In all my life,
In all my time,
I have never felt worse about myself.

I ruin lives
While doing nothing at all,
But missing,
and listening,
and praying,
and loving.
By being.

I'm a burden.

My throat is on fire tonight,
a cold kind of burn that threatens your soul.
I can’t help but wish for a time when I felt normal,
healthy,
me.

I just want to breathe again
and have it last for more than ten seconds.
I yearn to push every bit of this stale air
out of my tired, unfit lungs
until fresh oxygen can reignite
the passion I felt for this world
just a few months ago.

Every week a new ailment,
a new pain,
a new tiring dagger
of reality
pierces my core.

I don’t have a metaphor for how over it I am.
I want to live again,
instead of just being alive.

I find it sad...

...that a girl with so much going for her -
incredible friends,
caring family,
talent,
beauty,
health,
intelligence,
a home,
a bright future,
faith,
belief,
strength -
A girl whose life is filled with love,
Can feel so lost.

I find it sad...

...that a girl, whose life is meaningful to others
And shows signs of God's love,
Can feel so hollow.

And I find it sad...

...that all it takes is one glance in his direction,
And her heart melts right back down to square one.

And it's time to get up and start over again.

There is a cold stillness every time I close the door behind them,
Reminding me I can't hide behind my smile in the comfort of my friends anymore,
Reminding me that Happy is again slipping from my grasp,
Reminding me that Lonely is about to take its place beside me,
Reminding me that I miss you,
Reminding me you don't.
At least you don't show it.
Whether or not I believe this,
I cannot say.

It’s when traces of you show in me
That I’m disgusted with the person within.
Conquering heredity is the most difficult task
I’ve ever assigned to myself.

Bleed out of my tears
And let a new fortune tingle my fingertips.

Funny
How the lies never end.

Funny
How I'm supposed to walk away,
But I refuse to.

Funny
How I'll always be here for you.

Funny
How I ******* up out of care.

Funny
How I'm always the girl who's fallen for,
Promised forever,
And dumped for a life of empty encounters.

Funny
How, at this rate,
Your future will be that of your hero's.

Funny
How your hero is hollow and unhappy.

Funny
How I'm crucified every time I love.

Funny
How I'm you a year ago.

Funny
How you're him a year ago.
The "him" that you hated for what he did,
What you do.

Funny
How I don't believe this is you.

Funny
How I'm supposedly a ******.

Funny
How you forget the way you were with me.

Funny
How how no one stops you
Because they live it right beside you,
While the rest slowly stop caring.

Funny
How I don't stop.

Funny
How numbing emotions is a better option than living.

Funny
How my heart will always ache
For knowing that you are better.

Funny
How I'm not laughing.

Funny
How it never ends.

The countryside has a way of slowing down time.
The crashes of each raindrop against the leaves beside me
drum a beat that silences the clatter in my head.
I close my eyes and just breathe.
The grass’s dewy aroma is the sweetest perfume
I have ever encountered,
and the absence of street sounds is deafening.
The cool draft against my skin as this swing slowly sways
back and forth…
b
    a
         c
             k
                  a
                  n
                  d
            f
         o
      r
   t
h
is the guardian angel keeping me at peace.

I had forgotten what this feels like.

Pin my arms to their furthest range,
so they’ll forever outstretch to everyone else.
Strum me unendingly. Listen to the hum.
I always do what’s asked.
I can’t wait for the day my insides tear
to the point of steady separation.
Then maybe they’ll stop pulling at me,
and I can tug at my own heart strings.

I could pick you up
in my callused hands
and let your grains
massage my skin,
sanding away the wall,

but I want to feel
your every move
slip
    right
        through
            my
                f   i   n   g   e   r   s   …

A bleeding flesh wound –
I am the fingernail digging in sharply,
Deepening the cave of plasma and color.
I am the itching when healing attempts
To envelop the skin in beige-clustered hues.
I am the crusty, brown layer on top,
Unsightly for certain and unwanted at best.

Did no one teach you? No matter your stance,
Ignoring a scab to its slow, subtle parting
Will still leave a scar behind. –
I gracefully linger, for these scars don’t fade.

No one can hear a cry for help
When it doesn't have a sound.

No one can see a tear chill the skin
When it never falls.

No one can grasp a trembling hand
When it never reaches out.

No one can embrace a life
When it never opens up.

It’s so cliché:
the view from the plane during lift-off.
We’ve all heard about the neatly lain world beneath us,
more shapes than we knew possible to make
with our roads and landscapes,
the twists and turns that make us dizzy
when we live in them
but from above seem small,
almost easy,
almost remarkable.

I like it up here,
considering the world so neat and tidy.
Here I don’t need to dive into
any confusion.
Feelings of doubt float away
and cave in,
the way my chest caves
from the air pressure.
Up here
my heart is a rock.
Down there
my heart is a boulder.

I could watch the world forever
if it meant I’d never break.
I could watch the world forever
if it meant I’d never drown.

I couldn’t watch the world forever
if it meant I’d never feel.
I couldn’t watch the world forever
if it meant I’d never live.

So, dive in with me,
laugh with me,
love with me,
hurt with me,
let this pain consume me
so I can feel the way it seeps out of my wounds
so slowly
when they are ready to heal.
Then heal with me.
Give in with me.
Feel with me.

I miss that.
And I didn’t know it until now.

Are you ready?
Because I’m not.
But that doesn’t matter anymore.

We’re coming in for landing.

Last night
on a long drive home
at another sluggish traffic light,
screaming, “RED, RED, RED,”
my eyes lifted a few inches
to the negative space above it.
Odd how we call that negative space, isn’t it?
I wouldn’t bond sparkling glimmers of light against a midnight-colored canvas
with a word like “negative.”
Hopeful, inspiring, uplifting?
Yes.
Negative?
No.
Negative is the degree that’s been taking my breath away
the moment my skin greets the outdoor atmosphere these days.
But against this darkness that is night
I was blessed with the spectacle
of a meteor’s birth and death.
I’ve seen them before,
but never has one been so relatively slow,
encapsulating its residence in a close, fiery hue,
gliding along its path with a firework’s essence
so much that I could almost hear the crackling.
What lasted for a second
lasted for hours.
Funny how something that insignificant can stun you
so that you don’t notice the traffic light’s change in demeanor
to a quiet, green whisper.
How’d that old song go?
“Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket,
Never let it fade away.”
But what’s the point of saving your glow
for the perfect moment
if it stays so secretly hidden?
Aren’t we all just one of these stars,
a life that seems so long,
but too brief,
against the canvas of our entire universe?
Why should I save my light for a rainy day
when I can let the rainy day reignite me?
Depriving my light of oxygen would only make it dwindle,
and I’m not ready to fade into the darkness.
The struggles pour my fuel.
The hardships strike my match.
The triumphs fan my flame.

The pedal gives into the force of my foot
as my right eyebrow arches,
and the corners of my lips turn slightly upward.
I can’t help but feel something kindle in my chest.

Watch me fly.
Watch me fall.
Watch me breathe.
Watch me burn.

…And eventually,
watch me fade in freedom.

I don’t want a delicate metaphor
wrapped in porcelain echoes
of rhythm or rhyme
to describe the way I feel when
I lay myself in bed at night,
and the drummer in my chest
beats loudly with love,
but the ice in my veins
manages to melt from my eye
into the cotton fur of a cat
who wraps herself ‘round my head
night after night
‘til
(sometimes)
I can
f  i  n  a  l  l  y
escape consciousness.
A **** cat -
This is where I ask you how pathetic am I,
how unwise to unwind,
how sad is it that this is where I feel safe at night,
how can one person burst with such fulfillment each day
and still hear the “ting” of empty tin inside.
Dear God, why?
Why why,
why why why why why can’t I unscrew the bolt
that began the paradigm
that refused to subside,
that just lay itself down where my frontal lobe lies,
guarding happiness from uncontrolled growth in my mind,
and this,
this is where I unveil what’s beneath,
where I stop the poetry
and just tell you what I need.


I need a friend.

I need a friend who understands the struggle of waking up every single day to the choice between fulfillment and failure, the struggle of using every breath as a reminder to be free, to be happy, to be loved, to love, to feel. And most of all, I need a friend who understands the struggle of succeeding in doing so.

Success is lonely.

As I’m kneeling in church, eyes fixated on the crucifix above me, I realize I already have that friend. Then I realize I need more than that.

So, I have one last question, God.
What kind of Christian does that make me?

I used to do anything to drown out the silence,
a silence that cradled every missed opportunity,
the bad timing, and the ache that accompanied it.
I have tried to build many sculptures on top of the faith
that gets me out of my bed sheets every morning,
each work more beautiful than the one preceding,
but too often it’s either left a swollen mound
with a fist imprinted upon it,
or I run out of clay,
trying to cement the shattered pieces back together.

My worth is not a broken promise
nor a plea to be bargained.
I am not a locked, teenage diary
for which you have to find the key.
My skin is the cover of hardback book –
strong, durable, thick.
I may seem daunting or closed off,
but open me,
and I’ll spill countless words full of the
stories and life experiences I wish to share with you.
All you have to do is ask.

Lately, the silence feels like home,
a place where I can exist peacefully
without desires or expectations.
I used to find my enemies here;
They nearly strangled me.
Today I’m enamored with my own ability
to not only survive,
but live,
without trying to find the reset button.
For now I’ll reside here
until I can figure out how to finish a piece of art.

This world is so frantic
that in a blink of an eye
your sights have transformed.
A face blurs as you pass.
The storms come and go.
Names are lost in your mind
to the expressions they were once fleetingly attached to.
Every second is a mere breath we take for granted,
each step only taken with blinders to our destination.

Sometimes I think we all miss
the little things that ‘liven us.
We don’t stop to just take in our visions.
This I challenge you.
Stand, just to feel the wind between your fingertips.
Walk aimlessly while a light drizzle splashes your skin.
Look to the sky, close your eyes, and bathe in the sunlight.
Stop on a crowded street corner,
and be amazed at each individual life around you –
Everyone has a story to tell… or one to hide.
Understand that. –
Take a moment to breathe the air around you,
and be grateful for it.
Appreciate the scent of a flower in passing.
Watch the purples, pinks, yellows, and blues dance with one another
as the sun falls asleep on the horizon.
Don’t let your sight fall short of what your eyes are bringing to you.
There’s so much more to life than,
well,
your life.

Even though I don't love you,
Even though I have no desire to be with you,
Even though I there is no jealousy,
You know exactly how to manipulate
And pierce directly underneath my skin.
Like the needle-***** of a lioness
That makes her lose her sense of composure,
You turn me into a beast.

You're simply the one who's always there.
You delicately place me on a pedestal,
Then rip it from beneath my feet,
So all I can do is fall to the floor
And believe in the worthlessness you make me to be.

I seem to forget that you're "always right,"
Just like you were right every time you lied
To get the one thing that you wanted from me,
Just like you were right when you knocked me down
And smeared my face with dirt and debris,
Just like you were right every time you've done
The same exact thing to others.
Yes, my bad, you're always right.

Don't flatter yourself so much.

This bed feels hard beneath my back,
while my head aches with swarms of beasts
trying to break through the door,
faceless demons who want to reunite with my bones.

They won’t.

This exterior has strengthened,
shielding the dark magic the devil tries to drill.
And my sword wards off the stragglers,
drowning the witches in water and smoke.

But sometimes I just want distraction –
from my head,
from my heart,
from its steady beat,
reminding me of who I am. –
Because, sometimes, I just want to drown out with the rest,
to fade into the crowd,
and feel ever-so-swiftly faceless.

See, sometimes I want a warm body to hold me,
for once in my life to live out pure lust –
animalistic and loveless. –
In a world where it’s use or be used,
For once I want to be the predator.

Rough arms to wrap around my bare back,
my legs to wrap around a smooth waist,
my body pressed against a cold wall
as a steady hand grazes my thigh,
a tongue that ventures around my earlobe,
and lips that travel down my *******,
but no eyes to look into, for this means nothing,
so eventually we can…

But I stop because it won’t ever be.
As much as I want to feel nothing at all,
even for just a few moments,
there’s nothing that will make me forget.

I’m too strong for this now,
too happy for this now,
that when I’d like to cry, I can’t –
lucky if a single tear cools my cheek,
but never enough to feel better.

Every time the wish arrives
my own voice makes the thought subside
with a single, chilling whisper:
I’m better than this.

So all I can do
is hope that someday I’ll eventually be rewarded
for the falters that led to my freedom,
a freedom that has chained me down…

for simply
being
me.

I have nothing to say.
At least nothing I want to say to the world.
Sometimes, I just write, hoping I find a phrase worth speaking.
This would be one of those times.
Take me away from this moment
To a place I understand or gives comfort.
I’m sick of this living purgatory
Where everything here –
Every feeling,
Every heartbeat,
Every word,
Every desire –
Contradicts itself with something else.
Just take me far away from this city,
Away from the confusion,
Away from the past,
Away from the pain I used to feel,
Away from my heart,
And let me start at a new beginning
Where the finish line isn’t flooded with blackness or blur.
Bring me beyond the horizon,
And I’ll set on this place
To rise in a new world light years away.

Empty.
Numb.
Careless.
Unfeeling.
The lifeless shell of a human you’ve become.
This is vacant soul I see.

I don’t know this boy,
Nor do I want to.
He died the night your arms formed my shield,
And dark eyes brightened to newfound life,
Leaving me speechless.

But our demise saw to it that the birth of death arise again,
Suffocating any life left in you,
Parting with happy, alive, and energetic,
Welcoming the cold.
And we meet the empty shell once more.

A nearly full bottle of painkillers rests on my desk,
Calling,
Shouting,
Crying out my name
For just a moment,
A notion bringing my fearful heart to its knees.
Speechless.

Instead I choose to chase who I once was,
While somehow attempting to better myself
Into someone who can be ok.
But what is ok, exactly?
When and how do we get to good enough?
And is “good enough” actually ever enough?
Too many thoughts.
Too many constant battles inside.
But still speechless.

You called me your “guardian angel,”
Said without me, you’d have no life.
You told me the ghost of who you were
Began to live when I stepped in.
Your will to exist, your empty shell,
Your desire to awaken at the break of every day,
Everything changed when I stepped in.
Everything changed when I stepped in.
You came alive when I stepped in.
You breathed new life when I stepped in.

You said, “Forever.”
You said, “My future.”
You said, “Always.”
You said, “Je t’aime.”
You said, “I want you.”
You said, “I need you.”
You said, “I love you.”
You said, “That love will never go away.”
You said, “I’ve waited my whole life for this.”
You said, “I want every second with you.”
You said it all, but I wish you hadn’t ‘cause maybe,
Maybe I wouldn’t be here,
Trapped in all the vanished promises of our evanescent life.
So many thoughts,
So many desires,
So much life lost deep down inside,
Yet still so speechless.

You stepped out when fear stepped in.
You stepped out when confusion stepped in.
You stepped out because of your stupid, unconditional, pure, overwhelming love for me.
And I stepped out because it made my heart swell with even more love for you.

I don’t know this boy,
Nor do I want to.
But I wish with everything I’m made of that I could help him in some way,
That I could be here in some way,
That I could find one thing to say
To bring him back to life some way.
But here I am,
Speechless.

Little does this boy know I’m here
If he truly ever needs me.
I am always here.
But here he also is,
A stranger,
Completely ok with feeling numb,
Just barely pressing on,
Lifeless.

And it was with those words, this realization, that I discovered
I meant nothing to you.
You mean everything to me.
And I meant nothing.

How can I believe this?
I don't.
But how can you act like it?

Empty.
Numb.
Careless.
Unfeeling.
The lifeless shell of a human you’ve become.
This is vacant soul I see.
But there is nothing I can do anymore,
Except lie here,
Pray here,
Stay here –

Speechless.

Consistent constancy.
Always unchanging.
Bustling busy or unbreakable boredom.
I’d say the replay button is stuck,
But my past does not know this feeling
Nor this departure.
A vague familiarity, yes,
But not alike.
I know how to busy myself most of the time,
But nothing ever changes.
The passing of time leaves no scars, no sign of healing,
Just the same feeling rushing through my core,
The one that makes my heart stop.
It never gets easier.
Just easier to cover up.
At the end of the day
The same loneliness cradles me to sleep,
Trying to steal my life away,
But I refuse to let it.
Usually.
Lonely is a long lost friend of mine,
But a bittersweet enemy,
One that requires all power to battle,
And sometimes I simply get sick of strength
And choose to forfeit the war.
No, it never gets easier.

Just continue to find more masks,
Just continue to welcome numb,
Just continue to deny,
Just continue to ignore
Until one day you want to feel again.
Where does your courage lie?

There’s a world
outside my window
whose breath is made of ice.

There’s a universe
in my chest
that could turn this place to summer
from the fire that’s created
when your skin collides with mine.

Open my eyes a little bit wider
And turn my head another way.
There is a light in the distance, I know.
Someday, somehow I’ll see it glow,
Igniting the flicker of a flame left in me
Into a blazing fire, a burning passion.
It’s easy to hate but takes courage to love,
And darkness has no answers.
I was born to help others but always forget
To help my own self when I want what I want.
There is a light in the distance, I know,
And I will stand high, and I will stand strong
With Your grace, love, and guidance pushing me through
Like a stone in this hurricane
And my head held high.
I will learn to end this hypocrisy.
I will learn to fight this through.
I will learn to love myself again
And stop running from my heart.
For it is only after the rain that we can find a rainbow,
It is only after a storm that we see the flowers bloom.
And I will reach out my hand into the dark
To whatever force will guide me,
And on the day the sun chooses to rise
I will stop to smell the flowers.
There is a light in the distance I know.
Watch me wake up and come to life,
And join me in living in love.

If I could touch the glow with the tip of my finger,
If I could wrap my arms around its eminent gaze,
If I could define its home on the edge of the horizon
in bathing puddles of purple-pink haze,
If I could run so fast that I’m sprinkled in mist
of passionate fires of elegant breeze
that spray from gigantic, white marshmallow puffs…
these clunking feet may fall to their knees.

Kiss me with summer,
a sunset tease.
Clothe me in musings,
a sunset pleased.



There’s nothing
quite so exhilarating.

For three or four minutes
I feel again.

For three or four minutes
The anger subsides.

For three or four minutes
I believe once more.

For three or four minutes
A melody
Or lyric
Brings comfort.

For three or for minutes
Everything is okay.

For three or four minutes
I am understood.

For three or four minutes,
I am not alone.

This is music.
This is power.
All I am
In three or four minutes.

Tell me,
Would she be smiling if she knew
Where your hand wanted to venture?

Tell me,
Would she be happy to know
How close your fingertips came?

Tell me,
Would her eyes brighten at the fact
That had I not awoken from sleep…
(I cringe at the mere thought.)?

Tell me,
Would she approve
Of the words that journey from your lips?

Tell me,
Would she still love you if she saw
The movement of your hips?

Tell me,
Would she cry
Knowing what people like you get away with?

Your touch is the stench of a decaying carcass.
You disgust me.
What did you do to deserve happiness?

*******,
You ignorant,
Selfish,
Lying
*******
For still treating me like a ******* after all these ******* years.
You cut me out for being cranky?
I cut you out for being you.

I should have gone with my ******* gut when I was ******* told to do so.

It's after you've fallen
time after time
from a short wingspan
and a weak leap,
when suddenly one day
your flap grows strong
and the air beneath you
defies gravity,
when you yell behind
at the top of your lungs,
"Look, you guys!
I'm finally flying!"
that,
with a brief glance
and confusion in your eyes,
the silence overtakes you,

because there's no longer anyone there.

Dear Life,


For the longest time,
I’ve been complacent in this little nook I dug for myself,
a stagnant existence,
happy…
could be happier…
but happy,
and that’s what I wanted, right?
That’s what counts?
That’s what I worked towards for so long?

What’s that cliché?
If it isn’t broken, don’t fix it?
Yeah, don’t fix it.
Cover me in silence,
fill me up with good enough,
and settle if it’s so.
Who needs to strive for amazing?

You haven’t thrown me any curveballs in a while.
Maybe what I thought was healing
was just a piece of me that grew numb.
You’ve changed the plan mid-play.
Are you really trying to fail me?
Is it your goal to get into my every crevice
simply to pull out each emotion you can find
and witness what it does to me?
I’m not sure my bat is still strong enough;
it hasn’t been used in so long.
I could swing,
but I’d miss,
and I can’t handle missing any more.
I forgot what it felt like to have so much uncertainty
lodged under my fingertips,
to see one pitch after another too late
and not even realize it until a giant, blue welt
appears on my skin.
I’m terrified of your throws,
because something might shake up my world
and break me all over again.
I can’t,
I won’t
go back to that place.

Instincts scream to hide in the corner of the cage,
construct a shelter
in peace.

But,
dear Life,
my heart…
my heart tugs at my puppet strings
to grasp the bat in my hands,
walk up to the plate,
and find you face-to-face,
“because this time
maybe,
just maybe…
we’ll hear ourselves collide.”
In a barely-audible whisper,
it says,
“I think you’ve missed enough.”


Signed,
Scared & Confused

“Would you…”
She asked,
“If you could…”
She asked,
“Go back and take it away…”
She asked,
“So that everything would erase itself?
So that you wouldn’t be put through this?”

The fact that the answer came rushing
With a quick and steady lack of hesitation
Is what frightens me the most.

I hear a slight buzzing through the walls
as the tips of my fingers click against the keyboard.
Now and then a door crashes open
to the sound of end-of-the-year chatter
just before footsteps fade into another shatter.
But all I do is silently lie here,
reminiscing about the four years I’ve spent
in the building that lies below.
This is where I grew up.

No,
I did not spend my childhood roaming these halls,
nor did I begin the tricks of my trade,
but this is where a naïve 17-year-old girl
was carved into a woman of strength.
This is where I made myself who I am,
and this is where I struggled the whole way,
having nothing to do with a single class period
spent here.

And now as the rain begins to pour above,
slowly leaking into the cracks of these concrete walls
similar to the scars I carry inside my chest,
I am proud that they are symbols of my past,
For a scar is a wound that has healed
but simply left a mark behind.

The marks from these puddles never seem to fade,
so we avoid them.
We do not write our deepest thoughts there,
because they just get washed away.
I think I avoid the scars
for fear of them reopening
and myself washing with it.

This is the place where I was given life.
This is where it was taken away.
And this is where I fought to retrieve it.

As much as I hate this place,
as many good memories are harbored here
that I don’t let myself think of,
as many painful memories I've had to forgive,
as many selfish memories I’ve had to overcome…
I still think I’ll miss it when I’m gone.

With great regret,
With great remorse,
I can honestly say
That had I known we’d end up strangers,
I never would have let the words “I can’t”
Escape my lips.

As I walk, I tread the sand beneath my feet,
I search the ground for shells of beauty,
And the soft sunset guides my soul
Like a single light in the darkness,
A dove spreading its wings
To the music of the water.
In this moment I feel alive,
And I’m getting ready to jump,
To dive in, to reach beyond my body
And fly the depths of the earth,
Independently.
And in this moment, I know I can,
But I realize I don’t want to.
If I need to soar above the ocean,
I’m quite capable,
But it doesn’t matter to me ultimately.
What good are these wings?
What good is total freedom
When you’re flying from your deepest cares?

For the first time in these three months
I feel empty.

For the first time in these three months
I am a shell.

For the first time in these three months
I have no light left in me.

For the first time in these three months
I feel hurt by the person
And not the situation.

For the first time in these three months
I feel everything inside,
But I am physically incapable to showing it.
Numb.
Pathetic.

I try to cry.
No tears.

I try to laugh.
No sound.

I try to scream.
No whisper.

I try to destroy.
No will.

For the first time in these three months,
I've given up on myself.
There is no more hope inside.
Just darkness.
And I don't even care.

I don't care about a **** thing.

If you see me,
Let me know.
For I cannot see myself.
I am a ghost.
I am invisible.
I am nothing.
I am gone.

The glass is not empty,
Nor is it full,
Nor is it half one way or the other.

But what is this feeling?
And where is the source of what strength she has left?
She has no inhibitions
And feels liberated for the first time in months,
Yet turmoil chains her down.
Vanished, but unbroken.
Ignoring, but noticing.
Crumbled, but fully put together.
She gave you her heart.
So, be careful,
For, though it is strong,
It is also fragile.

Her glass is not empty,
Nor is it full.
It is leaking,
And she spends all her time filling it,
But the crack isn’t mending,
Isn’t patching,
Isn’t healing.
So all she can do now is fill the glass,
Stop pretending,
Stop lying with her smile,
And watch it empty at the end of the day,
Allowing her to fill it yet again when dawn awakens.

In all my years here,
I will not remember what's on page five of my notes
for that one class I took last semester
or the one before,
but rather the lessons I've learned along the way.
This,
I would say,
is what I have learned in college.
This,
I would say,
matters:

Live your life.
Don't let others live it for you.
Act your age.
Mind your own business.
Be there for the people who care.
Be there for the people who don't.
Be independent.
Get over yourself.
Love.
Let yourself be loved.
Be honest.
Hold on.
Let go.
Change things.
Accept things.
Break things.
Fix things.
Win.
Lose.
Cry.
Laugh.
Mess up.
Step up.
Be better.
And whatever you do, don't let someone else take the best of you away,
And if you do,
forgive them,
but mostly,
forgive yourself.

In a dark, cold chamber with a lock on the door
Lay the shattered, glass pieces of her heart on the floor.
Feeling so alone, deceived by so many lies,
The girl couldn't halt the tears streaming from her eyes.
At one point in time, that glue might have held,
Glue that fixed the heart the first time it fell,
But no dream could be true, so she built up those walls,
'Cause she found the truth: she didn't matter at all.
Sure, they were still friends. Sure he may care,
But he'd never feel the same, and life refused to be fair.
So young and naive and already heartbroken,
Bleeding from the wounds of words left unspoken -
Not those of her own, for she made her say,
But of those who forgot to feel, forgot to love, forgot to stay.
Just sixteen years old, and she already fell,
-Fell from love, fell from loss. Could anyone hear her yell?
Was there anything out there to let these pieces break free?
To be whole? To unlock? To listen to her plea?
But soon something changed. An unknown presence came through.
Someone knocked on the door. Someone's out there, but who?
Feeling locked in some cellar, this heart shivered in fear
As the **** began to turn. Could this mystery be clear?
But hope was let down when the girl realized
The chamber was locked with the heart still capsized.
Suddenly, some dim light conquered the dark,
Commencing as small, but came a fire from that spark.
In flooded those brilliant, bright, bold, beams of light,
But the girl held back, not ceasing her fight.
Then gently a hand took the pieces from the floor,
The pieces of a heart thought broken forevermore,
The pieces that seemed so lost, so broken, so torn apart,
The pieces of this dark, shattered mess of a heart.
The warm, caring hands then took out the glue
And placed them together, making them new.
So strong, yet so gentle. So tough, yet so tender.
The calm, warming arms embrace her and mend her.
And clenched in the hands that held her so tight,
The girl locked out from all else 'til tonight,
Was what changed wounds and bruises to scars of the past,
Healing every ache, every pain this heart had to last.
In his hand was the key that opened the door,
Sending light, love, and laughter - a locked chamber no more -
The key making all of the confusion disappear,
Clearing obstruction, destroying her fears.
But who is the prince who rescued her heart?
Who is the boy that made pieces one part?
Who is this knight that rides by her side?
The hero she loves, whose feelings won't hide?
Whose hand holds the key, makes her dreams come true?
She lifts her head to see... It's indescribable you.

Somehow,
this place brings about a complacency
that isn’t familiar to my brain,
a delicate calmness,
beaming ever-so-softly
that the slightest abstraction
from this consistently inconsistent dwelling
will shift my mind to a place undesired.
I need this silence.
And by silence,
I mean the swishing of a small waterfall a few feet away,
the peck of a duck as its feathers are cleaned,
the splash of these creatures under the sunset,
the quiet buzz of the street nearby,
the flutter of a bird in the distance,
and the hum of an overhead airplane.
A breeze lightly runs its fingers through my hair,
and the rustling of the leaves in the trees
whispers,
“You are at peace here.”

There’s tranquility in the way
our star slowly hides itself beneath the horizon
before tucking our hemisphere into bed each night.
I ache for that view sometimes
to an extent that concerns me,
but I still live for its solidarity
alone under a blanketed sky.
Sharing it with anyone else has always
ruined its preciousness,
but tonight
hundreds of humans no different than I
gather along this pier,
unified in our attempt at peace,
quiet among the backdrop of a world
that has become so corrupt with hatred and violence.
For a few moments
I forget about the malice that causes me
to fall to my knees each night,
praying that we find a leader that can help us escape.
We are the cult,
and the pier our sanctuary,
but in this world
that may actually be more safe.
If but a few minutes here can briefly salvage
the hope within us,
I see no reason to walk away
until the sky falls fast asleep,
and I fall quick with serenity.

Hold my binding,
run fingers through my pages.
Title-less,
author-less,
I'm blank and ominous,
Empty
only because
my ink is invisible.

We met.
You comforted.
We loved.
We breathed.
We broke.
I lived.

Thirty letters unsent.
Phones endlessly undialed.
Thousands of words unspoken.
Eyes wandering,
Glances stolen.
One secret.
Continual questions.
Does she still care?
Does he?
Both still in love?
Both okay.
Both not.
Both guises.
Both sets of walls.
Both sets of fears,
Fears of the unknown,
Fears of failure,
Threats of the future,
Pressures of the past.
Too many expectations?
Both too frightened to say.
Both too stubborn to part their lips and merely speak.
Tenacious in the worst way possible.
Thirty letters unread.
And will they ever be?
Break the chain,
Remove the mask,
Shatter the wall;
The answer may lie on the other side of love.

Here I stand, an outsider to my own body,
Seeing myself,
Hearing my words,
Watching as my lips form each disgraceful, hurtful sound,
Every fearful curse
As I pace the room.
I look on but don't understand.
I just stand here and watch her - myself.
I do nothing,
Because there is nothing I can do.
I don't know that girl.
I've never seen her before.
No one I’ve ever been would speak those words.
No one I’ve ever been would throw herself at him.
No one I’ve ever been would be that desperately pathetic.
Every desire in me screams,
“Shake her!
Snap her out of it!
Smack her!
ANYTHING!”
Who is she to be that selfish?
Who is she to stoop that low?
To only see herself?
To care more for herself than anyone else?
To speak to someone for whom she cares with such false hatred?
Never in any moment has she felt its authenticity.
Just muffled attempts at ignoring her confusion.

Note to self:
Who are you?
What have you become?

I watch but do nothing.
And I follow her home to watch her more,
Searching for a clue behind every nervous twitch.
A palm full of twenty painkillers trembles in one hand,
A bottle of water in the other,
Tears ceased,
Just calm.
There she sits for what seems like hours
But only proves minutes.
And something inside of her makes her stop.
Me?
Somehow, two days later, we meet again.
My vision has changed.
I feel her again,
A version of her I respect.
One moment watching,
And the next moment being.
So I find the pills.
Without hesitation,
I dump the remains,
Listening to the plop, plop as each drops.
I press the ****,
And they are flushed forever,
Along with the girl I never recognized.

Never will I see either again,
And a quiet grin turns the ends of my lips.

And through my own laughter,
I hear someone whisper,
"You're already an outsider to everyone else."

Congitive dissonance.