It has been four years since I wrote a poem
Four years asphyxiated and smothered
It was also four years that I was with him
Four years where I put him above everything else
And four years where I held my breath, so he could have all the air in the room
Because I thought giving everything you had to the person you were with is what love was
It was four years where I let him push me to the side all the same
And being treated with passivity and indifference will change a person
Will make you feel like you’re just not quite interesting enough
Will make you believe your needs are just not as important
Will make you turn purple waiting for them to put you first
Despite giving him all the oxygen, he still left me
And now I’m alone again
And I am scared to breathe
Because doing what I need is now so unfamiliar to me,
That I’m scared that inhaling will leave me choking and overwhelmed by the amount of four years’ worth of missing self-worth filling my lungs
But my body is convulsing,
And I need to remember that I do matter,
That I am interesting
That my needs are important
And that love is not suffocating yourself, so others can breathe.

I see you.

And I hear them too.

"You need to choose."
"Well you must like one more than the other"
"This is just a phase."
"Oh, you're just confused."

I see you.

And I hear society.

Today, society feels threatened by anything that does not fit a label.
Especially if that label leads to more confusion than clarity.

Dear Little Bi-Girl, you are not the problem.

Gay - Men who like Men
Lesbian - Women who like women
Bi-****** - you like both?

Dear Little Bi-Girl, they are confused by you.

Bi-sexuality is what the "B" in LGBT stands for.
Proving that you are recognized as "different" and it's okay.
But yet you still feel the lack of respect associated with who you want to love.

Little Bi-Girl, you remind society that there is a grey area in this black and  white world.

You are the blurred line.
You are the example of half and half.
You are the misunderstood.

And I still see you.

Not fully allowed to be a part of the straight world and not fully allowed to be a part of the gay world.

You feel awkward in both.
You don't fit in a box.

Borderline hetero, borderline ****.

And I still see you.

You like the softness of a woman,
The ruggedness of a man,

And society is not content with your opinion of your ****** orientation:

"I just like people".

Society is loud and drowns you out.

"You need to choose."
"Well you must like one more than the other"
"This is just a phase."
"Oh, you're just confused."

But Little Bi-Girl,

I see you.

You can't choose.
You don't like one more than the other.
and It's not just a phase.

You're not confused.
Society is.

Dear Little Bi-Girl,
I hear you.

I am you.

They call me the Ice Queen.
My heart embedded in a sheet of arctic glass.
Impenetrable and safe in the confines of it’s frosted walls.

Snowflakes hit my cheeks as if laughing about my frozen state,
“you’re smart never to fall in love” they whisper as they flutter.

The words sting as fresh as frostbite on my toes.

Not being able to love is no summer paradise.
It’s a curse as raw as winter,
As unwanted as an avalanche,
A severe storm.

A fear ruling my body.
Robbing me of all warmth,
As I sit freezing,
Icicles where tears would normally form.

Constantly traveling on snow capped mountains,
I ask myself,
Whether love is the fool or I for not loving?

Once again the wind picks up,
As the childhood memories hail down as reasons
Why I stay in this state of white wasteland fill my mind...

Frigid reminders of a mother who kept re-marrying,
and a father who could never fully commit to a woman despite the chilling loneliness.

No sculpted example of Love carved into my frosty mind.

Remaining as uncertain of what Love even means,
As if my mind were slipping on black ice,
I plunge back into the safety of snowfalls,
Scared of what it means to be anything but numb.

But hope is an odd thing.

Hope to one day feel the glacier surrounding my caged heart to melt.
Hope for the goosebumps to stop tickling my arms.
Hope for the ice to one day thaw as I make my escape from

My never-ending Ice Age.

Beauty trumps brains.
I open my mouth to speak.

Who listens?

Silence echoes through the class room.

No point.

Just a pretty face,
And an un-heard opinion.

Stay quiet.
Stay quiet.

You're just another dumb blonde.

She was the girl constantly being thrown lemons
Expected to make lemonade over and over, she did
Growing used to the sour taste of what she had come to know as her reality
A child’s innocence
She danced through thunderstorms
Twirling through the rain like she twirled through her life
Graceful leaps of laughter sending her in circles, growing dizzy
Only to find that by the time her dizziness had faded nothing was ever the same
Tangy lemonade had returned
Gulping it down along with her insecurities, she kept dancing but the bitter sense of having to grow up so fast hit her like a bolt of lightning she had once danced upon
And finally the thunderstorms grew too strong for her
The downpour that once sent her soaring soaked into her shoes
Damp and despair into her bones
Where once she would have floated over the world she dragged her feet to safety
She’d now watch the droplets of rain hit the window pain
Struggle after struggle
Lemon after lemon
She was left with nothing but the compromise of happiness
The acidity left her melting
Draining the juice from her slowly until she was just a little dusting of zest thrown on top of what used to be her childhood
Her days of dancing but a bare memory
And the girl she used to know had since disappeared
Lost hopes she tucked herself away
Her only idea of dreams locked away in her dream book next to her bed
Frantic scribbles on each page
She wrote her feelings as her old friend Thunder cracked over head
Her faint remembrance of happiness
But a sound
A raindrop
A window away
She blocked her ears now
Willing the constant bang of her Thunder to stop
Couldn’t it tell it only caused her more pain?
Persisting past her pleads; it rang out louder and louder
Taunting her
Haunting her
It yelled at her
And for the first time since the lemons had been thrown her way
She yelled back
Breaking that window open
Broken glass like all her old broken hopes hit the ground
She jumped outside
Enveloped by dazzling drops of clarity and surprise
For her shoes were no longer wet and her bones no longer heavy
And the weight of the storm no longer pinned her soul down
Her lost peace now found
She danced
A dance for all the dances she had forgotten
A dance that left the ground trembling and the skies flickering in her wake
This girl who had been thrown lemons without rest
Had figured out the answer to the test
Finally understanding that she was never too weak to conquer the storm
She was as strong and as fierce as the winds around her
As gentle as a raindrop hitting an eyelash but as grand as a flood covering land as far as the eye could see
No longer would she compromise her happiness
Her dreams
Herself
For now she knew that happiness was for her taking and hers alone
That girl now knew that the next time life through her a lemon
She’d throw it back
And yell
“I am no longer bitter lemonade”
“I am a thunderstorm”

For my best friend who is beautiful, smart and the strongest girl I know, even if she forgets it sometimes.

I gave my heart away when I was 15.
Innocent and naïve, I gave it away
Not even realizing until now.
Not to 1, but 2 boys.
Brothers, not in blood, but in friendship.
I fell in what can be called love with both.
One, a musician, the notes flowing as amazing as the way he saw the world.
The way I saw him.
The other, a dancer, spinning hypnotically, that it left you up and down at the same time.
Just like my mind.
Both beautiful, strong, incredible and soon enough we were all best friends.
Sharing happy memories all together
But individual secrets among one another.
One, playing me sweet love songs, feeling special, I played my own versions back.
The other, seducing me with twirling and fluidity, an affection I had never experienced, lust filled I followed in his footsteps.
One sweet.
One bitter.
A mix of ultimate perfection.
The best of both worlds.
My little game.
Spending the night on the phone singing John Mayer's "Your Body is a Wonderland" away, promises of forever, with one.
And texting ***** dancing moves to the other at the same time.
I was pulling off what I thought was the greatest scheme of all.
But eventually,
Ice and fire collide.
And everything falls apart.
The musician found a girl who would actually commit to matching his rhythm instead of dealing with an occasional drummer.
The dancer found someone who wouldn't step on his toes and hold him back.
Caring wasn't enough anymore and resentment filled it's place.
The pieces fell apart around me.
Not even able to listen to a song
Or
Dance around my room in my underwear
Both my nice and naughty sides were given away.
I lost my way.
With no part of myself left how am I supposed to find a middle ground?
Between wanting
Romance
Or
Passion?
Attempting to let another man into my life, only to not be able to love him
Attempting to let another man into my bed, only to not be able to create a spark.
Hopeless.
Empty.
Alone.
That's what I am.
When you give something away, you should expect not to get it back.
That much is obvious.
But being too young
Being too stupid
To selfish
To happy
To ******* trusting
And to willing to give myself for both,
I have nothing left.
And when you have nothing left
And when you go from having everything to nothing...
You don't just bounce right back up.
I haven't been up since I was 15.
I haven't felt complete
Full
Perfect.
Since I was 15.
But everyone changes, and my 18 year old broken heart knows that now.
We all lose our ways.
We all want someone to play along with
We all want someone to dance with
And we all want what we can't have.
But I don't believe I'll be alone like this forever.
That would be irrational.
But for now it's my life.
The 2 pieces of my original heart are history now.
Tucked away in an old guitar case, and choreography.
Waiting to be re-discovered.
An old muse lost and hopefully to be found.
Because that's what I am.
Notes on an old scale to faded to read
And
An out dated dance number.
But I guess that's what I get for giving away everything I had so soon.
I gave my heart away when I was 15.
I still haven't got it back.