i want to be a child sometimes. i want to embrace life's experiences with an innocent smile and look upon others as though they were understood. i want to take back every sane thing i've said and just completely let go of everything that is keeping me from living my life as intense as i crave. because it's okay to not be okay. it is okay to want to change and be somebody else for a time; just promise me something:

don't let it overtake you, steal your soul, or trap your spirit.

you're beautiful, child, see the loveliness that rapidly grows. peace spreads like wildfire from your smile. joy is evident in your eyes; it demands to be seen.  pain, though felt, is NOT what defines you.  you have been remade, and i love you. i love you so very much.*


© Melissa Carlson 2015

My heart needs a lock;
Give my mind the key.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

please don't take to heart what that bully said to you when you were 14, when you were just learning to survive and he told you to die. and it's okay to cry. bend you might, but break not quite. you'll be alright.

tomorrow, if not tonight.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

books are our friends
they will never betray
or fade away
they will not leave
or walk away
they are here to stay

© Melissa Carlson 2015

i'll take a to-go cup
leave room for cream
let not the lid touch the counter
and a shot of caramel please.
i'll take the corner table
sit alone and read
no offense to your company
but i'd like you to leave.
with the sky to myself
and this coffee to-go
i'll write for a while
and then i'll go home.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

Dear Grandma,

I love you. So much. And I smiled so big when I opened my e-mail and saw that you had already replied. I read your e-mail to my mom; we laughed and smiled together. I'm glad that you and Grandpa can laugh while reading my writing. It makes my heart glad to know that what I have to say makes a positive and impacting influence on my readers.

On being careful to not dispose of items...you are so right, and I thank you, ever dearly, for the amazing, experiential advice. It makes me think of times I've been upset and ripped out pages I had previously written, all because of some stupid thing somebody may have said to speak death over me.

I doubt that I'll ever really understand what certain people mean when what they have to say to others is all but joyful and/or uplifting in any way. God knows, though, praise Him. I've been trying my best to speak a lot of life into my heart and soul. I had been super busy, and as a result, I hadn't had enough time to really sit and ponder the way I sometimes, negatively, judged those around me. I silently speak death over them, in reality, and to me, that is one of my most disliked qualities. People should love other people. Now, I want to add in, as a side note, that SPEAKING THE TRUTH IN LOVE counts as speaking life, and not death. I wish more of us humans were blunt and honest with ourselves, as far as telling somebody the very raw and complete truth. Nobody is ever going to get anywhere by being compliant their whole life. I feel so strongly about this because when I am down and not doing well, it DOES NOT help me to be told things such as,

"You'll be alright. Everything will be perfectly okay."

Lots of times circumstances stink, and when they do, it sure doesn't help me to hear somebody whisper that it'll be okay. I just need to be told that whatever I got goin' on, just kinda ***** at the moment. And maybe it will for a long time. But someday, I'll be glad to have had that experience, no matter how bad it might have been at that time. That's what I wish somebody would say to everybody going through stuff. Everybody needs somebody who will be life in the middle of his or her sadness.

Anyways, that's really inspiring about Green Mill, and how you were inspired to write what would soon be the prologue to your book. I really appreciate that; thank you for sharing your experience with me. It made me feel like I was really there, by the lake. I could almost feel the soft, cool breeze blowing my stray hair around. I could almost hear the little waves softly crashing to the rocky "shore." I love it when that happens, when writing becomes something I feel, and not just something I do.

I am so glad that you are alive, Grandma (and Grandpa). You are quite swell, and I mean it. I love you both so much.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

if tonight's your last
and yesterday's past
intimidates you or
relentlessly accuses you
of the things that
once enchanted you
and you take a slap in the face
you cut to the chase
there's no time to waste
but really you're stuck
you feel out of place
and the rhythm of the sorrow
drags into tomorrow
because you cannot forget
and there is abundant regret
draining from the scars
that you've tried to hide
that you've put aside
and in reality, your soul
IS TIRED
of waiting, of praying
of feeling like it's straying
you breathe, you sleep,
you live as if you
were not dying
you're still trying
TO BE OK
but you are broken and
you cannot cope
and all of your hope
has gone up in smoke
to where has your spirit flown?
LET GO
for the love of God, release
give it to the One you seek
to Him whom your eyes have not seen
in this moment, you are
FREED.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

the spiral takes place
in your heart
in your soul
and on your face

it'll knock you down
spit you out
twist your mind
and linger about

the spiral, what pain
the journey, the spaces
all these empty places
they leave you insane

unexpected interests
(un)desired love
unrelenting emotions
used to feeling numb

the affect is collateral
the hurting are told
handing out pieces
not meant to be sold

the spiral takes place
in your soul
and on the faces of the people
who see the pain you hold.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

I cried
Until the night died
And morning came to rise*

© Melissa Carlson 2015

if you thought you were the only one
to be silent in a noisy place
if you saw yourself as helpless
in a situation you couldn't face

if the days are long but your nights are fast
if you don't know how much longer you will last
if sometimes you see yourself as less
if your life causes constant, unrelenting stress

if you realize that you deserve more (because you do)
come crawling to me, i want to comfort you
i want to sit with you and sing along to acoustic covers by Tyler Ward.
i want you to be silent or to scream loud lyrics to your favorite song.
if you need to list off all the reasons you think you're not pretty, i will (unwillingly) listen...shortly after refuting every vile lie you have just spoken over yourself. you are pretty. and you are brave.

if you must tell yourself to stick it out and be strong
if getting out of bed to face the world seems so wrong
if nothing makes sense and you see no light
if your routine is a process of holding on tight

if your scars are reminders of why you can't sleep,
if you feel so high yet you're in too deep
if your home is not a place
and freedom has no space
if you are not afraid.

if you need me, i will be right here. and if you do not, i am still here.


© Melissa Carlson 2015

nm .mbvj

stop comparing yourself to other people. please? you are just fine, you're beautiful and i accept you. you've got to stop calling each other names and labeling each other based on the things that have been said to you. let the past lie. you're perforating your dreams. they'll die and you'll have nothing left to go after. i don't care how long it takes to assure you that your worth isn't ever going to be defined by what's been said to you. you animate the wildest sides of me. you should believe in you because i believe in you and you should too. stay you, but be happy and trust in the One who loves you every single day. even though you are in the condition that you are in. you'll be perfectly okay.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

Why* do they appear so mystified?
As if every little thing must be justified
Moved to fit inside their small box
And look away when their key couldn't unlock
What they aimed to achieve
Does it ever make you giggle
When people call you fickle
But they're the ones whose eyes are fixed
On an object not quite literally applicable,
Something regarded as abstract, typically unseen
You see: I am a metaphor
And people stare at me.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

For those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

Having an anxious soul is worse than pretending to have a patient face. Being someone you’re not will never change the fact that you are who you are. You will never be her, and you will never be him. If you respect yourself, the ones who care the most will hopefully follow suit and treat you better than the most beloved person that they have ever encountered. Life is always going to hurt, but it will only hurt as much as you let it hurt.

I am not yet who I am supposed to be.

I have a past; I have regrets.
And there are words that I'd love to take back.

Shame can take me places I wish not to be.
Those things that I have done come creeping back to me.

I feel like a child who's lost and alone. I never feel safe, I never feel at home.

My eyes are blind, can this be? I feel like a prisoner who won't be set free.

© Melissa Carlson 2015

she feels words like pictures that move
reads books solitaire with the afternoon
coffee on her tongue
she turns the page
sets her cup down
and marks her place

in her mind she tries to find
a single place where thoughts subside
and try she may
to drown her lies
only thing wet
her lonely eyes

© Melissa Carlson 2015

an excerpt from "Honey" by Andrea Gibson

"Jesus ******* Kennedy

Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are when you’re tripping
Literally tripping
I have never met anyone more clumsy
You walk into a room and turn every head when you crash to the floor
And I’m like ‘that’s my girl!"

Tonight.

I saw a woman walking with earbuds in--one earbud was in--while conversing over the phone with someone. Beauty overwhelmed her mortal body. A piece of her hair had loosely fallen from the right side of her scalp, and her blonde, beach waves blew in the wind.

Behind her was a man in a coral v-neck. He had blonde hair and the body build of a high school ****. Handsome. As the woman ahead of him leisurely strolled the streets of Minneapolis in her athletic shorts, which were outlined by gray stripes and dipped up in the middle of the side of her thighs, the wind seemingly spun the ****'s face 180 degrees. His eyes were awestruck and full of alive hope, wonder, and desire. Lust. What a picture.

If I was to write a poem
On the story of my life
Words would fill those pages
As the stars steal the sky.*

© Melissa Carlson 2015

is love a pat on the back;
                                                   a handshake exchanged?
                                                   is love a smile unseen;
                                                   a song to ease the pain?

                                                   is love meant to last on and on;
                                                   is it there to be true?
                                                   is it meant to stay strong;
                                                   is it for the soul who's blue?

                                                   is love so sincere as "i love you;"
                                                   is it as informal as "see you soon?"
                                                   is it misused or confused;
                                                   has it been very terribly abused?

                                                   if love has more than once abandoned you,
                                                   if love has more than one time rescued you,
                                                   if the one who said his love was true,
                                                   has not for long remembered you.

                                                   love is too casually thrown around;
                                                   and love is sometimes better left unfound.
                                                   the thing about love is that it's meant to last,                                                            ­                                                                 ­               
                                                   but so many times love loves too fast.
                                                   -mc//

© Melissa Carlson 2015

My tired eyes cry
My weary body lies
And why do my tears
Think they cannot dry?

Shaky hands and nervous throat
Exhausted heart, this stimulated soul
They ridiculously wait, day after day,
For a break from sorrow, a thing called hope.

How is it that I can live, but it is the hardest thing I ever did?

© Melissa Carlson 2016