crime, staring competitions, tears.

these small things that lead us further
into the fog, closer to the moths,
attached at the hip, nothing new.
nothing blue, always red.

your guitar rips through the
navy skyline, alerting the stars of war,
violet mornings creeping over the
trees as sleep envelops your eyes.
i've dreamed of something like
this, but i got more than i asked for.

i'd never go back.
i'd never go back to that place where you
don't exist, the dark, the damp, the treacherous.
becoming a threat, was the purple leaves and blinding snow.

but the next morning was lined with amnesia, we both forgave;

but we'll never forget.

i want to write of you
but i cannot bring myself to finish anything i say
writing about grief through grief
is hard

and you would think that it would be easy
since i've been writing for years
i hate leaving things unfinished

i try not to think of it often
maybe that's the problem

i freeze when i do

sometimes it's like a movie
too uncomfortable for tv
too important for dvd

the whole thing opens with me screaming in the middle of a field
grass slicing my knees
dirt flooding my fingernails

i am the only thing in turmoil
the trees dance in the distance to a tune i am unable to hear
the wheat looks away in respect
while the mosquitoes become nosey and unable to mind their own business

and somehow i am reminded of when i was young and could sit in the silence for hours
confined in a house with a ticking clock
it's sharp arms slicing into my spine

reminding me that everything ends
the trees will forever dance
and that the wheat will always look away

i think we were destined from the first time i heard you speak
a rough but gentle voice you carry
and i hope you know it carries me

i feel i've known you for ages
even though it's only been a short while
sometimes i wish i could meet you all over again

you're a rush of air
something i've needed for so long
sometimes it's so hard to breathe around here

in such a way that seems elementary
i want to write the loveliest things about you
i want to put them in the sky

but in the same way
i want nobody to know
i want to go with you wherever you slip away to

and i want you to slip away to me
i want to be that embrace that let's you know you're home
because you let me know the same

i'm picking my nails at the dinner table
thinking of ways to tear myself apart
wondering if you'd even agree with me right now
if you'd be proud of me
or are you yelling at me from wherever you are

i'd like to think you're somewhere nice
in a pool where the water is crystal clear
sipping something strong and watching me ruin my life

sometimes i'd rather you turn the tv off and throw the remote

this show ***** anyway

i believe that we'll always come back to each other in whatever colors we become

even when i'm scorching red and you're a soft green
even when you're a bold blue and i'm a deep yellow

even when we're two different shades of grey

even when i have rings in my nose and you have some around your neck

even when it's almost dawn and i can't keep my eyes open, but you're a sugar rush, bouncing your leg on the floor

neither of us can ever keep still
neither of us can ever keep something from each other



maybe that's why i know we'll always return to each other when we stray too far from the woods

i used to never understand why some didn't celebrate their birthdays
i guess now i do

which people do say that when you understand a new perspective
that it may be growth

but is it growth when i see that my own birthday is just another day
is it growth when i waste twelve hours of my birthday, sleeping

is it growth when i'm too worried about other people
when my birthday is supposed to be about me

i found myself stuttering over your name in conversation

it was almost two months ago

although i keep wondering if it happened for a reason
maybe to prevent the eventual sobbing that night
doesn't mean i don't kick myself for it

i constantly feel the weight of your ghost
maybe it's selfish of me to notice the consistency of you
or to assume it is always you

or is it low of me to think that you wouldn't be there

i've held onto this thought since july

and i'm just angry you're dead

"time for the quarterly internet rabbit-hole of your early life.

are you going to spend the next hour looking for pictures of an old mall?

or by finding out the real reason why the first movie theater burned down eleven years ago?

or perhaps look at how your favorite grocery store has changed?

how about we look at the once empty fields that are now occupied by mattress stores?

then will you end it by crying yourself to sleep?
wondering why you cannot remember any of it all?
why you cannot make sense of being a child?
did you ever become conscious before 2012?
are all these hazy memories just dreams?
did you even exist in any of it?



what are you even searching for?"



anything.

The color of the afternoon sky, the color of the crystal clean pool in your backyard.


The color of my eyes, signaling that I’m alive.


The color of your lighter, the one that lights all of your cigarettes on fire.

i.
it's the look of realization and protection in a crowded place
the look of understanding from across a white lined table
its the brush of fingers when we're too close
or maybe not close enough

it's when you're dying to pull away from this reality
and dive into another one
that i agree and almost take your hand to follow
but it's not that easy


ii.
it's not hard to realize that you have my back
it's not hard to understand that those eyes of yours
are meant to look after me


iii.
sometimes i notice that you want to say something
when you look away from giving me the longing gaze of escape
like something's forcing your throat to close

is it the regret of not saying enough
is it the knowledge of the power that your words hold
is it me

just say it like you mean it
say something
say anything

there's always that tired morning candlelight of sadness
that washes over my existence and reminds me to stay still.

because if i were to move, what's left of my rib cage
would collapse.
the empty pit of my torso would be nothing but bones and regret.

but this is nothing new.
but sometimes i crave this collapse because maybe the cave
of my body wouldn't be so empty.

you come around when i least expect it
or maybe when i need you the most and don't want to admit it
i miss you whether you're here or not

it's like you appear behind a passing citizen
and watch me look at you through a crowd of people
and i notice it faster than i should admit

and i want nothing more than for you to approach
to ask if i'd like a cup of coffee
to have a conversation

you disappear just as fast as you've arrived
already leaving me with finding the answers myself
my jaw aching with things i never got to tell you


your legacy is the only one i'd be willing to uphold if you leave
even if it's short notice
or something you've prepared for

it is a violet hue
an indigo sky

something in the color you bring
that is harmonious
and glues all the pieces together

sometimes the glue remains wet
but time lets the wounds heal
and the glue finally dries

putting all the pieces of the puzzle together
revealing the larger family picture
something that makes sense to us

you are apart of the sense
the knowing
the teaching

it never hurts to continue learning

"if you want angry, blackout drunk fueled fights with strangers,
that's what he'll give you.

if you want nostalgic, sugar-filled summer sunsets,
he'll give it to you.

if you want to sleep into the late afternoon and whisper during breakfast,
that's what he'll give you.

if you want police knocking on the door at 2 am after an assault report,
he'll give it to you.

but if you want him to choke you, shove you, even strike you,
he won't.

because the last thing he'd ever want on this planet is to hurt you.

but he'd definitely hurt anyone that'd try to hurt you."

if i said that i wouldn't die for you, i'd be lying.
such a naive thing to say, i know.
but it's my honesty.
it's the rawest thing i can give you.
i'd **** for you, i'd do anything for you.

an open letter can become a treasure chest if you open it the right way.
a technicolor dream of gray, a projector screen of pink.
a hallucinogenic vision i dreamed about a year before i saw you.

this was meant to happen.
all of the things in my life have happened for so, all of this is supposed to happen.
i was always supposed to feel this way.
i do.
i have.
and i always will.

i don't believe most of the things she's said about you.
most, because somehow she'd like the truth to be told.
because you're wonderful, but she'd rather make the bad things noticeable by lying.
maybe she's angry that you don't love her.

it's the miles deep pain i feel in my abdomen that shows me the truth.
it's the heart attack i experience when your eyes light up that shows me your real heart.

it's the knot in my throat when you talk, that shows me you're alive.


and so am i.

this house will never be my home as much i try to force it to be

its the remembrance of pieces of myself i've left in different places
that wakes me up from my dreams

its the hole they've left where my happiness used to be
that causes a migraine when i am alone

i've clawed at my skin to try to bind the hole shut
but nothing is strong enough to keep it that way

i've tried ripping up the roots of myself in those places
so that nothing of me is left

is it because those places don't deserve my memory
is it because the only reason that my roots are still grounded
is that i cannot let those places go

is it that i cannot change



it seems that all i can really do is let the previous roots die
and plant brand new ones in the places i never want to forget

sometimes i wonder how we got here.
how we got to this point in our lives.
how you managed to stay around after years of randomized and (sometimes) painful situations.
how i managed to keep myself in tact when most of the time i'm hanging by a thread.

but then i realize that there is something that binds us together in such a way, it is indescribable.
but so are you.
and i.

there are paths of our lives that cross over in such ways that make our maps look like a 4-year-old's scribbling.
there are stars that glue us together in such a way that our limbs are always tangled.

one mangled, crying, painful mess.

one perfect, strong, gleaming masterpiece.

"pain comes and goes,
leaves and stays.

but he is the one who makes you forget you were ever in pain.

he never goes,
he just stays.

no matter where ever he is,
the feeling of his skin on yours never leaves.

his lips,
his fingers,
his voice

it never leaves."

i've been told that i come off as cold, or intimidating.

it's a defense mechanism, like an alligator. or a porcupine.
i know how bad this world is, and i'm not about to fall in it's trap by being nice to everyone.
that's why i come off cold.
i will not surrender.

but i am the nicest person you'll ever meet.
i am smart, i know my way around the world.

but i am only 19. i am only human. these things that make me who i am are just as important as i portray myself.

i am just a girl, with big blue eyes and long hair.

i am a girl with long nails and i will not hesitate to rip anyone who hurts me apart.
because i am not going to stand on the edge and let myself be pushed over it anymore.

i am a girl with a loud mind, and a voice. and i won't hesitate to use it.

i am a girl with big dreams, and an amazing imagination.

i am a girl with good intentions and a golden heart.

i am a girl with fire in my veins, and a hurricane in my stomach.

i am who i am, i am not going to tear myself apart after so much building.

it's funny how you preach, scream, riot about keeping the peace, but when it's your turn to keep the peace, you keep a grudge instead.

the silence becomes the loudest in the middle of the night when safety is no longer an option.

it becomes the enemy when you're trying to sleep, push everything away to get some peace.

it's the thing that turns you from blue to red in the blink of an eye.

turning you into a whole new mechanism.

an animated, drooling, beast of rage.



you can try to claw your way out, but there's always something in the way of getting rid of the revolting, wet, anger that boils in the cavity of your sternum.

since when has a stranger's life been yours
something for you to emotionally invest in
what are you looking for
where do you think this will lead you

are you praying for a negative outcome
are you wishing for something to make you right
why are you trying so hard to prove this
what kind of merit will this bestow onto you

i just want to know
why you think this is any of your life
why do you think you're entitled to its' knowledge
and why is it so detrimental that you disagree with it


maybe i should know better than to ask these questions

it's odd that i find my way back to you in a dream

in a violet mist,
a storm of chemicals

sometimes it's repetitive
all i see are teeth,
dripping wet from black saliva and blood of
anyone that roams these leaves

but i know you can't touch me
because hurting me
hurts your assets

you'll hurt your chances at anything living
because deep down, somehow, i knew you were never alive


just an empty body in the middle of a clearing
like royalty
preserved while something else like you reigns

the longest road is the one you keep looking back on
the longer you stare
the more it stretches

it seems that the roads i walk have the most rigid bones
the ones that can't quite stretch to that spot
such an ache that i feel it in my own bones

the fact that you're no longer alive
grasps me in the strangest moments
and those bones come through the dirt to hold onto me

they remind me that i too
am in constant ache

eight years is either a long time or a short time for something
some days it feels like there have only been a few days in between
it feels like a millennium on others

i think eight years is both good
short and long
for things to change
occur
begin

sure
a lot has changed for me in the past eight years
but sometimes it feels like nothing has
just a vast forest that never grows

some days i feel twelve again
others i feel that i'm eighty

but somehow certain things can stop me from feeling either
and make me feel good for just a few moments
and remind me that no matter where i go in life
i'll always have this moment
these things
that i used to die for and have moved on from

i'll always have them
and i'll always feel that way the first time i accessed them

two sides
black and white
day and night

there's always the hidden third
but we rarely talk about him

he's quiet
soft
there to give us the truth
but what references does he have

what proof does he have

but what proof do we even have

we are always forced to follow one or the other
but when do we ever consider the third side

who is not the truth
but the realization that a lot of things are wrong
and we only point them out to each other when
it is relevant to the failure of others

im halfway there
fifty percent
almost

the feeling has peaked
you have come out of hiding again
it's refreshing to see the black and white lines that make you
how they bend and connect
how you breathe and recollect

i never miss you so, because i know you're always here
binding the parts of me that don't really fit together
making peace within my brain
and rest within my soul

i never see quite as clear as when i'm near you

i used to see my own grave in my sleep
now i see yours right next to it
i only see our names floating around each other
no dates
no corny phrases
whether which one of us went first is still fuzzy
i'm sure it was you
because i'd do anything to stay

i'm tired of asking nicely
all my life i've been asking for permission
or hoping i won't be caught
i've never been bothered with wanting more time
not until i met you

running around a slippery parking lot
frolicking in the rain like children
suddenly afraid of the fall
the potential collision of my brains across concrete

but at least your smiling face would've been the last thing i'd ever see

i heard that you tell people to turn off
that song
when it happens to come on

did i ruin something for you?
did i bleed into everything you once enjoyed?
did i claw my way into your thoughts and make a home?

i hope that i did
because me ruining a song for you
is nothing quite like what you ruined for me

i don't quite understand what i did in a past life that was so bad
that i was born in this small globe of worry.

i also don't quite understand
the small instances of confusion
or
misconception
that make me repeatedly run through every
motion i made
or
word i spoke.

there's something wrong in the world inside my head,
maybe famine.
maybe natural disaster.
maybe war.

some days i feel amazing.
not a bone in my body feels anxious.

some.

but no day is the exact same,
and sometimes it's best to take it one day at a time.

i think about you every time i brush my teeth
you feel much more like home than this bathroom ever will
the reflection of the light in the tile matches the ones in your eyes
every single one looking back at me with smudged mascara

your absence burns the back of my throat
saliva trickling down my chin the way watermelon juice does yours
and it's a haze outside
i wish i could wipe it off for you

time slows the second you start laughing
the sound of your jewelry pulling me back like an alarm
so close i can see every time the sun has given you a kiss
calling me a coward from it's place in the sky

all these moments replay in my head like a broken vhs tape
all fuzzy and glowing
i'm afraid if i eject the tape i'll forget
but it would be a good excuse to recreate it from scratch

the golden hour often comes when we least expect it
but we pay it no attention and proceed
unaware and naive

i wake up more often than not with a sore tongue
sore from having to keep my mouth shut for so long
for even a single word can ruin so much of what i have

i feel the safest enclosed in a white box
enclosed in a larger box in the middle of the city
where the previous cannot find me

but eventually, sore feet drag me back to the place i dread the most

"welcome home."