I need you to know:
every emotion,
every thought
because maybe if you hear it all
then the pain might disperse around each and every word
so the impact doesn’t feel like a shot to the chest
and I am sorry.

I love you.
How do you need to hear the words,
“but I am not in love with you anymore?”
How do I tell you that you’re my best friend.
I want you, need you in my life
but I think I’m being selfish?
I want you but not in the way that you want me
and what if that destroys you?
I want to protect your heart like my own
though you no longer hold it
and I am sorry.

When my therapist told me that I was already done from the looks of it,
I told her I would give anything to be in love with you like I’m supposed to be.
That’s who I am.
No.
I guess that’s who I was.
The girl who fell in love with her knight in shining armor
pulling her out of the black hole that was her own mind,
she no longer exists.
I am not her though she still lives in me.
The girl who fell in love with you would have taken this as a chance to draw in red,
but the girl I am now knows to wait only an hour and the yearning could be gone
though she still craves the silver poison fusing to her skin.
The girl who used to live in the recesses of my mind thought she could only live for you
but the girl holding the pen now knows she writes her own story and can live for herself.
My darling, you taught me how to live,
you breathed life into the caverns of my chest.
I never want to hurt you like I have been hurt
and I am so sorry.

Is it fair to tell you that I am not in love
but I believe with all my soul that if we are each other’s forever’s
then a few short months won’t matter.
I know it.
But I need this time to decide who I am without defining myself using your name.
I go off to a world filled with drowned out voices inside of a world built with books
while you are in a movie filmed between the bricks moved by your brothers before you,
served with orders to fulfill only more orders.
While I kiss the shoes of briefcase holding royalty,
you avoid eye contact with the gaze in front of your sweat drenched face.
I can’t tell you this because you used to say that you would come back for me,
so who will you return for if I’m not there?
I am so scared,
and I am sorry.

And now there’s a guilt weighing on my chest like I’ve never felt
and I think I may be bringing the black hole back myself so you can be my knight again
because maybe if I hate myself,
more love will be reserved for you.
And maybe that’s the reason I want to pick up this flame
and hold it next to my flesh to feel the pain of being burned by what you love.
And maybe it’s the reason I crave the cool, punishing preciosity of steel.
I know it now.
When I’m sad, I’m unbearable to be around
but when I’m happy, I don’t need you.
The trick is-
I want to need you,
which I guess means that
I
want
to
be
unhappy.
And I am sorry.

I don’t know how these words help you
except to show that I need to be alone.
I’m the problem
and problems are meant to be isolated and conquered.
I think there’s something broken inside me
so that I cannot love properly,
and I am sorry.

I want you to be my forever but for some reason I know that forever doesn’t start right now
so what do I tell my right now when our future seems conditional
only upon who we will grow to be in this next season of our lives?
And what if I never get to hold my forever
because these unsure hands held on too tightly to you?
I am so confused,
and I am sorry.

I’ve always clung to justice
but how is it fair to break your heart
when I am only breathing because you restored a beat to my chest?
I don’t know how to cushion these words but
we owe it to the people we will be in a short time to give them the best chance at love
and a life they couldn’t dream of now.
And I am sorry.

They look at me as if I've lost my mind when I tell them what I've been doing.
And maybe I did lose myself somewhere between deadlines and sleepless nights,
but honestly why can't they see that I'm better now?
I chose between two evils, yes-
smoking
or suicide.
Now,
which one is really the devil?
Their disappointment cuts into me when I see their eyes because I truly believe that I am happier now.
Isn't that what matters?
Isn't that more than what I had before- nothing?
I won't say that I'm close to okay but between
a pipe
and a blade,
there's really no choice.
I choose my poison but at least it's better than the pills I took as I tried
to drift to sleep and forget the world,
to stop seeing the scene that played out in my head of a peaceful face and a pool of red.
So what's the problem?
I'm still a straight A student,
I still play a sport,
I still have a job,
I still have a social life.

Why do they keep looking at me as if I lost my mind?
I think I'm finally finding it when the smoke trails upward.

November 21st, 2014
will forever be in my heart.
It was his birthday
and
it
was
perfect.
I got to spoil the love of my life
(my favorite hobby).
I got to drive him around to get his free drinks
and watch him be so awkwardly adorable because he wasn’t all that good at lying when the drinks were for me.
I got to walk around the pet store as we picked out fish that we wanted someday
together.
Simple things.
But it couldn’t have been any better.
He is perfect.
And he’s mine.
Forever,
I hope.

We went to dinner with his family
and I had a strange feeling.
A feeling of happiness and belonging
as rare and impossible as finding someone to love me-
what seemed to be a one in a million chance.
His family is real.
It’s messy and silly and a pain in the *** and sometimes broken
but it’s real.
It’s what I never had.
Or what I wasn’t old enough to comprehend when I did have it.
Family.
It’s my most secret desire.
The one that calls to me from the deepest reaches of my soul,
the crevices of my heart that see as much light as the dark side of the moon.
Hidden away so it cannot be taken before I hold it in my hands.

I had no idea where this poem would go.
But I know now.
It’s his birthday,
and with only eleven minutes left,
I know he’s giving me the more worthwhile gift-
the chance to be a part of something.

He doesn’t understand how broken I was.
How I wanted to be somewhere else,
anywhere else.
How I wanted to be someone else,
anyone else.
How I wanted to sleep endlessly because only while being unconscious were things okay.
How I wanted nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
I didn’t even want to be okay.
I just wanted it to be over.

Well, that’s a lie.
I wanted something.
I wanted everyone else to be okay.
I wanted to take away their pain and watch them flourish.
I was torn between thinking it was selfish to leave because someone might miss me
(a remote chance at best though)
and thinking it was selfish to stay and force them to watch me die a little every day.

Everything was torn and fractured and incomprehensible.
I was a vase shattered into tiny pieces and I couldn’t bear to have anyone cut their feet on my rough edges.
What I didn’t realize was that maneuvering around my broken pieces was just as difficult,
just as exhausting.

So I’m trying a little bit harder now.
No;
that’s a lie too.
I’m trying harder than I ever have.
I’m trying to show him what needs to be shown-
the dark pictures that stalk me in my dreams.
I'm trying to voice what needs to be uttered-
the twisted thoughts that haunt my waking hours.
Oh, my perfectly imperfect love,
I am trying.
And I think,
I think I am growing to be so drastically
better
but I am terrified,
almost to the point of paralysis,
to fall again.

Him and her,
He and she,
Fell together into each other guarded hearts.
He loved her
and she loved him.
But sacrifices had to be made
and who would it be that sacrificed themselves?
The trick,
the real unfortunate fact,
is that they both sacrificed themselves.
They became who they thought the other needed them to be.
And in this selfless act,
each lost themselves and the love with which they first acted on.
He was no longer what she needed and she was no longer what he needed.
In this selfless act of snuffing out their own selves,
they killed the love that they first snuffed for.
And that tragedy,
that could be the end.


(but it wasn’t, she is thrilled to say.)

For the group that is notoriously almost synonymous with
lost or troubled.
For my people-
the poets and the lost.

For my friends who can’t seem to speak with
eloquence,
yet pour out their soul on paper,
who spell out their heart in ink.

For anyone who uses a pen as their medium
and words as their art form.
For those whose blood turns to ink
or words on a bright screen piercing through the dark.

For those whose eyes glaze over as their minds furiously enact a story
or piece together just the right phrasing.

For those that are only okay and constantly exhausted.
For those that mutter, “I don’t think I can,”
or “I’m just tired.”
For those with a firm grip on insanity and caffeine.
For those who make plans but rarely follow through.

For those who too often hear,
“Stop worrying,”
“It’ll be okay,”
and “I don’t know how to help.”
Or “You have to let it go,”
“Just go with it,”
and “It doesn’t matter.”

For those with tired eyes, blank faces, and rare, genuine smiles.
For frazzled insomniacs or narcoleptics.
For those who laugh too loud but often stay silent.

For those huddled in blankets in bedrooms,
in corners observing the outside world.
For those who love small settings
and avoid large gatherings like the plague.

For the worriers and the wanderers seeking to find themselves
in a perfect combination
of letters.

For the groups that seem to go together
like a typewriter and frustration;
or a pen and paper.

For my people-
the poets and the lost.


~SES

I used to think my thoughts were complicated but now I realize,
if i could capture them in a pen and transfer them to paper,
then they weren't at all.

I was just young and foolish, not complicated.
But now,
well now I'm always at a loss for words.
Now,
now is when my is chaotic and complicated.

Now I can't even adequately envelop any aspect of my pain and my confusion.
No.
Now is when it's complicated.

-a silly girl who finally grew up and learned to be tired and helpless

What will you be doing?
The unknown has always been the monster under my bed.
So I ask again,
what will you be doing?
I need to know so that we can keep this love
alive.

You’ll be off and you might not be able to tell me where.
You’ll be off and you might not be coming back.
You’ll be off building things up,
or blowing them up.
That is your life.

I need to drive up to a high cliff.
I need to get as close to God as I can
and I need to ask him,
“Will I be with this boy when he’s off fighting for me, for our country?
God please tell me because I need to know how to prepare my heart.
You gave me the gift of planning,
now let me use it.
Do I need to plan for heartbreak,
for endless worry that eats me alive during the day,
for death?
Do I need to plan for him not wishing to come back?”

You’ll be off god knows where but I’ll be here.
I’ll be in a library studying
or in my room trying to catch my breath
or in the gym pretending that each stride brings me closer to you.
Yes I’ll be here finishing my last few years of school just so I can call myself a doctor.

But please dear boy, stay alive.
Find the will to stay alive.
Stay alive for me and for your mother.
Find the will or I know that I will lose you.
Do not make me counsel myself over a wounded heart and a shattered hope.
Please dear boy, don’t make me live this life alone,
you know how hard it’s been
for both of us.

You’ll be off god knows where.
What will you be doing
as I put my life on hold waiting for you to find your way back
to me?

I am so desperately tired of not feeling good enough.
I'm tired of not making you happy to the fullest extent but honey,
I don’t even know how to make my own heart beat with joy.
I crave worthiness like it’s the blood pumping through my veins.
I want to feel pretty.
I want to think to myself “I did that well,”
but no.
That’s never what I think and it’s never what I feel.

I work my body until I’m sweaty and dizzy
but I still don’t like what I see in the mirror.
I hold off on food because I think a few less calories may just do what I want them to do.
I work my mind until I can no longer sleep because there are no cracks for calm to fit in.
I hint to you that things aren’t okay because I want you to tell me that I,
me as I am,
am good enough,
but you just do not understand that.

So here I am, left crying into a pillow until my throat is too hoarse to talk
and my teeth won’t stop chattering
and my hands won’t stop shaking.
And eventually, if I can, I take a blade to the person I hate.
I punish my tormentor until she can no longer stand.
And then I make her look in the mirror so that the cycle can start all over again.

Please show me that I'm precious so that I can look at a blade without craving its touch.
Show me you love me as I am so that I can stand tall and not hide a thing.
Show me I am worthy so it won’t start all over again.

Teach me how to love myself so I can love you without abandon.

Nothing seems to feel real anymore and nothing seems to make sense anymore,
but I know that I need you to keep believing in me,
I need you to keep me breathing.
I know that I lived through junior year because of you,
even though you can't comprehend how much you helped me.
When me friends dropped everything and ran away
(or maybe I took everything from their hands and chased them away),
I still had you.
Sometimes I don;t know if the two of us are wrong or right,
forever or temporary.
But as of now, you,
my dear,
are my cornerstone
and my guiding star
and I know how pathetic that sounds,
but it's true.
I need you and that won't change anytime
soon.

I used to fall asleep every night with only a few things on my mind:
"I don't want to do this anymore"
and
"maybe I'll get in my car and just keep driving."
But those thoughts don't take over my mind anymore
and that is such a relief because it means that  I am no longer directionless.
Be aware,
I still have a wanderlust deep in my soul that pulls me towards all the beautiful corners of the earth.
The difference is-
I don't want to wander them alone,
I want to travel them with you.

I know where I need to be going,
and it's towards you.
I know where I need to be,
and it's in your arms.
I know who I love,
regardless of the difficult times,
and it's you,

and it's terrifying.

We are all so
hopelessly,
and painfully
lost.
Maybe I’m wrong
and there’s a few exceptions.
But this is what I have seen.

We all have our faults.
Our fatal flows.
Our hamartia.
And yet,
they are all so beautiful.
I have come to believe that our greatest weakness
is often our most redeeming quality.

See him over there?
He has some anger issues and lacks control.
Oh how it gets him in trouble.
But you know what else it does?
You always know what he’s thinking
and he will defend his friends and his ideals with an uncanny ferocity.

See her?
She’s shy and maybe a little insecure.
But guess what?
She is gorgeous
and if she knew how gorgeous she was,
I think I would hate her.
That shy insecurity contributes to a quiet, humble beauty.
I don’t know a single person who dislikes her.

So be proud of those flaws.
Show them off.
Think of them in a different light
because they may just be what saves you.

They start with,
"Things could be worse."
But then they stutter when they realize
that didn't help
at all.
"But it's going to get better too,
don't you worry."

You keep hoping things will get better
but eventually they just never do.
You know that you could be so much worse off
but you'd almost take that over this.
This period of waiting it out that seems to drag across the calender
with each check that your mother puts across the days.
And you think maybe this is normal but then you picture yourself lying breathless
and trace your arm down to your fingertips where there lies pill bottle
and you know,
now you know that his isn't normal and this isn't healthy
but no one believes you so where does that leave you?
It leaves you alone
and I guess that is how things get worse.
Because eventually people give up trying to convince you that nothing is wrong
and they walk (or run) out of your burning life to save themselves from your fire.
So time to accept whatever comes your way so that another person doesn't walk right out.
Fake smiles
and practiced laughs.
We all need to learn them when things indeed do get worse.

You see I think I was graced with a certain kind of unfortunate wisdom
because I learned far to early a universal truth.
That truth is,
they lied.
It does get worse.

I am from cat clocks with batteries long since run out but never fixed like so much else
that we don’t have time for,
from piles of miscellaneous things we didn’t know if we were allowed to throw away because
Mother had a tendency to keep everything on hand
(even if those objects were buried far beneath more objects).
I am from movie stacks taller than me with box sets of things like “The West Wing” and “Psych” and “Star Wars” and “Indiana Jones.”
I am from the big blue house on the corner with the red double doors that were recently replaced,
the house with a creepy, old feel during the late hours when the shadows fall in ominous shapes
and twists and turns that always confuse new guests.
I am from the two trees that grew along with my brother and sister but not with me as
we never planted mine because I have always been the different one,
and the grand old trees in the backyard that blocked an aerial view of our property
as well as we shield ourselves.

I’m from Tim Allen at Christmas
(but brother always skips the last two)
and faces that could have been carved from the same model.
From Ken and Hilarie and Judy and Howard and adopted sisters.
I’m from volleyball with a rope tied between the sibling trees during blackouts
where Mommy dominated because after all, she had her athletic days too.
(I think this may have been my favorite family memory)
I’m from spontaneous slurpee or desert runs with the siblings
(I remember being so proud once I could finally be the one to drive us),
and from binge watching shows as a family
(one summer, nights were spent watching “The West Wing” and balancing our dinner plates).
I’m from “Chronicles of Narnia” played on loop during long car rides.
I am from strolls in empty halls past wheelchairs smashed up against the walls.
I am from the transition from “parents” to “father and sister.”
I am from welcoming nieces and nephews into our “family” whom I have vowed to protect
because precious things often get broken.

I’m from “is your homework done?” and “don’t forget to feed the cats”
and memorized bible verses recited on Fridays
while wearing dresses because that’s how things were at private schools.
I’m from unspoken words and seething anger buried beneath the surface.
I’m from little Medford, Oregon hidden away in a valley
and faraway Norway and England whose roads I long to travel.
I am from scrambled eggs and hashbrowns when I got home late from practice
(I think that’s where my sleeping patterns first went wrong),
and begging Daddy to make pancakes or French toast because that is my comfort food.
From the lucky family members that have had the chance to travel and instilled a wanderlust deep in my soul
because they got to see France and Haiti and Air Force bases sprinkled in countries I wish I saw stamped on my passport
(if I had one).

I am from secrets and lies because I was never taught an alternative,
after all my grandfather doesn’t even know how to spell his daughter’s name.
I am from disbelief when no one from that side of the family showed to the funeral.
I am from broken relationships I am too scared to repair
because I never learned that taking chances was necessary to life.
From pictures mostly packed away somewhere unknown to me
like so much else.
I am from the unknown
(that is why plans have always been my comfort and I have never liked to hear “just go with it”).
I am from the fear of being alone because I learned far too early that no one is permanent or promised.
I am from a conditioned fear that taught me to be afraid of the nights because everything gets worse then.
I am from nights of contemplating “is it really worth it?”
I am from stress and anger turned into blood.
I am from hearts turned bitter.
I am from selflessness because don’t you know that everyone else is so much more important?
They have so much more to give and so many more smiles to smile.

I am from “it’s going to be okay”
(I hate that phrase now)
and “she didn’t abandon you.”
I am from strategically placed clothing
and tear-stained pillows
and perfected lies when they are needed.
I am from quiet sobs at night
and pencils thrown across the room.
I am from night drives where I am tempted to maybe find myself a place for a nice accident
(but then again, this family already has bad experiences with car accidents).
I am from looks of pity and the worried glances of friends.
I am from “no, I’m just tired” because I don’t know how to explain
an exhaustion that numbs your soul and wears out your body and restricts your heart.
I am from pill bottles hidden in my room because if I can’t fix myself,
maybe they can.
I am from a walk on the beach with a blade in my hands while my friends slept in the truck.
I am from a moonlight hike to a cliff that I should have jumped off of
(and if it was just a little higher, I think I would have)
because everyone would have had it easier without me.
I am from “I am so sorry”
to “I’ll try to be better”
and “you deserve more” when I fail to do so.

I am from all of this and more.

Life is an ocean, I would say.
What's that phrase?
Oh yes, "it comes and it goes."
Sometimes its waves rise you up,
and sometimes they plunge you down.

Life is an ocean, I have come to believe.
I for on have always been drawn to it
while simultaneously being the one waiting on the shore
crippled in fear.
Darling, stare into the beauty
but don't let it feel you,
that beauty goes deep
and dark
and dangerous.
It's ancient and mysterious
and out of anyone's realm of understanding.
Such things should not be trusted.

Life is an ocean, you see.
Look to the horizon
and strain your eyes trying to make it all clear.
We can only see but a fraction
of the enormity we call the sea.
We think of it as ours,
but I truly think it belongs to no one.

Life is an ocean.
Some drown
and some lucky ones sail on through with Peter Pan at the helm
and Tinker Bell on their shoulders.

I'm not scared to die anymore,
I'm scared I'll make it out alive.
I don't want to do this anymore.
I want to back out.
I want to put in my two weeks notice.
It hurts so much.
It hurts to wake up.
It hurts to stand up.
It hurts to speak up.
Life is too long.
I just want it to be over.
Just let it be over.
I am not strong enough.

It's gotten to the point where every night,
I find myself crying into my pillow,
my face buried to mask the sobs from my sister and father.
Every night I wish for death
because it can't be that bad?
I used to be terrified of that dark, mysterious abyss.
But now, if somehow a car t-***** my side,
or a man got his kicks off by taking my life,
I don't think I would care.
And that's the scariest thing of all.

What if it never gets better?
I am so terrified that maybe,
just maybe,
this is all I will know.
I can't do this for another 60 years.
I can't make people watch me die a little every day until it becomes final.
I am not that strong.

There's no hiding anymore.
No hiding the scars.
No hiding the fear.
No hiding the tears.
No hiding the sickness,
because it's more alive than me.

I think we all need someone to teach us how to love ourselves.
We need them to put their hands on the places they love,
so we can see the beauty in them.

I think we all need someone to teach us how to love ourselves.
We need them to mend the broken spots
or ice our bruising hearts
or stitch up our wounds
or ignore our scars
(but still let us know that they don't change a thing).

I think we all need someone to teach us how to love ourselves.
We need them to grip us tight when we want fall.
We need them to kiss our very souls,
so we know that even our essence is a beautiful thing.

I think we all need someone to love us,
because it's too **** hard to teach ourselves.

What if?
What if,
What if,
what if?
The questions that pester us
day in and day out.
The ones that leave us
scared and stressed.

What if I ***** things up with
you?
What if I leave you as damaged as myself?
What if I can't make you happy?
What if this is all a waste?
What if someday I hate all the little things I love about
you?
What if I make too many mistakes
or press to hard against your affection?

Or, possibly more terrifying,
what if we fall in love?
What if we make it another year and a half?
What if I don't want to follow your dreams?
Or even worse,
what if you would rather follow me?
I could never do that to you.
You have no choice,
you have to follow those dreams of yours.
They're bigger than either of us,
or whatever city we could choose to live in.
You are not allowed to sacrifice for me.

The future has nothing in store for us.
So is there a point to be happy now
but crippled by loss later?
We don't stand a chance against fate.
Fate is looking us in the eyes and laughing.
Oh the hysteria.

"What happened to the pills on my nightstand?"
They ask.
The always notice
but never realize.
Don't you see,
maybe that's the problem.
Pay attention.
Look closely but
don't look too close.
The closer you are,
the less you see.
So pay attention.
Find the signs.
Don't be naive.
They're there alright.
Always have been,
always will be.
Look at the big picture
and you'll see that
everything is strung together
like a few faulty links
on a chain.
Soon enough,
there won't be anything to do but
break.

"What happened to the pills on my nightstand?"
They ask.
Pay attention
or one day,
a doctor might show you the signs
but the cemetery will tell you everyday that it's
oh
too
late.

beginnings
i see how we are.
We are cute.
We are "perfect" as everyone tells us.
But i see one problem.
i don't know how to love You.

i thought it would be easy:
after all my trials and tears,
i figured that i could love someone
if they loved me too.
Now i find that is not the case.
Now i find that even now i am still broken,
trying to keep from bleeding into Your own wounds.
Do i walk around on tiptoes trying to please You?
Do i hold my tongue while You hold me?
Maybe that is how i comfort You-
by forsaking my own.
Maybe i will grow to be this girl.
Maybe comfort is something that comes with the passing of time.
Time.
It always comes back to that.

After all,
i had my doubts.
God knows they were plentiful.
But now i look at You as if he stars aligned in Your eyes.
Your brown eyes.
How strange for me to like someone without eyes that remind me of water.
Water always brought me comfort as well as fear.
Maybe that is why i am always so drawn to them.
But now, as Your hands mesh with mine,
the world meshes with understanding.
Things seem...
okay.
That hasn't happened in oh so long.
i may have had spurts of happiness.
A period of contentment here and there.
Okay is a much different feeling.
But beyond this touch, how do i comfort You?
Do i touch the deepest parts of Your consciousness?
Will i ever touch Your unconsciousness?

i see our story.
i can picture it enveloping
days
or weeks
or months
of our lives.
And maybe that just makes me a silly schoolgirl.
But you know what?
This time,
i don't care.
Hurt me.
End up hating me.
Break me like i've been broken before.
But right now,
hold me like i am everything you have ever wanted
because i am starting to think
that you are everything i need.
i've given You more than anyone has ever had from me.
Do not make me regret it,
that is my one request.
i've never been happier.
Please don't ruin that for me.
Continue to treat me like a princess because as cliché as it is,
it's a worthwhile surprise.

The way i've fallen for You-
oh it's a mystery.
i lose all reminiscence of self-control with i’m with You.
i never expected the happiness that accompanies Your name.
i wasn't aware that i had the option
to be happy;
to heal;
to love.
But that's what i have now.
This is my life.
Who would have thought i could be this content?
This okay?
When i look at You i see someone i could fall in love with.
But that terrifies me.
Please don’t make me fall in love with you.
We're both broken,
but maybe we can temporarily heal each other.

i never thought i would mean
anything
to
anyone.
Why would i?
i am nothing special:
an average girl with impossible dreams.
i didn't expect You to treat me so wonderfully.
i didn't think i deserved that,
so i didn't expect it.
But You,
lovely You,
made me see that i deserve to be treated like the person You see me as.
You keep saying that You are worried that You could be treating me better,
well i am here to say that You have treated me better than i ever imagined
and i couldn't ask for more.
i never saw myself as being respectable
or deserving of love.
Yet somehow You saw me from afar
and decided You would be the one
to open my lifeless eyes.

update: I'm still learning to love
i am not used to these emotions and it scares the heart out of me.
i’m scared of happiness.
How ****** up is that?

But let’s go back to what i’ve said before:
“How do i make You happy?”
i was never going to be good enough for You.
How am i supposed to measure up now?

i know:
i’ll hide the scars
to protect You from worrying.
That’s my gift to You.
And i hope You never have the chance to say
“thank you.”
Could You really not see?
You are so easy to fool.
I could put scars anywhere on my body
and you would ask the same question
"did I do that?"
What a life it must be to not know
what the marks mean when they are right in front of You.
Think.
No, You didn’t do them.
And they aren’t cat scratches, darling.
Think.

i may scare You away
and i may not have the strength
to beg You to stay.
i’ll try to be better for You.
i’ll try to be the girl You see.
i’ll try to give You everything You need.
But I won’t let You in, let You know,
when doing so would just confirm
what i’ve been saying all along.
i. Am. Nothing. Good.

i will never be good enough for You
and i will always be crippled by the fear
of disappointing You.
Those are the fears i have never been able to
escape.
You don’t get it.
i am not someone that You want to love.
And as guilty as i feel about that,
i hope You always stay blind.

The melancholy’s dragging me down.
Please don’t let it drag you down as well.
i’d rather let you go that do that to You.
Today, i’m sorry that Your friends had to be the ones
to open Your eyes to how much of a mess i am.
But i think we are all kind of crazy,
not just myself.
And occasionally there is someone who matches Your unique flavor of crazy.
Oh and then things become magical.

i have found that people (me) are funny.
They crave love,
but reject it because they think they don’t deserve it.
What kind of strange sense does this make?
How odd to pick a person to give yourself to.
You.
i pick You to love me.
And You to hurt me.
You to heal me.
And You to break me.
i hate that You know me.
You know every inch of my skin,
but i’m still keeping the gates locked on my heart and soul
for as long as i can.

i am afraid that when this is all said and done,
i will despise all the little things i love about You.
i mean if we think in terms of reality,
this is going to end completely and utterly wrong.
There is no other outcome.
So is there really a point?
Why be happy now
only to be crippled by pain later on?
Can’t You see the pain in my eyes whenever i hear those words?
The way You romanticize death terrifies me.
So much of You is unknown,
so much of us is questionable.
But for now all i want is something of Yours
so that when i’m scared of losing You,
or ******* this up,
i can put it on
and fall in love with the comfort.

You told me one night in a low voice
(the one You use when You both remember or anticipate pain),
“i don’t want to be the mistake you made in high school.”
Oh love, i can assure You that i will be Yours.

Forelsekt (Norwegian): the euphoria you experience when you are first falling in love.
Words are strange and language is beautiful.
i think You have even described me in such a way…

at least i was Your first something
I had a panic attack yesterday
as I was driving you around.
I was stupid and don’t worry,
I know I deserved it.
I made a mistake
and we could have paid.
It was the first one I had had
in such a long time.
And the first one I had had
in front of you.
I think it may have been the first you had seen too.
I’m glad I could be your first something,
even something as broken and chaotic a panic attack.
But isn’t that what we are?
We’re both a whirlwind of broken chaos.

As the panic took over,
all I could think,
and what made it all the worse,
is that you must have thought I was insane.
“Did I make a mistake with this girl?
Everything’s okay now.
Why doesn’t she just calm down?”
Only crazy people panic for such a long time
(and it was; it was the longest attack I had ever succumbed to).
Only crazy people start shaking even once they’re safe
(although I am sure you didn’t feel all that safe).
Only crazy people so desperately grasp for air that is easily accessible
(even I can’t explain it).

Once,
I had a panic attack in front of a boy before.
And you know what?
All he said was,
“It’s no big deal.
Just calm down.
Why are you freaking out?”
But that’s paraphrased of course.
It happened months ago and after that,
I promised to save my broken moments for solitary
because I could not deal with someone whom I cared about
not caring about me.
But you didn’t do that.
You were kind and you were calm.
And yes a little confused,
but that’s to be expected.

You’ll always take care of me, won’t you?
You’ll always protect me, won’t you?
I’m beginning to see that now.
Who would have thought that anyone
would ever want to care someone
so **** broken to the very core?
Not me,
that’s for sure.

Thank you darling,
for you words
and your actions that prove to a hard heart
that maybe love is real.
And maybe someday,
I’ll feel it too.
I want it to be you I fall in love with.
But right now,
I’m still closed in my tiny, claustrophobic cell
that I constructed around myself for the past few years.
I built it up with every harsh word,
and every bad day,
and every painful moment.
But if anyone can push through it,
babe it might be you.
So again, thank you
for you.

for you**
Is it really 2014?
Wow.
I made it this far.
That may be my greatest accomplishment.
It hasn't been easy.
Nature is telling me no,
and well nurture has yet to be a kind, nurturing force.
How much farther do you think I'll make it?
I won't die of natural causes,
of that I am sure.
Someday I will become the murderer of my own soul.
I still have most of 2014 let to live,
but how will I life it?
I can only hope it brings better luck than 2013 showed me.
In 2015 I'll be dragging myself through senior year,
and then off the dorm rooms and lecture halls.
Do you think I can survive that too?
I barely know where I want to go.
I barely know if I want to be alive to choose.
So how am I expected to think about the future,
if I am unsure that a future is what I want?

They used to say I was so strong.
I am beginning to think that "strong" is a jinxed term,
like "best couple" or "most likely to succeed."
Strong.
More like "tired, lost, and uninterested."

I made a promise to a very nice boy,
and I intend to keep it.
Here is what I have to say to him-
I won't hurt myself anymore.
I'll do that for you.
Much of the time, I don't want to live.
I don't really see the point to it all.
I've never been good at life
and I don't enjoy doing things I am not good at.
But you I will live for.
When I am with you,
I can see why people appreciate this whole thing called life.
I'll live for the day to day things that make me laugh,
because we all know that it's the little things that matter most.
I'll live for hope and a future,
that may or may not involve you
but I kinda wish it does.
I think that would be fun, don't you?

I thought I was a lost cause
but then you swooped  in and changed that.
You changed me.
So thank you.
I don't think I tell you that enough.
I.
Am.
Grateful.
For.
You.
So yes.
I'll live for you
because you taught me an crucial thing.
While everything may not be great,
things can still be good.
Laying next to you,
I feel safe.
Life for me is mostly a torrent of hits and misses,
of cards that I wish could have been dealt further apart.
But my life with you is... good.

I will live for no loner seeing your face contort into a terrified expression formed around puppy dog eyes as you ask,
"no more, please?"
while you trace the cuts on my arm.
I will live for days spent in your room because somehow we never get bored
(and I get tired of people at an alarmingly fast rate).

I will life for you because simply put,
I am in love with you.

This is my letter to you,
you will never read it
unless by some tragedy
my phone is laid open to the world.

I want you to know
you
are
worthy.

You worthy of love,
and a father,
and place to call home.

Lay your head down
and let me tell you a story
of a boy who felt the weight
of the world.
Nothing like Atlas
the Titan.
But he felt the weight
of his very own,
surprisingly tragic,
world.

He dealt with the issues
that plague us all.
And he took them all in stride.
Sure, he made mistakes
but who can throw a stone?
He feels the haunting
of his past
every day.
The remarkable thing is,
he keeps going.
This boy stays strong.
He believes in something more
even if he doesn't believe in himself.

The hate,
and sorrow,
and guilt,
and anger,
and depression
he feels hurt those who care for him
because they know that he is so much more
than the ugliness he sees reflected.

What have I done?
What did I get myself into?
What did I create?
There are so many complications with the little situation.
So I’ll just tell you the story.

One year,
there was a girl who fell for a boy
(isn’t that always how it goes?).
She fell for him in the spring.
She fell for his friendship.
Then his smile
and she learned how to make him laugh.
What a reward that was.
She fell for TV marathons,
and fort building.
She fell for brown hair, blue eyes, and freckles.
She fell for nerdy adorable.
She’s never been able to get over that type.

In the summer it continued.
She fell for their rhythm and sass.

In the fall it strengthened.
She fell for the idea of him.
That very idea kept her alive through stress and tears;
bitterness masked by sarcasm.

In the winter it faded.
That boy went
and turned his life to ****.
He drowned any pain or stress with copious amounts of
drinks and drugs.
He drowned the scent of those drugs with copious amounts of
cologne.

In the spring he was the same.
And she knew better than to change him.

In the summer…
Oh in the summer it all crashed down.
In the summer she saw her chance.
In the summer he made a choice
and she would be there to make sure he kept his promise.
She tried so desperately to help him.
She spent her time and effort to wake him up to the reality that
fun can be had without the life he tried to leave behind.
Instead of taking the summer for a much needed cooling period,
she smothered herself with his dirtiest depths.
The ones he had only confessed to three people before.
And she felt honored to be the fourth.
She didn’t judge,
because she too had made mistakes.
Why judge somene for a past they are leaving behind?
No, she didn’t judge.
Instead, she fell even harder for that boy
and his scars.
She fell for evolved hide and seek in the dark
and last minute volleyball in the sand.
She fell for Saturday night board games.

She fell for healing.
She told herself that he could be healed
and it could be by her.
She read stories of heroes
and now was her time to be one.
In this story, her story,
for once in her life,
she was not the damsel.
She was there for him through his own low points,
and his friends darkest hour
that cast swinging shadows across his life.
Her boy shouldn’t have had to deal with that alone.
No one should.
But she did,
She dealt with everything alone.
He pestered her for those moments of truth.
She’ll tell you now that he was only trying to dig up her dirt,
because she knew so much of his.
She will tell you this because she can’t bear to acknowledge that
maybe he really did care,
but still left.

He had sent her songs that she ‘just had to hear.’
Introduced her to new movies and shows, videos and music.
They had learned from each other in such different ways.
Each had their strengths
and oh too many weaknesses.
But they had complemented each other.
He wanted to hang out at all times.
Of course only to distract himself from the cravings.
And of course she gave in every time.
But he never wanted her,
he only wanted a crutch.
And when that crutch left,
he couldn’t stand alone.
But that’s not her fault,
right?
He never really needed her.
He was only under an illusion.
And illusions are made to be broken.
False mirrors that will eventually shatter,
good things she never believed in bad luck.

From the full hearted laugh,
to the bittersweet smile, to the tears in her eyes,
to the rage that now fills her voice,
on might even say she fell in love that over those seasons.
And she took far too long to fall out of it.
Instead she ripped herself apart.
She tore out the pieces that reminded her of him.
But she was unwise.
Instead of throwing those far, far away like she should have,
she kept them close to her chest.
She held them tight and crushed the life out of them.
When she finally threw them out,
they were crushed to ash.
Nothing left but the marks of destruction
because that was all that was left of her.

I still remember the summer I fell for you.
That summer would define the next three years of my life.
It would shape who I was,
who you made me become,
and who I will be.
The grass was dead on that hill,
oh how poetically predictive.
You waited until the last second to ask me to our formal dinner.
Even from the beginning you barely cared.
And to think this all started at church camp...
You ruined that for me you know?
Church and fellowship-
why would I go if I have to endure your face?
You broke your life.
Was it really necessary to break mine too?

That summer will create the foundation for scars that you will never get to see.
There are days,
well mostly nights,
that I am overcome with those torrents of emotions that drive me to tears.
They used to be waves of confusion and love-
a sadistic, twisted love.
But now,
it's just pain,
and rage,
and a hatred that moves me to tears.

I hate how bruised and broken you left me.
Don't you understand how much of a mess you left me in?
Forget about me.
Think of the next man I will let into my heart
(if I ever take that chance).
How is it fair to him?
What gave you the ******* right to leave me a damaged ball of bitterness?
Who would have thought the power of emotions I feel could fit into my 5'2" frame?

It's dangerous.
I'm a wildfire that could burn through my soul,
scorch my best friend,
break my new possibility,
and destroy you.

Oh how I could destroy you.
You don't realize how much I am holding back.
Every text,
every hug,
every smile,
every word that you tease me with takes an immeasurable amount of my control.
And when I run out of that control,
boy,
you
better
run
too.
I can destroy you.
Yet I choose not to.
You need to pray that I will never make that other choice.
I promised you that I could burn through the center of everything that you hold on too.
Boy,
I could destroy you in ways you never thought of.
I could pay you back tenfold.
So here's a warning-
stay far away from
me
and my rage.

Time,
oh time is a silly thing,
it proves things right
and it proves them wrong.
Its’ seemingly long years change you and all that can be touched.
Time-
this illusion we base our lives around, this illusion we obsess over
(don’t deny it, we all do).
It confines us to a routine, to a norm.
The time spent at desks makes us into zombies.
The time spent after chokes us with copious amounts of papers and projects.
But occasionally it grants us a wondrous thing called
wisdom.
It bestows upon us insight and growth.
My always shrewd teenage self has grown to believe that time…
can go **** itself.
I want to fall into a slumber that is a day or two long,
catch up on rest and miss the trials of everyday life.
Of course, once several days pass or several thousand ticks of a clock,
I’ll crave another respite.
Life.
Life is hard.
It’s tiring.
And somehow there is never enough time to
work,
work on the work,
rework the work,
eat,
sleep,
take a couple deep breathes to keep from jamming a stapler into any eyeballs,
be a healthy person,
and do all the things that society tells you to do.
Maybe a designated sleep day would be nice.
If we only need 8 hours of peaceful slumber
for every 16 hours of traumatizing wakefulness,
then sleeping for 24 hours would give us
48 hours of working.
Right?
No.
But it’s a proportion,
so theoretically it should make sense.
Which leads me to conclude that 8 hours is not merely enough time to rest.
Unless you’re under the age of 6.
Or you’re retired.
Or in a coma.
Or…
But no.
No, no, no, no, no.
We must keep going.
Like good little soldiers
on and on
for 60 years,
70 years,
80 years?
I’m sorry but that just does not appeal to me.
Why oh why would I want to work my body to unhealthy levels.
Why oh why would I want to exhaust my mind to points of breakdowns
nearly
every
day.
It’s silly to want to have enough time to eat healthily.
And hit the gym 3 or 4 times a week.
And sleep until recharged.
Yes that’s preposterous.
Ridiculous.
Time is an illusion
that is ruining lives.
If we have an illusion
destroying us from the inside out,
does that make us
crazy?

It makes as much sense as a colorblind interior decorator,
but you, my friend, are my dangerous refuge.

You are my safety
and my pain.
You are my constant
and my storm.

I run to you,
but oh I long to get away.
My breaking heart is the sound of you,
my breathless excitement signals you too.

I think I fell in love with the pain that you bring.
The ups and downs each capture me as well as your somewhat crooked smile does.

You have me on leash
and whenever I get too far away,
you know just how to yank me back.

You'd think I'd have learned by now that the pain isn't as fulfilling as walking away.
Maybe I'm a *******.
Or maybe I'm just a silly teenage girl.

I used to think I would never do the things I've done.
But growing up changes more than you used to think.
Almost never for the better, because what you think might be better,
might be worse in the end.
There's the confusion of growing up-
Things can always be twisted around,
around your neck and around your heart.
Even around your hope,
the very essence keeping you alive,
can be broken and bruised,
tried and diminished.
It's wings get caught in the rain.
As it falls you wish you would hit ground already.
This free-fall of numbness is to unbearable.

I know things change,
and almost never for the better.
Here's a body you didn't get to pick,
but don't worry you will be judged anyways.
Here's a few friends that you think could never hurt you.
Maybe even a person who captured your eyes and then your heart,
and if you are one of those lucky few, captured your soul.
They never last as long as you think.
Here's you picking up the broken pieces of a once lovely life.
Pick up the pieces of the body you despise, the body you scarred, the body you pumped venom into.
Pick up the pieces of the friendships and loved ones who are now long gone-
if you're quick you could catch their sent on the last breeze.

You could be lucky and have someone there who can help you sweep up your now dusty soul.
Things change and not always for the better.
Who would have thought your heart would have hardened at such a young age.
Not even past your first graduation and you've experienced things too lofty for small shoulders to carry.
Nothing seems to phase you anymore.
Stories that would have been unspeakable don't dent the hard surface you've erected for yourself.
But don't you know how hard that is for those who want to care?
Someday a person will want to hold you.
They will want to help you sweep up that dusty soul of yours.
That person might help heal the wounds you picked up through the years.
How hard will you make it for them?
How hard will you push away?
Run away?
Lie?
Lie to yourself.

It's easier-
yes, that's it.
It's easier without love.
Without emotions.
Feelings are troublesome things.
They distort and disgust.
They burden and batter.
No, feelings are for children.
Us, those with the hard hearts,
we know the truth.
Life.
Is.
So.
Much.
More.
Fun.
Without.
Emotions.
Turn it off.
Turn them off.
Love is a notion in the back of your head.
Another conspiracy you hear during those dodgy school hours.

I know that you will want to hide.
Behind your hair or your makeup,
behind outrageous clothes or dull ones,
behind shyness or sarcasm.
You'll hide the scars,
because you believe no one could ever love someone so broken-
so twisted.
The scars, I promise there will be too many.
You won't want to be scarred or broken.
You'll hate yourself for it everyday.
How are you the weak one?
Why do you have to be the ugly one?
The dull one?
The unintelligent one?
The crazy, worthless one?
Why why why do you have to feel your scars and broken limbs?
On cold nights why is it you who has to pick up the knife,
or, if you are stronger than you think (and I guarantee you are), put it back?
Why do you have to drag your body place after place that gives you chills or sickness?
Why are we the different ones?

I want to be one of the other ones.
The ones who don't see the scars that she acquired through the years of tear-stained nights
or wounds that won't stay closed (some just never heal, you know?)
I want to be that girl because I am so **** tired of the life I am living now.

After all this time,
I still want you.

I
want
to not
want
you.
Trust me,
I really do.

But I want
to get lost
in those
blue eyes.

And run my hands through that brown hair
that just happens to be the perfect length
for me.

And talk about shows all day,
and maybe all night,
because we would be that couple.

That nerdy awkward couple
that I find so adorable.
That would be too embarrassed to kiss in public,
but everyone could see that what we have is real.

I want that
and I want that
with
you.

I know it's silly-
to hold onto
hope
when nothing could ever
come out of this.

But still,
I want everything that we could be.
It haunts me in the day,
and I'm sure it finds me in the night.

I want you.
Could
you
ever
want
me?

There was a time
when I would have bet my soul
that you wanted me too.
And I am not a betting girl.

But now,
I'm all lost.
Our story fades
in and out,
It's woven throughout time,
like the Doctor and River.
I know you when you don't know me
and vice-versa.
Always opposite.
Always slightly out of step.
No, I doubt our story will end anytime soon.

We will come back to this small town,
that I picture with bars,
and a few simple words
will start it all anew.

Maybe then
I'll have the confidence to ask,
"Did you ever want me,
or was I just wasting
paper?"

Tell me I'm beautiful,
even if you have to turn your face.
Tell me I'm funny,
even if you have to force a smile.
Tell me I'm yours,
even if you have to lie.

Yes you heard right.
I'm asking you to lie.

These, these are the marks to show the
pain.
These, these are the marks upon my
veins.

Rest your mind,
oh and rest your head.
Fall asleep
in my arms tonight.

I promise to hold you tight
as you forget the world.
Please just forget
your world.
The world that was so unkind to you.
The world that dealt you hands you didn't deserve.

I promise to take away the pain
as you lean into me.
Oh please,
lean into me.

I promise to take away your worries
as you learn to trust someone else.
Darling please
trust in me.
I know it's not fair,
because I haven't trusted in you.
But please,
do this for me?

I promise you that it will be okay
as you hold on a little longer.
Please child,
hold on a little longer.

You're my addiction.
My sweet addiction.
My painful addiction.

Just as an addict never truly
overcomes his addiction,
I will never,
ever
be over
you.
But you knew that didn't you?

I'll see a light one day
and pull myself out of your shadow,
then I'll relapse.
You know how it goes.
The rekindled hope.
The fear that goes along with it,
because what if that hope leads nowhere at all?
The smiles when I get your texts
or see you come in the door.
The breath that catches in my throat
when you smile, or laugh,
or do just about anything.

Oh I could have loved you.
The things I would have done for you,
sacrificed for you-
You really don't get it do you?
You don't think you're worth it,
I've seen it in your eyes.
But I want to grab your face and whisper,
"You are worth it.
You deserve it all,
anything you want
(and I hope you want me).
You. Are. Worthy."

Tonight I'm just angry with you,
I'm fuming in my bed as a write this at 12:32.
But give me a few more weeks
and I'll relapse again-
Just back where I started.
No really,
it would be back where I started
because the thing is
(the really pathetic detail is):
I grew up loving you.
The weeks we spent at summer camp
taught me how to love a boy like you.
They taught me how to laugh
and how to live.
They taught me all about you.

When I relapse with you,
I relapse with something else too.
I relapse with scars
and tears
and of course regret.
Because isn't that always how it goes?

The world must stay in balance.
That's why power comes with responsibility,
hope with fear,
and love... with pain.

And I'm addicted to every bit of it.

You're too far gone,
so I guess it's the end
and I'll quit holding on.

A wise man once said,
"You only lose
what You cling to."

Heartbreak has existed ever since
the world has been turning-
for so long, for so many breaks.

Mine may mean nothing.
It may be forgotten with time,
as time heals all wounds.

As I yearn for the times
where that will be true,
I lay awake late to think.

I think of many things,
including a new break-
Who will he be? And why will he be mine?

Even a new break would be...
well kinder than You,
because You forgot.

You forgot how we talked-
about shows and shopping,
and a silly thing called Dubstep.

You forgot how we bonded-
over church and annoyances,
but never about pain, that's saved for now.

You forgot how we acted-
the stolen looks and the obvious smiles,
and the awkward us.

That was the beauty in all of this-
I was awkward,
and so were You.

That was the irony in all of this-
I was smart,
and You were... not.

That was the fun in all of this-
we could have been perfect,
You and I.

We could have had those marathons,
and dressed up on Halloween,
and gone to those movies.

You could have played guitar,
and I could have been breathless,
and written a thousand words.

You could have taught me to skateboard,
and I could have taught You math,
among so many other things.

The things I would have done for You,
The girl I wanted to be for You,
You have no idea what You caused.

The feelings I felt for the old You
were like nothing before
and nothing since.

You messed me up, even broke me.
I can no longer talk to anyone
other than You.

You don't want me,
but no one else can have me.
How is that fair?

So I am scared.
Scared that I fell to hard, to young
and that only time can heal this girl.

I was never the girl to think
that all the guys must like me,
quite the opposite.

But with You it was different.
With You I knew.
You had to have liked me.

At some point in our short story,
You decided I was beautiful-
I was worth it.

At some point in our short story,
You forgot I was perfect-
I was unwanted.

I will not say I am here crying,
because I am not.
I am wallowing.

The thing is- I'm tired of wallowing.
I want time to give me a remote
so I can fast-forward to the healing.

I am tired
of falling again and again,
over and over.

I fall for your smile each time,
I fall for those blue eyes,
as much as I wish to fall into beautiful water.

I fall for your wierdness,
I fall for your awkwardness,
I fell for You.

Then
You
Changed.

So do me one favor.
Please clean up your life.
You could be perfect once again.

I see You now,
and really I'm not mad,
only disappointed.

Not just in us, but in You.
The You that could have been,
I'm afraid he might be long gone.

I always thought pain
brought people together,
as something to cling to as they fell.

But pain, I believe,
was what drew us apart-
separate pains at the wrong time.

I had my troubles and fears,
and though You stayed silent,
I know You did too.

I saw it on your face,
but time only made it clearer,
Not healed.

They say time heals all wounds.
So maybe, just maybe,
it can heal You as well.

But what if I am wrong?
What if time will heal nothing?
Only open the soul to more of the dark.

I desperately hope I am right
and time will heal both
me and You.

I know what they think.
How could I wish You the best
after the breaks You caused?

My friends see smoke
when they see You.
They only want the best for me.

And the best is no longer You.
I still wish You everything
regardless of the eye rolls.

Because it's true, maybe Someday
Time will end,
And we'll see each other again.

Promise me that You
will have your guitar,
that the nights will not rob You.

Promise me that You
will still have your taste in shows,
that the 'friends' will not rob You.

Promise me that You
will still have your skateboard,
that the pain will not rob You.

Because pain should not come
like a thief cloaked in black
ready to plunder.

Instead it should come
before the healing,
after time.

There's a beating

down in my heart

and painful butterflies

in my stomach.



I worry that this

could be the

Beginning

of a repeat.



You watch my shows like him.

You play guitar like him.

You are awkward like him.

You could hurt me like him.



This heart,

well it's not ready

for another time

where sleep is sweet relief.



I don't want to wake up

and see you tomorrow

because it could be

one step closer.



Don't be him-

that's my plea.

My heart cries out

"Not again."



Before you hurt me,

tell me when.

Don't let me blindly

fall in love.



So let me know

even if it hurts

and I'll walk away

new and broken.



When you get a new bruise

it hurts to be touched.

I have one on my heart

that I must protect.



Is this how it goes?

The heart gets wounded

so it pretends not to care

so it deflects any blows.



Because if nothing touches,

nothing can hurt.

And if nothing can hurt

then it might be all right.



Should I tell you now

all the scary truths?

That I'm messed up and broken

and may never be right.



I have scars upon my skin

that I am afraid for you to see.

Will you turn away?

Will I no longer be beautiful?



I have scars upon my soul

that I am afraid for you to know.

Will I be to broken?

Will I no longer be worth the trouble?



I've been bruised and battered

like an old castle door.

The ramparts have been different,

but always there.

Some friends are good,

when others

are not.



Some friends are fun,

when there is

far to little.



Some friends are stupid,

when there is

much to think about.



But the best friends

have been wounded.

They have felt all the feels

and have been dealt all the deals.



Those are the ones

that can see humor

and beauty

where others see nothing.



Those are the ones with scars.

Some they regret, others they don't.

Because each is a lesson,

that needed to be taught,



Those are the ones

you look at and think,

"Well they are so strong

they could stand through anything."



Those are the ones

that in their hearts are afraid,

that still have nightmares

in waking hours and sleepy dazes.



Those are the ones

that still manage to walk,

that still manage to look,

that still manage to smile.



Those are the ones

who have gone through so much

that no one can tell them

the pain is not real.



Those are the ones

who will listen

and speak

with quiet voices and loud minds.



Those are the ones

that are the most beautiful.

So this is how it feels

as the years wind down.

The emotions flow

as streams of saltwater.



The memories are worthy

of more than words.

We communicate in looks

and tears and smiles.



Exhaustion is easy,

sleep is not.

There is too much to think

but not enough desperate hours in the night.



When the sun comes up

our childhood will flee.

The people we met

will blur in our heads.

But the feelings we felt

will hold fast in our hearts.



These last few years,

you haven't been here

to drop me off or pick me up.

But this year

I held you close to my heart,

on a chain around my neck.

We can't seem to let each other go.
That could be good right?

You're holding me captive-
like a damsel in a dark tower,
I need somebody to climb up
and rescue me.

We can't seem to let each other go.
That could be bad I suppose?

I'm holding you close to my heart-
like a knife pressed against my chest.
I need the cold
to keep me awake.

I wanted to explore the depths
of your mind and soul.
At long last, you're letting me in-
and I fell again,
and I fell so hard
down the well of your worries.
There isn't water to break my fall
and lessen the hurt.
Only more space beneath my feet
and more air to slip into.
It tastes like a new morning after a rainy night.
The storm might have only taken a break,
or it could have vanished into our memories
like a rock sinking below a wave.

Over these last few days
I saw you lift your arms
in praise
and release the pain
and shame
that had bound you with a chain.
I saw you grow
and choose what's right.
I've been waiting for this
cuddled tight,
watching the leaves change
through a dark window.
And now it may not be spring,
but everything seems to glow.
You took my breath away
like the silence after surviving
a hurricane.

Once in a blue moon,
you give me new hope
to devour and fester inside
like a lie that's grown old.
But a new night, a new moon,
a new moon, a new hope.
And just maybe this one will be true
for me and hopefully for you.