She
       had
              to
                  find
                         herself,
                                      but
              ­                              she
                                                  was
                                                         already
                                                                ­      there.

I wasn't always so easily discouraged.
I used to bristle with enthusiasm.
I glowed with it.
It didn't matter if the task was simple, or tedious, or daunting, or boring.
As though on rails, I slammed into each and every task with terrific force.

But I got older.
Things that used to come easily grew slippery.
What I used to do without thinking twice, I found myself over-thinking.
I threw the brake. I ground to a halt.
Finally, I became idle. A left-over husk of a kernel that's already been popped.
I drowned myself with doubts. Hypothetical situations that might never happen.
I lived in fear of what might go wrong.

So I began to watch everything go wrong, as though I was helpless.
I was no less able. I was no less compassionate.
But I had grown wary. Of what?
What was it that, out of nowhere, caused me to slow down?

I guess I looked down and realized that if I fell, I would not be getting back up.

When you're young, you have no worries, because nothing is relying on your success.
So you mess up a math problem. You'll get it eventually.
So you botch things with that cute girl who sits across from you. You're young, you'll get it.
Re-assurance, faithfully, unwaveringly. A safety line should I fall.
But I never really fell, did I? So why am I laying down like I have?

Get up.

Get up.

I worry about everything. I worry that I will fail.

I dread what comes, what I can't avoid. But time, and time, again, it comes, and I miraculously don't die when it hits, because I've been bracing for a train-wreck impact, a force that will really, truly, finally, definitely lay me flat for good.

I close my eyes, and brace. But the crash never comes. The silence that was continued to be.

I turn behind me, but there's no train there.

I'm starting to realize, with relief, (with horror), that maybe all I needed to do was step off the track.

I look down, and realize, with a first-creeping then-howling laughter that I was never on the track to begin with.

I look off where the track is. There's no train there, either. Maybe there never was.

Maybe there never will be.

They say you fall in love.
But you don’t just fall down,
Scraping your knees.
Love smacks you
Hard
Right in the face,
Leaving
A huge
Invisible
Bruise
All over
Your soul.

Let me start with a cliche: I love to write.
Let me edit it: I love writing
Lying on the floor
Truths in my head
Think
Of me
Baggy Pajama Pants

There is no other boy like you,
Such brilliance and warmth you hold,
There is no other human,
I'd rather unfold.
My heart cries out for your love,
That only you carry,
I breathe the same air as you,
Whom I'd gratefully love to marry.
You understand me better than my peers,
And greatly inspire me to think open-mindedly,
You've proven in many ways the respect you have,
Speaking and acting both beautifully and kindly.
You were conspicuously present at my tennis match,
A day I'd never forget,
My dreams magically became reality,
Cutting out everything, as both our eyes met.
Nothing can ever surpass the beauty you were born with,
That appears both inside and out,
For you are the only boy out there,
I constantly dream about.