Today, today
First day of forever
Beginning of tomorrow
Last stand of yesterday filled with hopefulness borrowed

Today, today
Beginning of the end
The story will begin pick your poison and commence

Today, today
At the head end of blue skies
The tail of shaking heads and rainy days and hazy days that are a daze

Today, today
My life begins
Or does it end?
I can't recall...
A day at home or in the mall
Or on the mall

Today, today
Purposeful
Ready to go, to know to flow

Today, today
Why so grand?
Only a sow dressed as a belle
Just yesterday's tomorrow
And who couldn't tell?

Why today, today
Special is she
So neat and perfect
Promised, pretty...
Please...

Today, tomorrow, yesterday
All akin, all so same
So similar in every way
I'll start my story yesterday

2:37am
New Year’s Day 2011

Life was never easy for me.
Away from mommy and daddy I grew almost alone,
but then you came to live with us, and everything got worse.

You said mean things to us, specially to me.
You nagged about it all, night and day.
                                                            ­                Did we ever do anything right?
You told me I was worthless,
never loved,
just a burden to all of you.

You laughed about these scars.
                                                          ­             Did I ever tell you it was you who caused them? Wait... I did!
You called me crazy, a ******... mentally deranged.
                                                       ­        Do you understand what depression is? I do now.

During these years my hatred towards you grew and grew.
It got so big I couldn't take it anymore.
I plotted your death many times in my head.
                                             Should I push you down the hill, or should I give you a lethal dose of drugs?
We would all be happy then.

But now you are gone... dead.
No! It wasn't me who killed you. It was nature... a natural death.
I suddenly feel like ****.
         Killing you in my head. Wishing your death just to find myself missing you when you were gone.
I can't bear to think that you died thinking (knowing) I hated you.
I don't hate you anymore.

I guess I grew up. I guess my feelings were wrong.
                                            I miss you.
I wish I could have a few last words with you, but it's too late.
                                             I ****** up.

Now all I can do is be strong (for you).
I know you're in a better place, and I shall be happy for you.
I guess, after all, there's no place for hate in this heart.

When I had to leave I felt like I was leaving a part of me behind.
Like I had found some amazing new piece to the puzzle of myself
but I couldn't add it until I finished the rest.

It would end up being the last piece that brought everything together.
You were the piece that completed me.

But I had to leave.
And it hurt so bad.

Now.
I have this empty feeling.
Because the gap in this puzzle left a hole in my heart
That can not be filled with anything from anyone else
except you.

This longing to be with you has taken over me.

Everything I do, say, or think
makes it's way back to you.

Life is brutal. mimicking the way I cant be with you.
The beauty in this world vanished
when I discovered how beautiful my own world was
and you,
darling,
are my world;
that I can't be apart of.

After realizing how excruciatingly hideous this world is
and finding so much better
and dealing with not being able to be with you,

it has exhausted any drop of energy I had left in me.
Drained the light from my eyes
and placed this ache in my heart.

And Baby, I miss you so much.
The way the sun misses the moon,
or how a desert misses the rain.
Like a cactus misses a hug
or a venus fly trap misses a kiss.

a work of fiction left to the shelves,
i would read us every day.
i would memorize the chapters,
i would cherish every page.
if we were truly just a story,
i could never set us down.
i would respect our safety,
just like other proper nouns.
if we were truly just a story,
i could even make believe,
that you and i,
we are alive,
and this, reality.

I am a survivor of ****** abuse.
I grew up between dysfunctional families
where we did not say what was not okay
until I could not remember the first time I had been abused.
But I remember the last.

Now I am the severely depressed survivor
who cannot ride passenger without remembering
his driving me 80 and angrily down a gravel road
who cannot sit in hot water without remembering
his joining my bath
who cannot tell my stories
even when people ask.

Tonight I try…
try to feel happiness as I run in the rain
try to tell the sadness of losing my mother
try to tell you I am not okay.

Tonight I will write stories
about grandma rising from her wheelchair
to be raised up on eagle’s wings
about grandpa who never told me he loved me
before he died
about my brother who goes to Yale
but cannot control his temper.

I will write stories, my stories
And I will let you read
If you will help me write.

I begin with this poem

I tell her
about my first time smoking *** in a stranger’s rundown apartment, somewhere between Paris and Amsterdam
about growing up in the Whiskey Flats next to strip clubs, gun shops, liquor stores, and lots of cows
about swimming naked in the south of France, speaking to strangers in a tongue with which I was not familiar.
about using a Japanese toilet; drunk at a karaoke bar
about getting my hair cut by random French men in random French hostels

I tell her my experiences,
but I cannot remember the giggles of intoxication,
the smell of the cows, the chill of the water,
or the words that fell from my lips.

She may envy my life,
but I envy the way she lives

So tell me, Emily
how you smile in the morning and say words like “sunshine”
tell me what the salt water tasted like on a beach in South Africa
tell me about the beauty of forgiveness, the bitterness of your tears, the curls in your hair, the music in your soul
tell me about love
tell me what it’s like to live.