i'm not sure if i can remember how to write, but i want to relearn, just for you.  i want to have the freshest and happiest time of my life documented in some way, i want to write about you.  i need to learn how to write something cheerful instead of all the depressed and heartbroken crap i used to slap onto the page.  i want to capture your scent in words, your laugh in paragraphs.  i want you to be pressed not only between my pages, but between my sheets, between my arms, my legs, even.  i want your warmth to come through in my tone and your shy eyes, which have faded from a deep brown to a lighter hazel, to brighten up my words.  i want to be daring for you, to go do crazy stuff and laugh the whole way through.  i want you to see me as you never have before: silly, drunk, strong, motivated, outgoing, intimidating, naked.  i want you to turn your head back for a double-take every time i walk by with my chin held high.  you should be giddy each time i hold your hand or smile with my dimples showing.  when i hug you, you should pick me up off my feet and sway me back and forth like you did the other night.  i want you to be left in awe and lightheaded every time i kiss you.

what i'm trying to say is, i've been waiting for this since i was thirteen years old.  i've dreamed about you for the past eight years.  i want to watch you learn every inch of me, both psychologically and physically.  

when it comes down to it, i just want you.  and right now, i'm pretty impatient.  so come back home, and be quick about it.

3rd grade, 4th grade:
A sickening drop in my stomach,
My head is in the lowest gear.
I know that they live such different lives,
And yet we are connected by blood.
I can hear my pulse stop from the beat of their music,
I can feel my abdomen shrink into my spine as they yell at their mother,
I can see my hands shake even though we have the same blue eyes and same round cheeks.
I am terrified of their reality.


8th grade, 9th grade:
Strangers produce this physiological change in me:
Those with dark eyes, dark hair-
Those who are obviously different from me.
I am scared of realities I know aren't mine.


12th grade, 13th grade:
The reality I came to love is what frightens me the most.
The 4th grader within me is trembling in my palms,
She is crying in my ears,
Trying to cover up the sounds of your hiccups,
Trying to cover up the feeling of your tremors in my arms.
I trust you with my life,
But I don't trust you with your own.
I am frightened of a reality that I cannot protect.


14th grade, 15th grade:
Strength keeps me moving -
Both physical and mental.
I have carved out my own reality,
But lack an understanding of those I used to fear.
It's not in the beats of their music,
It's not in how you grind your teeth,
Or how you haunt me in my dreams.
I feel like my body is bruised -
I swear I can see the purple fade into green fade into pale skin.
I become absolutely afraid of what I still have the inability to do-
I cannot ever save anyone I feel for.
My fear is of not being a hero,
Not of you being the villain.


And sometimes
When I'm the villain,
I dream of heroes cutting me down.
I begin to believe in all-or-nothing, black-or-white justice
Where I am the only road block to a preferred reality.
So just cut me off, push me out, hit me down.
I don't want to make anyone ever feel the sickening drop
In body temperature
That has defined my idea of fear.
I don't want to be anybody's idea of failure.

what i have to say is
"i'm feeling pretty sad right now"
but it can be illegal to let
negativity sprout in the crevices
of support structures and tear ducts.

what i want to tell you is
"i miss what i left  behind with him"
but it is not well looked upon
to tell of misfortunes with old loves
to those who could be new.

what i wish i could say is
"the healthier i get, the more i want
to go back in time"
but those words would fall upon
full hearts, heightened expectations,
and lost connections.
i set ablaze every bridge
i came across, and there is no way
to travel back now,
and there would be not a single soul
waiting there for me.

what i do say is
"my shoulders are burning today,
my back feels broken this evening,
my eyes are dull tonight"
because physical ailments
are tangible and have permission
to exist, but, indeed,
they are the easiest pains
to cause myself.