When I was young I used to think that being an adult meant not having a bed time but I've come to realize that it means being in charge of my own bed time
And it also turns out that doesn't even scratch the surface of what being an adult really means

Being an adult means taking your medication every evening so you don't spiral in and out of depression and sever all stability you worked so long and diligently to obtain
It means drinking a bottle of wine and writing poetry by yourself on a Wednesday night just because it feels nice
It means breaking loose a little and nights out with your friends drinking and having fun, pretending you're still seventeen with no care in the world
It means being completely and utterly vulnerable and throwing yourself out into the world saying, "This is who I am, love me or leave me, but PLEASE just take me as I am!"
It means giving everything and everyone a chance
It means being so **** broke but still feeling accomplished because there is something so wonderful but so terrifying about freedom
It means frantically trying to figure out how you are going to pay your bills
It means working extra hours at work regardless of any leftover time or energy you might have
It means doing everything in your will to preserve that once constant and forever thriving creativity and innocence you had so much of as a child
It means trying to balance out being both ordinary and exceptional
It means realizing you can't escape participating in things you don't necessarily agree with, like paying taxes and getting up and going to that job every morning that you pretend to love
It means being self-sufficient and responsible, even if you don't feel fit to do so
It means telling your family you love them every single chance you get because you now realize how profound your love is for them and how much they truly mean to you
It means recognizing how important and wonderful your parents are, how much they really know, regardless of what you used to think when you were 16 or 17
It means acknowledging the fact that people will disappoint you but you simply can't blame someone for merely being human
But most importantly, it means realizing your own true beauty and purpose

For the first time in my entire life I can look in the mirror and see my body, my skin, my bones, as something charming and beautiful
I've never had a problem finding beauty elsewhere, whether it was in the world, in some small thing, or in someone else, but I could never seem to find it in myself
Until now
I love myself, my body, my mind
I see beauty in my being
I am able to find true beauty within
I look in the mirror and can wonder what my childhood self would think about me now
Is this what I imagined being an adult would look like?
But that doesn't matter because I love who I am now
Sure, I have my vices
And there is always something that I could be working on
But I am finally at home in my body
And it might have taken me 19 years to get here
But I am so happy

This midnight darkness has cast shadows over my thoughts and rain clouds over my heart. And I think the saddest moment of our lives arise when we come to realize and understand our forgetfulness.

i.
I don't remember how it feels to have the wind blow against my face as I race my way around fences and bushes just to get a "tag." I forgot the vivid rhythm needed to create the perfect snow angel on a winter's afternoon, or the taste of snowflakes on the tip of my tongue. I cannot recall the smell of chocolate cakes my mother used to bake in our old kitchen, nor reaching up for a slice with my seemingly short hair and small hands. Neither do I remember how it sounded when I used to race down the stairs on Christmas Day looking for Santa's treasures. As well as the bittersweet excitement whenever I lost a tooth. Not even the fresh smell of rain for I feel as if I've been stuck in the drought of my mind for the longest time. All of these things are things I used to love; used to look forward to, and now they've lost their fireworks and have only remained in my life as dying embers within the midst of time and fate. I've seemed to outgrow these memories as if they were light-up sneakers and childhood overalls. And that's what I'm scared of: somehow I've come to lose everything about me, becoming replaced with this new socially acceptable person. But how much pure emotion does this hold now that I've grown? Is this overpriced down-feathered pillow truly as comforting as the eight stuffed animals that once kept me company?

Everybody just seems to get tired of everything so they replace their miscellaneous junk, replace their belongings, their clothes, their friends - themselves. How have we become so detached from the things we've seemed to love with all our hearts? And this question always leads me back to you.

ii.
You weren't the smell of chocolate cake, or the taste of snowflakes. You weren't the feel of wind or the sound of Christmas - but you were close. Oh boy, were you close. But now it seems so hard to keep this shelf in my mind empty just for you when I know you do not belong there anymore. But I can't bear to think that you will become irrelevant to me for the years to come. One day, I will see you again and you'll look similar, smell similar, probably feel similar but I know just like every other ephemeral thing, you will be different from what you are now. And I don't know if, at that moment, my heart will crumble under the realization of our burned memories, or if I will go on numbly as if they never existed. Maybe, someone will even catch me looking your way and she'll ask if I ever knew you because me gaze seemed to imply to. Then I'll file through the memory cabinets in my mind trying to recall the feel of your lips
and the touch of your hand
and the light in your eyes
and smirk in your smile
and the swing in your step
and the sting in your voice
and the weight of your affection.... but nothing will be recalled. I will watch our black and white silent story play through my head, follow your stride as you walk away from my sight like the very last time I saw you, and I will long for some soft of feeling, similar to the mountain I possess now, but I'm afraid none of this will be remembered. I will stare numbly down your path, maybe even fake a smile, turn my attention back to her question and only have the heart to say

"I used to."

- g.d.

I looked at you and I knew I was not magnificent
but then you turned to face me
and your eyes convinced me otherwise
the way you looked at me so quizzically
attempting to figure out the patterns in my eye movements
and the slight shape my lips take
when I said "hello"
it's beautiful really
the way you set your jaw
when you concentrate

Have I never told you before?

you are so deep
and I don't think I ever want to reach the bottom
I would jump
I would fall
if I could find an edge
if I could only find an edge

of you

I asked the World, "What can I give?"
The World answered back, "Well, what do you got?"
I said, "Not much."
He said, "That'll do."
So I spit in his face and I gave it to you.

You tipped your  hat and extended your hand,
gracious and grateful and grand.
I said, sweet as honey, "You're my kind of man."
And I jumped in the back of your van.

Half lost, half found we tumbled around
the county the country the sea.
I stuck my head out the window and screamed to the World,
"And you tried to take this from me!"

The World bit his lip as he spit out his dip.
"You'll see what you've done soon enough."
"I ain't scared of nothin'!" I said, shirt unbuttoned,
"besides, I like it rough."

I woke with a start, a missed beat of the heart,
And I rose to look for a spell.
It was dirt and **** and I didn't miss it a bit,
until I noticed that you were long gone.

My heart hurt bad, but my pride hurt worse
and I turned to the World slow and crooned,
"I'll except it this once, but wait a few months,
and know I'll be gone again soon."

The World laughed, "That's true,
but you'll come home again, too."
I said, "Pride sure looks ugly on you."

He took a long sip of wine
and spit out the line:
"Well, loneliness suits you just fine."

Today it’s so hard to forget you
Yesterday pushing you away was so easy
Anger and disappointment had clouded my judgement
Insecurity and salvation methods my first haven
Yesterday the memory of you was unclear
Deep in my heart i am sure
That better than a good man
I had been found
A Queen in my own right
Lost and found and lost but got found
But now it seems i am lost again
Look at me
See me
Know me
My heart has not changed
So many words to say to you but
I am silenced
Chase me
Find me again
I want to be found by you
My one month, distant dream Knight
I am in still love with you

How should I recite my life?
Was it a full sentence
or was it parted in two?
Did it entail big words
or meaningless clichés
shouting carpe diem?
Did it have depth
or did length bare it out?
Did it trip on punctuations
or did it flow painlessly?
Which parts lingered on tongues?
What orders did it give?
Did it fade among greater
paragraphs or was it magnificent?
How should I recite my life?
Should I clothe it in borrowed
metaphors or should I simply
read it out loud, word by word,
stress the culminations, the loud parts,
give extra sound to the little words?
Was it a meaningful sentence?
Will it linger on and get carried
in the mouths of men?
Will it serve as a citation for
great living; or will it simply be
forgotten as the sentence ends,
the last syllable is whispered
and the full stop
is finally
engraved.

The rush of her skin and the rhythm of her breathing endlessly played in my head, relentlessly reminding me of the nervousness but perfection of that first night. The thought of her smile and the sympathetic tone of her voice sweetly synchronized with each rise and fall of my chest above the exhausted breaths I had taken.
The smell of her skin on that first night and the beautiful memory of her warm touch against the complexity of my aliveness left me cold and broken inside. Tears fall, but yet it still lingers on.
I could never forget how the sweet touch of her kiss awakened my lungs to a breath of life again, and I never wish to forget the sound of her warm, soft voice with tears in her eyes telling my deadened heart to beat again..And I laugh at myself as the tears roll down, listening to the shattering sound of the breaking in my heart. Knowing that I'd lost the chance to ever have a heart like hers, to have such a headstrong soldier fight for a soul so broken like mine again had me weak in the heart and my veins grew colder with each simple thought of it. I couldn't muster up the strength to find a simple smile to cover up the mess that had been made here, for I had loved a love I couldn't let to of. Each night I fall sleep with her beautiful, taunting memory on my ever so restless mind and all that lies within it. I awaken in an empty, cold bed as the blackened tears stain my face. My body remained still as my weakened arm outstretched to the edge of the bed searching for the warmth of her skin and the smell of her cologne on the pillows and sheets..I awaken only to find myself alone beneath the blankets in which we once exchanged body heat and the smiles that had finally become real, wishing her absence had been just a terrible dream.

My heart violently turns at the thought of always missing her, and yet I still need her..it's as simple yet complicated as that.
I'm sweetly broken, oh but babe...she was worth it. There isn't a time that I recall where she hadn't been worth it.