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 Aug 2013 Jessica M
samasati
:)
1. tell all of your problems to a tree; it’s not going to answer back but it will love you

2. stuff your face in a pile of snow

3. get up and dance when there is no music playing

4. stand infront of the mirror with one hand cooly resting on your hip and the other hand pointing at yourself, and then wink at yourself like you’re the most attractive babe out there

5. stop everything you’re doing and speak in gibberish until you laugh

6. paint with your toes to Beethoven

7. roll around on the floor for a few minutes; move furniture around so that you have plenty of space to do so

8. bake someone you are fond of cupcakes and surprise them out of the blue

9. pick a ton of wonderful flowers and hand them out to strangers that pass by

10. when you’re stubborn, stuck, in pride, in pain, in mind, tell whoever your head thinks it concerns these 4 lines in a row and nothing else;
"I love you
I’m sorry
Please forgive me
Thank you”
(Hoʻoponopono)

11. buy yourself a yummy ice cream cone

12. go swimming alone and let your body flow and be one with the water

13. write a real old fashioned letter to your mother or father telling them about yourself and that you love them

14. stand outside in the pouring rain until your clothes soak; and make sure you’re barefoot so that gushy mud can get between your toes

15. go to a park with a swing-set and just swing by yourself

16. make yourself a big beautiful breakfast in the morning

17. give your friends meaningful hugs that last a very long time

18. read a passage or two in The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran

19. shut off your Netflix and go on a bike ride in the middle of the night

20. hug yourself and kiss your hands and your arms and stroke your hair and tell yourself aloud “I love you; I love me” over and over again

21. breathe deep into your belly like a Buddha instead of shallow into your chest

22. go to another city/province/country/continent on your own for at least a week

23. don’t shy away from holding someone’s hand or kissing them if you think it feels right

24. hold a baby in your arms

25. drink a glass of water
I
often
wonder
why
a bird
with wings
so strong
would ever
lock herself
up
in a cage
then sing
of
her wishes
and longing
for freedom

I often wonder
why
I
do
the
same.
Thick
and curly hair
stringy
tangled
up into
knots
much like
the contortions
in my stomach
when I wake
at 3:00 am
to you
sound              asleep

I realize
then
that
I'm
not quite
sure
about
much of
anything
Your dad hit you and you asked me not to tell anyone.
He took two business trips this week to get away from your mom,
because he doesn't know what to say to her anymore
and you're sitting on her bed next to her
at 2 in the morning after a romance movie
not knowing what the hell you're supposed to tell her,
because your dad asked you to keep secrets too
and you don't want her to know more than she has to.
Because you love her, and love means protection-
it means you'll take all the bullets for her.

But she's been shaking and you don't want to tell her
that everything is going to work out,
because you don't know that.
So you put in another movie and lie next to her,
hold her hand when she reaches for you
carry the weight of her sadness in your smile.
As she falls asleep you let a couple tears slip out
that you've been saving since last week when your dad confessed
to moving around because he couldn't deal with standing still
in a marriage he feels he's been stuck in for eighteen years now.
You let yourself break down now.

Your dad hit you and you asked me not to tell anyone.
But I'm crying over your mom as I listen to you tell me
how helpless she looks with the covers over her lips and her hand
still sitting in yours.
Your family's falling apart and you asked me not to worry about it.
I love you too much but that's not important right now.
But it's hard when he's not home and
I'm trying everything I can and I don't know what to do anymore,
because your dad hit you and you asked me
your dad tore your mom's heart out and you asked me
your brother's still healing and you asked me
you asked me
not tell anyone.

And because you asked me to, and because I love you, and because
because I am who I am and because we are where we are
I won't.
I'll just soak up your tears with my skin and hold memories of blessed things
over your head so you can look up to something other than the ceilings
you trace with your eyes in the dark.
I'll pick up your call and I'll start crying when it's disconnected.
Because some things in life are just too hard.
And I don't want to have to worry about you, but I will because
because I am who I am and because we are where we are and because
I love you too much.
My aunt is 40 years old and she was coloring
with crayons on the bathroom floor after a bad spell.
We kept them in the cabinet under the sink
so she could pull them out to calm her down,
or pull her out,
of the dream she was having over glazed eyes that weren't sleeping.
She would talk to us about silly things
that happened to her or how she met
her husband after the war in his pretty,
neat, and navy blue military jacket.

She really met my uncle
on the train to Chicago in 1977,
but we don't tell her that because it doesn't make a difference
and it won't make her feel any better.
The truth never really does that
I've learned.

That's the thing about the rest of your life.
When you're sixteen and beautiful with
a cute brown bob and eyes to match
you think you can do anything
and when you picture
the rest of your life it doesn't include
lying in a bath robe talking to your niece
about something you never did or never had
with spit on your chin and hands that need washed
coloring a picture in a book meant for kids.

You never thought you'd be stuck
being a kid
sometimes.
Out of control,
shaky,
twisted
and a little bit beautiful
through things.
You never thought you'd be missing some parts,
or you'd be spacey
or empty
in bad, bad moments like this.

But that's how it is and that's how it was
for my aunt as she tried to formulate her thoughts
into something she was dying and dying to tell me.

I didn't know what she wanted or how to
fix
all the things I didn't quite understand were happening.
All I know is that she
is a child
and children need attention, to be played with, and to be loved.
So I picked up a crayon and starting coloring
around the edges she had missed
trying to fill her in.
 Jul 2013 Jessica M
Tori Jurdanus
One.
Beautiful and young. Wise in the worst ways possible,
You took your own life by hanging yourself in the shower.
Your mother, clawing at splintered wood to reach you.

Two.
They said it was your fault.
That when four boys tugged you up the stairs to play Red Light, Green Light with your body,
You should have known they were colour-blind.
You should have known they would not stop.

Three.
We grew up in the same town, through the same years, with the same people
I never once say your face, or the picture they released of you, bent over, sick, on a window sill.
But I remember the first time I heard your name, the day they took you off life support.

Four.
They call you Angel now that you're gone.
They say our school was where we tried to clip your wings.
I wish I could say that was my doing.
I wish I could say that if I had been the one with the scissors,
you would have stayed. Grounded.
Icarus would never have fallen had I been the one to hold him back

Five.
I see your face in every stranger.

Six.
I hesitate before saying your name like its a curse word and there is a child standing next to me.

Seven.
I am getting tired of retelling your story over and over with the details no one else seems to hear and being expected to feel guilty for a crime I did not commit.

Eight.
I know it's not your fault,
You were a hard pill to swallow and were spit back out so many times it started to taste bitter.
But the world left over has scared compassion away with death threats to people we both thought we lovedbecause no one can figure out who to blame.

Nine..
I don't want to hate you.
But every negative feeling I have, towards the boys, the camera, towards locked doors and street corner gossip is wrapped up in you.
Your death has woven itself through friendships and titles and torn apart everything I thought could make me feel safe;
replaced it with vigilantes out for blood, replaced it with a hatred I didn't know exsisted.

Just look at what you've left us with.

Ten.
I wish you were here.
I wish I could meet you, have something other to hold onto than this.

Other than saying home and knowing they hear danger zone
I say nothing. They do not forget. You remind them of where I am from.

You have tainted every cherished memory, discredited every word this Cole Harbour **** could ever say.

Its where we tried to grow up,
Its where I found myself while you lost yours
But I learned to take pride in where I'm from
And I cannot apologize.
 Jul 2013 Jessica M
Lyra Brown
i wrote down the definition of
loneliness
and then i wrote down the definition of
solitude
directly below it,
so that i will always have some kind of reference point
for when i confuse the two.
(which is often.)
 Jul 2013 Jessica M
Lauren Sage
This
Anxiety is like boiling snakes in my stomach
Milky frothing water and peeling
(my)
Skin
(off speckled moles, preventative measure)
(I do not have cancer)
(At least not skin)
I'm blindly probing my skin for
(not lymphoma, no)
Any semblance of
(not breast cancer, no)
Caring
Is not for me
(I care too much)
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