity. In my dreams, I am always happy.

And that’s the issue with dreams, isn’t it? That we can all sit there with our eyes staring blankly into space and think of a place or time where everything is exactly how we want it to be. We get whatever we want in our dreamland, and maybe that’s why we’re all such a mess when we wake up or whatever. Our dream is gonE.

In dreams, there are no rules. There is no one telling us that we can’t do this or that because of some law or some principle of physics. No one is standing there, arms crossed (or maybe folded, but who cares,) saying “You can’t do that,” because the truth is, we can do that and there’s nothing you can do about it. In our dreams, we are daring. We are the person we wish we could really be.

When I am dreaming, I am able to say what I think and people seem to really care and they seem to want to listen. My world is perfect and I am not worrying about not being wanted or liked. See, when you dream, whatever your greatest fear is will never ever happen. Then it would become a nightmare. But when that is about to happen, you just change your dream and make it all better.

When you get to dream, you are able to more happily face the world the next day, since you have just discovered something new about yourself. You are able to make stupid decisions and ones on a whim. You are able to do more than you ever realized you were capable of doing. Dreams allow you to be yourself, even if it really only is for just a little while. A little can really be a lot.

Through dreaming, people are able to make groundbreaking discoveries and solve issues that they otherwise could not have solved. I wonder why it is, then, that so many young people, full of brilliance and wonder, are given so many things to do, that they barely have any time left to dream? Why is it that the world seems so very against people dreaming and relaxing for awhile?

In our dreams, we are able to take on character traits we wouldn’t otherwise get the luxury of having. Some people are beautiful. Some people are talented. Some people are happy. Some people are successful. Some people are lovely, all around. Some people are in love. Some are loved in return. Yet, no matter what it is that people dream of being, it always has one element in common. It is always the trait that they, and maybe their heart to, always desires.

Courage is something i have in my dreams. I am able to tell how I am and be honest with myself and the world around me. Yet, when I snap into reality, all of those traits of the girl I love being, they disappear. And then I am stuck being boring old me, whose lack of courage causes her a bunch of problems.

I must have been seven years old when I found out
That only the prettiest girls are the ones that people care about.

I must have been confused and cried my eyes out
But all I remember is that she was popular and oh so kind.

I must have been wondering what I had done wrong
They all seemed to be my friends, so why did they change their minds now?

I must have been worried about her, as all the others were.
She tripped and scraped her knee. It would be rude to not care.

I somehow had managed to give into the idea that I didn’t matter
For I had a broken arm and no one had asked me about what happened.

I must have thought that it was normal to be passed by so easily by all
Because everyone readily rushed to the aid of the poor girl with the scraped knee.

I suppose that it all made sense to me, even at the young age of seven.
Popular and pretty are all that anyone wants to concern themselves with.

I must have been willing to be a doormat filled with a whole lot of compassion
Just so that I could hold on to the very fake friends I’d managed to obtain.

I must not have understood that I deserved to be treated well,
Believing that I should be lucky to have anyone who would come my way.

I must have read a lot of books at that point in time
All of them full of some very terrible messages to live by.

I must have known that only people who are well liked get attention
It is not a huge realization, just the stark, awful truth of life.

I must have known that it was only the pretty girls who were the main characters
Even when they are not popular, they are always drop dead gorgeous.

I must have realized that I would have to change to be wanted
Yet, it never occurred to me that others would change alongside me.

I must have thought that I was nothing more than a sidekick
Only later on in life would the harsh truth of this make me cry tears

I must not have figured out that I needed to find better people
However, I really did like them and they really could be quite nice.

I must have been easily deceived in believing my stupid reality
Some stupid reason compelled me to believe that my reality was nothing but normal.

I must have been nine when my identity became the fat, smart girl
Intelligence at least got me some friends, although maybe not all that preferable.

I must have been convinced that I could never be anything but smart
When I became older, I never thought I could be anything else but that.

I must not have known that I was worth something more
Because every time I tried to be something else, I failed each time without fail.

I must have been seven years old when I discovered
That you have to be pretty and popular to get anywhere in this world

I must have been a little kid when I knew what others would take years to discover
That the world is a terrible, awful place full of hurt and pain

I must be absolutely stupid to still think the world is full of generally good people
But no one wants to tell the truth to the world, and I lack all the courage

I must have been fifteen years old when I walked into high school
And realized that, now, everyone else, too, knew what I had known since seven years old

About three days ago
I heard a strange sound
But when I went to find it
I was only met with silence

So I threw my earbuds in
And hoped that they would drown it out
I wished that nothing more would come
That somehow I’d fixed it all

Then, there was a loud noise
I jumped, startled, frightened
I really wanted to scream and shout
A part of me thought it would be best
If I could just run far, far away

Yet, I am one to ignore thought and logic
Especially when it is my own creation

That all said, I did not want to confront it
But I felt compelled to come toward it
I was going to see what it was
I was going to see what had made me wonder
But where to go, where to look?

So I approach the windowsill
And hope for the very best
But when I look out the window
All I see there is a clear, sunny day

So I retreat back to my chair
I wrap a blanket around me, in a cocoon
I place my earbuds back in
And blast the music way, way up

I asked her why she wouldn’t say a word to me
She, as the problem stands, didn’t respond
And so it became my turn to tell her my side.
I now have to tell her how I think she’s being.
Without offending her or making things worse,
I have to be blatant and tell it like it is. Oh joy.

All I have to do is explain how I could understand her
While also telling her what I am really thinking now.
It’s what she asked me to do. I should keep my word.
She doesn’t want people to lie to her anymore.
I never want to lie to her, but this is different.
Maybe that’s why she doesn’t believe me one bit.

I may not be any better than the lot of them.
The whole hoi polloi may have gotten to me, too.
Try as hard as I may to avoid the status quo,
Being one with the crowd may be all I know how to do.
“I’m not your average Joe,” I happily told her once.
Now, like the rest of the masses, I have a big mouth and big ears.

This is exactly the issue at hand to me.
As much as I don’t want to be like the rest of them
I really don’t know what to do to help her out.
She expects me to always be on her side,
And I really always will fight for her, always.
But what happens when hers isn’t necessarily right?

So she looks at me with pleading baby blue eyes
That want me to tell her my true thoughts about everything,
And, believe me, I really want to tell her everything.
But how am I supposed to without breaking down in tears?
This may not be just for her own good. I also will say
Words to her that mean a lot more to me than she’ll ever know.

She may think that I couldn’t know anything about this.
Now is not the time to spring on the stark reality to her.
But doesn’t that mean that I’m, only like the rest of those people,
Holding back from being real with her
Because I’m too afraid to tell her the truth?
How is doing something like that to her justifiable?

Then again, it may not be the worst thing to happen.
I could be honest with her and give her the reality.
Yet, I really don’t want to hurt her anymore than she already is.
However, it would be good for us both if I could do this.
If I could do this one thing for her, everything would be solved.
Or at least I hope that, that’s all it takes for it to happen.

“Listen to me,” I tell her, my voice soft and not very clear.
“What?” she murmurs, barely audible, eyes looking into mine.
“You wanted me to talk to you like anyone else, don’t you?”
She nods at me. “So, here goes nothing, my love.”
Even though I called her love, I don’t think she thinks I mean it.
I inhale a deep breath and look into her eyes, hoping it will go well.

"So, here goes nothing," I tell her, not fully believing myself, either
"You think that you're the only one who's going through something like this?
You think that you're the only one who has felt so much pain?
If you think that's true, at all, then let me know, so I can leave right now.
Because other people out there get it, more than you'd care to admit."
I look at her, realizing that I may have cut too deep. But this, she asked for.

"If you want me to stop, you just have to say so,"
I tell her, knowing that she doesn't have the heart to.
I wish that she would.
Even if just so that I could think she's okay.
But she's nowhere near okay, anyone can see that.
And here I am, trying to force her out of it.

She looks at me, and I try not to see the pain in her eyes
I try to not look at her with pity
I know that she wouldn’t like that one bit.
“I know what it’s like to feel like no one cares about you,
To wish that you could leave the world behind.
But I want you to know that you cannot leave without a trace.”

Staring at each other, she nods, as if to let me know
That it really is all okay, and that I can continue on.
“But if you think for one second that no one will care
Then you are mistaken and you’ll have to deal with that.
And there is no one out there who will tell you that there are people,
People out there, who won’t care. It won’t change a thing.”

Once more, I peer into her eyes and enjoy the long stare.
“If you really want to know what it is like to not be seen,
Then you have to go to the edge of the Earth and stare at the sky.
You’ll have to watch the world pass you by.
But I don’t recommend it.” I stop and wait for a response.
As though it was planned, we both begin to cry.

“So, there will be people who don’t care about you at all.
So, there will be things that you can never undo, no matter how hard you try.
And, you know what, don’t say that no one will love you or care.
That’s ******* and you know it. I will always care about you.
If you think that you’re allowed to leave me,
Then think again, because I do not go down without a fight.”

Her lips open and I am ready for her to scream back at me.
She could, she should. I know that I deserve it.
But she does little more than talk about a whisper.
“You think that it’s easy to walk around, wanting to die?
If anyone understood, then everything would be different.
There’s no one that I can talk to. They all say the same things.

And don’t tell me that you’re different.
Sure, you’ll admit that people may not miss me,
But does that really make a difference,
In the grand scheme of things?
Because I don’t think that it makes things change at all.”
So I now have to respond to this poor, lonely girl.

“All I know is that some people are going to bring you down
And some people will never care that they are.
I know that you cannot allow that to destroy you.
You cannot allow that to drag you way, way down.”
So I look at her, tears in both our eyes.
And as I walk away, I swear I heard her say “goodbye.”