I was a little girl once
lying back down on a scratchy old blanket
wishing on stars and listening
to coyotes howl at the moon.

Sometimes it's hard to know the difference
between a wish and a prayer
a hope and a dream
between life and loss.

Fairy tales are how girls get to sleep
Girls who sleep sweetly next to siblings; best friends' pictures scattered about the room
their world is safe and full of love

But I have no prince, no siblings, no daily phone calls, no pictures, no best friends, no sweet dreams.
What does that leave me?

     I stop to give a homeless man a taco and to ask him about life, love, healing, karma.
Frosty says I should stop by again sometime.
I smile

     The teal green hat I bought in Japan makes me look silly;
I put it on, grin at the girl in the mirror and play with the fuzzy ***** attached to the ear strings.

     Today I look up from my tv series to watch Madeleine in her favorite Madeline shirt, chatting with her friend while casually dusting our food storage.

     The cute girl who swipes IDs manages an awkward conversation upon my every re-entry to the caf --
Perhaps I shouldn’t have asked her sexuality for no apparent reason, or pretended to ***** in the dish room.

     My mother once broke her nose doing a pushup

     Upward facing dog.

This’ll do.

Tonight we’re watching chick flicks
two people finding forever
while you and me are
******* like bunnies.

Tomorrow I will drive home
and get drunk with a boy who wants to be
mine.
Tomorrow you’ll call your girlfriend
and make plans to share
dinner.

Tonight I ask you to be there for me
forever.
me – a girl who does not believe in forever
you – a boy who does
you answer, “I’ll try.”

but Tonight you’ve *** too much to stay awake
and Tomorrow we’ll be too busy to talk.

you are the only man I love
the only person I will let see me cry
the only person I say “forever” to

asleep.

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.

I was there,
in your shoes
walking over dirt
and picking out our favorite tree

life is hard but most days are worth living
today was not one of those days
tomorrow won’t be either

we held sturdy rope in our hands
the kind that’s permanent
the kind of knot that holds

sometimes you gotta admit defeat
some things will never be done
some days it’s just better to quit

friends and family will be upset,
but aren’t you supposed to live for yourself
shouldn’t dying be the same way?

we climbed our favorite tree
looked out over nature’s beauty
breathed clean smokeless air

you jumped
I stayed.

They say before you judge a man
you must walk a mile in his shoes
I was only there when you fell.

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

We have talked, tonight,
about the function of the subconscious –
whether it shapes my dreams
forgets your nights
clouds our judgment
makes mistakes,
or whether it is simply a figment
of the scholars’ imaginations
an out for the unexplainable
a possibility for a girl who has too many
answers.

I call to evidence the empty bottles
in your sacred hands,
the you that is trying to escape the frigid confines
of a strict upbringing.

I call to evidence my bowl of cherrios
tucked between burnt *******
the liquid courage that enables
the dripping of my secrets.

You are a lover of words,
a man who knows the simplicity of each syllable
and the power behind one’s expression,
but I find you a hypocrite
as you thank me for my story and do not realize
that I have not expressed
****.

You are exactly right,
the difference between recounting, reliving,
telling, communicating, and explaining
comes down to more than a metanarrative detail.

The words that you have studied
comfort you and frame our conversation
yet veil the greater truth.

You are a lover of emotion
the same emotion you fear is gay
that you have only discovered on your feminine side
which falls down your face in the middle of my narrative
and clenches your fists


You say you cannot sympathize empathize
or understand,
but maybe you feel.

It was nice to meet you.

This morning I woke up to live
got out of bed
breathed
felt
smiled

I felt the satisfaction of productivity
warm sun on my back during a
half smoked cigarette
the frustration of a roommate
the bitterness of a carbonated beverage
strength in my body
felt

today I live the first day of my life
live
life
and it feels good
I encounter
respond
let emotion be evoked
evoke.

today I let the world embrace me
today I am born

I am learning to be touched
Strong fingers massaging tension from my back
Warm hugs because we care
The playful acceptance of a high five
Our butts touching in tiny train seats as we sleep through the night

I am learning to be touched
To admire a man and wish he was family
To talk to a friend until it hurts
Reaching for memories filed away
I’m learning to write about it
To talk about it
To cry

Last night we sat with hot chocolate and tea
Each revealing his pain to help the others heal
Arguments about blood, love, family, caring
Teaching me the meaning of friends.
The world began to make sense
Held in the hands of those who care
Molded into a manageable crisis as I was
Sculpted into my own Winged Victory

This morning I took off my pants, changing clothes
I stood
Half naked in front of another
Speaking my nightmares, my fears, of my father
Fully naked in another sense

She says, “thank you for sharing”
She means, “I am touched”

There are some things you should tell a person
like when their shirt is untucked
or you like their hair
or when they’ve got something in their teeth.

There are some things that you should not say
like when someone looks fat
or they talk funny
or you don’t like their siblings.

And there are some things people just know
like when someone has good energy
or when they need to talk
or when you’re going to be good friends

But today you asked me to introduce myself
and I did not know how to say my name
or tell you I survived
or whether I should mention my lack of family
or if I should tell you why I sleep so much
and what my nightmares were last night
or what my father used to say
and where I was when my grandfather died
why my grandma loves that song
or why I am uncomfortable hot springing with someone I know
and why I don’t ride in cars

There are sometimes when you play it safe
follow the rules
reveal only enough
keep it to four lines

I lie awake at night
thinking of the past, the current, the future.
the “what if”s the “had been”s
each choice I made at each fork in the road
the loves and losses and lessons learned.

I mouth the words I dream of speaking,
feel the tears I cannot cry.
tossing and turning my body fights back
for all the times I didn’t object.
my heart struggles to remember
how we made it.
why we’re here.

I lie awake at night
bars of music crashing into assignments
above angry undertones a tragic melody
darkness traps my mind in consciousness
I know I think too much

“Let go.  Let’s sleep”