it was your birthday yesterday
mom reminded me
like it hadn’t been the only thing on my mind all day
she said she couldn’t believe that it’s been so long
but it felt like i had just hugged you yesterday
i didn’t want to believe it
i don’t believe it
and i’m not sure that i ever will
so i set up a number that leads to no where
because i wondered what it would be like to call you
to leave you a message
to tell you how my day was
and i think of you
whenever i see a flannel shirt
when i eat peaches
when i smell fresh flowers
and sometimes when i want to feel close to you
i’ll go into my spare room, open the closet
and put on your army green police jacket that you left
it even still smells like you
i was too young then
i was too young to be sorting through an entire house of things so the entire family could decide what i would be able to remember you by
but even now
i don’t need your things
i remember you as clear as the blue skies you loved
it would just be nice to have more of you around
but i know you’re there
i look up at the photos of you in the living room every single day and smile
you’re gone
but i know you’re here

twelve years gone
but i can still feel you all around

my sister walked in the door
a grim face and no words
i’ve never seen her like this before
she sat beside me, dragging her feet on the cold linoleum the entire way,
three cushions down
and stared blankly at the tv
“i’m really tired”
she says she only got an hour of sleep
i didn’t know what to say
i had seen the news

i could feel the sadness
it poured out of her and sept into anything in its path
i can feel my heart slowly breaking
i don’t think she noticed
she lays down with a blanket
and closes her eyes
she’s not sleeping, but i didn’t know how to help
i had seen the news

i told her
go sleep in my room
go get a snack
go home for a while
but she never listens to me
i just wanted her to be okay
i didn’t really expect this time to be different, after all
i had seen the news

she didn’t sleep
she didn’t eat
she didn’t go home
she just lay there
in silence
for hours
i kept thinking about the news

i worried all day for her
and when she finally went home that night
i still worried for her
i cried for hours
all i wanted was to help her
i didn’t know how to help her
all i knew is that
i had seen the news

when i write
i always find myself wishing that i wrote like Lana del Rey,
making even the simple things seem extraordinarily grand, to be able to glamorize what is sometimes a painfully normal life
i want to touch someone's skin
and write about it in a way that makes someone feel as though they're touching velvet
i want the kiss we shared
to linger on someone's lips like the taste of their favorite chapstick
i want to write about love
so that in turn someone will lust for what i already have
i want to write about my years of pain and isolation in a way that makes someone want to rip their own heart out and offer it up to me on a platter made of shimmering, sterling silver
which, of course
i'd have to refuse
because what would a writer be if surrounded by love and admiration they knew was real, that they didn't doubt for even a second
although, the sensuality of the circumstance might be tempting
an artist without eternal, incessant suffering
is merely a wolf in sheep's clothing
or a fool who thinks he's a king
they simply aren't built to last

i want to write about my mid-night thoughts and for someone to think: Lana would be proud

today i walked west
but only for a couple of minutes before i reached the old church that i've lived next door to practically my entire life
it's from the '60s, and as soon as you walk in a sign is still hung in the entry that reads
"Colored Church" with a cross underneath
i always loved it here
it's small
cozy
with a ringing sense of familiarity
much reminiscent of the people who gather here every Sunday
really,
it's been my quiet place for a while
somedays i come just to bask in the uninterrupted silence that it offers
but most, i sit at the old, nearly crumbling piano that's slightly out of tune
at the very front
and i'll just play for hours
simply to get lost in the echos of the pitch that's just barely off, but that's not unlistenable
it's become somewhat of a sanctuary to me
and i'm probably crazy to seek solace in a place whose very nature, more times than not, tends to frighten me
but maybe everything that i fear
is what ultimately will bring me the most joy

at least that's what i will let myself believe

i wish i hadn’t let you go as quickly as i did
because
i think you would like me better now
when i tell stories, i don't exaggerate things
and i don’t act like a child
so much has changed
nothing has stayed
but i think that it’s okay
because
i’m not the same girl that you knew when you left
but really, neither are you
i know everything was for the better
but, i just think you’d like me better now

and i know it’s bad
that even if you’re taken
i will still want you