I awoke to the realization that today was my nineteenth birthday
I laid there for a moment recalling how I felt when I awoke on my eighteenth birthday
Nothing felt out of place,
nothing in the air had been charged,
and nothing in the air begged me to inhale it more graciously, as if my ascent to real adulthood required more oxygen
As one does upon their birthday, I reflected upon the previous year
I ruminated on the places I'd seen-
lakes of the midwest, dark hallways with strangers I was supposed to know, funeral homes I wished didn't exist
The places I'd waited-
the concrete carpet with friends for our favorite band, the stoplight of a town 400 miles from home, and calmly on a bench to call off a relationship with a guy I had just met
The people with whom I'd shared my voice-
fellow feminists, 5 year olds with autism who just wanted a piggy back and a hand to steady them on the hiking path,
my dad, finally
The places I hid my voice-
my brother's fraternity, a breakup text dripping with humor
I dwelled for a brief second on the men and women I had exchanged my touch with,
and with whom I had woken up without
As I flipped on my stomach
I could feel my swollen brain, gorged with knowledge, begging me to do something with it
I looked at the polaroids I had hung above my bed
and comfortably remembered the unrequited love
I had come to halting terms with, but now rested with like cozy pillow under my stomach
I looked at the faces of  friends whom I would now consider long distant friends. I wasn't sure if things would settle with them in the same way they had for 3 sensational months of summer
I shuddered at the toxins I had so willingly placed in my body,
pills, alcohol, drugs, unnecessary self-criticisms
I considered my weight-
a number that had risen and fallen due to over-eatting on the weekends and the daily under-eatting to compensate for the liquid sugar from the night before
I saw pictures of my hair, a foot longer than it is now and considered all I had put it through
I thought about my brothers
I wondered what they were thinking about when they woke up one year older
I do not feel older, I do not feel wiser.
I feel fine.
I am nineteen and I feel fine.

I like getting high and acting over adventuresome with my friends.
I like walking to class the morning after, ready to learn something ******* mind blowing.
I like dressing in black see-through clothing and then dressing well for that all-too-important first date.
I like getting drunk and making out with someone I  may or may not care about but then walking home with the ones I truly love when it's all said and done.
Being alone, reading and writing, or pulsing to a drumbeat from our favorite bands... All of it. That is what I like.
Because I'm 18, I don't owe you ****, but I owe **** to myself. And I won't let that change.

i don't know if you knew this but you deserve better.
you don't deserve the constant criticism.
if i remember correctly you have worked so hard to get where you are now.
you are the one who ran after the musician because you liked his shirt and stumbled to him to tell him that.
you have ripped tights because you fell too hard but didn't want to say goodbye to them
you like to be alone all too much, but it's okay.
you give yourself to people and feel selfish when you don't
you feel suffocated.
you are being suffocated.
if you're cold you pretend you are not
you should not
reluctantly hand yourself over
this isn't a  war you need to be a part of
this isn't a competition you need to win

we sat in a waterless pool,
the shattered leaves gathered in disorder at its peeling concrete bottom.
the white walls laced with chaotic lines led us to believe that our feet had created those spidery veins reaching the length of the pool
a rufescent glow graced our cheeks and the chill was welcome so long as we sat side by side
it was comforting
sitting in a place that wasn't exactly what it was supposed to be.
lounging in a place usually inhabited in warmer months by children with far less worries than we
we heard calls coming from up the road and knew it was time to scale the fence again

I look for you but all I can find is a vacant field.
The grass and the sky made a sempiternal promise,
so where have you gone?
The aubade we engaged in was slow and sweet, much like the dew collecting on  your petals.
This morning I hear no euphonious song below.
I suppose I'll keep listening for you.
Stalwart in pure affection.

Dear 13 year old me,
You are no longer sitting in your bathroom imagining your life as an 18 year old.
Instead,  you are 18 sitting in your dorm room.
Did you imagine it like this?
This is a reminder that in 5 years you dyed your hair 5 different  colors,
lost friends you thought would be with you always,
and started University 8 hours from your hometown.
Within those short 5 years you managed to hurt your family repeatedly,
and then attempt to fix what you'd broken.
you discovered your passions, learned a few things about love, and
often times forgot to speak your mind.
When you read this next you may be 20, or 31.
You will think differently at that time, God I hope you do.
Widen your horizons, your perspective.
Please travel, and love even if you don't know how;
imagine things again. Don't be scared but take precautions.
Try and love your family. Please try,
for me.
Dye your hair, pierce things without letting your mom see.
And just please, please try to be happy.

we live in a place where the streets are consistently renewed with black tar and the people smell as comfortable as they live.
there are soft clean-cut beds as well unkept lawns
people hardly dare venture into for fear of revelation.
an entirely new sense of being and worth can be
renewed from a walk between the skyscrapers.
life is hardly disrupted unless the upheaval is directed towards a reckless teenager in search of a great thrill.

you are a four dimensional box
i memorize every edge and line and yet, I still get lost in your doors the second I enter your maze of a mind.
the transparent colors that seem to
transfix to the walls mystify and astound me at every turn.
i know everything and then I take one step closer and all
knowledge glides to the floor in one fowl swoop.
and yet, I welcome it.
the heavy enticements pull me in with such graceful force,
I could hardly imagine not greeting the boxes
and falling in

physically ,we were so starkly contrasted it was almost laughable.
it was as if someone had designed us as opposites,
and set us next to each other just so we could feel each other's foreign glow.
conversation between us was stop and start…however,
the eye contact remained steady.
my eyes struggled to break his fixed stare.
i just wanted to look- to look at his expressions, his brown eyes.
our compatibility compartmentalized into two sections; enjoying each others company, with all the similarities and the attention we both craved
and secondly, with longing.

i looked for traces of your presence everywhere-
in the bathroom,
in a dish left carelessly in the sink,
in a fold in the cushion of the decrepit couch.
i looked under the kitchen sink  a few times
but the place i spent the most time,
the place where i tried so hard to remember,
was under the stars on the blanket of green.

If i could write a novel on your skin with my ink jet eyes i would
If i could direct the wind that carries the ashes of my cigarette to ignite some unbeknownst light in you i would
If i could point out the cracks in the pavement and ask you to walk with me i would
And if you if you wanted to count the distance from your house to mine we could
If you wanted to play house, pretend we could handle the falling sand, keep the reflection intact,
I would forget each grain; the dirt would pour an emerald glass pool and we could take a dip in its dissolving lust
Take a dip in the dimming lights and only come up for air when youre ready to look me in the eyes /

she's that girl you see sitting at the table, reading, drinking, and breathing
she's that girl that you will look at and possibly consider coming over to talk to
but you won't.

she's that girl who doesn't have a whole lot to say but can write for hours.
but you won't see the recorded thoughts,
or the songs she'll sing in her car when she drives away
while you're unsatisfied with the jolted conversation

you're that boy who will be too nice for her.
whose silence will remind her of everything she tries so hard to avoid but can't.
so,
she will avoid you.
and your formalities and chivalrous ways.

stop trying
for there's nothing left  for you to save

Happy birthday, Dad.
You're …. 54, 55, 56?
I think I'm still jealous that you get to share your birthday with the earth.
I think I'm still a little sad that I never asked you if you enjoyed that.
I don't know why I am talking about you like you're gone; when you're only 17 steps down the stairs in your arm chair with the news on your lap and a glass of indonesian tea on your  left.
I walked by you and you were standing there and I almost hugged you.
Almost.
You were proud that I listened to Etta James.
That made me beam but I didn't let you see it.
So many people take my light from me.
I think the only place that I can go to rekindle that light,
is the notion that maybe one day you won't be disappointed in me.
Or my lack of ability and motivation  in school.
Or my lack participation in this family.
Or the notion that I won't be scared of you, scared of everything anymore.
Scared of loving people and then putting too much of myself into that person because I don't know how to love properly.
I didn't even know how to breath properly.
I had to go to a doctor and they had to tell me to take deeper breaths because I wasn't getting enough air.
Ever.
My breaths were shallow, and guarded, and hesitant.
I have invested hope in the day I won't exercise for an hour and a half every day for a week straight until my body  can no longer function properly.
That I won't take a long shower, with water too hot and knees pulled up to my heaving chest.
Or maybe I won't drink too much and try to feel something with someone.
Or even stop tanning because I am literally burning from the inside out.
Maybe that way people will see how I truly feel on the inside.
Burnt out.
Tired, fatigued. Unworthy.

silly string and laughter
4:45 in the morning
we watched the sun yawn and arise from it's slumber,
greeting the earth
surrounded by the smells of the lake and the **** exhalations.
25 degrees.
fog drifted aimlessly but so purposefully across the glassy water
6:50 A.M.
on the way to scrambled eggs, hash browns, and good people.
i'm 18 now.

his eyes analyzed her body,
starting from the plateau of her arm to the innocent bend of her elbow.
the memorization process began,
the freckles, the bumps, the curves and grooves.
his world started to unravel before his fingertips.
she was becoming his world.
the concept of time was no longer relevant,
only the knowledge that she loved him as much as he loved her
mattered to the tick on the wall

I don't know how much more I can offer.
Or how many pieces I have left to give.
I used to think being alone was better than being with someone and disappointing them…
But now it's me who is disappointed.
I don't want to be alone, but that's where I am headed.
Constantly slipping away.
Constantly falling back into the old pattern,
of not opening up.
Putting up the wall.
Sounding the alarm when anyone tries to break in.
I'm tired of falling asleep.

I feel like I'm stuck in a world I created for myself.
"A Prison by my own design"
Except,
I lost the directions,
I don't know my own way out.
I was placed here by grayish hands
and a convincing smile.
I kept trying to look up,
but every time I did I saw the same convincing smile with the same words pursed on their lips...
"This is normal, honey"




So I stopped looking up.