Someday

Someday i am going to learn
how to say No.
how to say what i'm thinking
never what i'm feeling
because i am still trying to learn
what that is again.

someday i am going to learn
Who i am
and what i Want
because in the end my capitalization is not
sporadic like you think
but has a purpose
a meaning
and a reason for getting up in the morning.

i wish i could pretend i wasn't
living my life to
spite the heck
out of the ghosts of my past.
like maybe i was driven by ambition
not the
deep-seeded desire to prove
that i
can be Someone
be Something
not just a broken girl
they left on the walk to
die.

ripped wings
torn dreams
i traded in for purpose.
a scarred lip
a broken wall
and all the little things in life
that don't seem quite
Alright.

Thoughts Divided

[And I would like to know how it's possible that you are the source of my pain... yet I don't want to live a life without you]

(I am tripping between lines, behind words, over schedules and under feet. I can't see past my shoulder or beyond my line of vision which is limited by time. Every day a new reminder of something I forgot... another taste of another bitter root and I am coughing, gagging up the remainders of another not-quite-A... just want it to go away)

{I smile because the moments inside of frozen window-esque picture frames are lovely on the walls of my thoughts... we spend too much money, eat too much junk food, but man, it feels good not to be alone}

{(When consequently I miss you... because while I am stumbling through a field of paperwork and miscalculations you are somewhere opposite me.... but I can't reach over the stacks of miles and lost time to get you... sometimes the file folders fall away to reveal us sitting next to each other laughing... but mostly leave us wandering amongst those we wander with)}

[{(And do I talk about him too much when I talk to you????)}]

[and I feel so scared of this, of you, of not knowing and always wondering... I know it's not any easier for you but somehow I feel it is... I think I wanna talk about it... but we both know if it's never said, it's like we never happened... and then it doesn't matter what the dice reveals....]

(and I know I have so much to do [but I'd rather talk to you] {(and it's so hard not to cry}))

{we almost both lost it today but we're still holding on}

- e=mc but only 1

and if you can find the method to this madness then you will get a dedicated blog post :)

So Many Words Have Passed

This morning came too early because last night was far too late.

This is the first time in a long time I have done this.

(Or at least it's been since March.)

And I am terribly afraid of you

(Though I told you that I'm not)

Because those three words I will not say

And all the others that could mean so much

Won't leave my lips

But the clock reveals the secret

By reminding me how very many other words

Have fallen off a lazy tongue, wanting one more moment

Before this is gone forever.

And I could have given you my heart

Could have given you my trust

But instead I gave you my words

And I may as well have given you both the former.

The Reason

The sun shines through dusty windows, making light-beam dancefloors for specks of old skin who are talking and mingling to a song for the deaf. Outside a thousand crickets are calling to each other like the way we used to do- across concrete, over side walks, behind the old buildings and over skateboard inflicted wounds. I got a new sketch pad for my birthday (actually I got four) and I remembered that I am still loved even though I thought love was dead. Lethargic yawn stretching into another nap and the 100 Greatest Rock Songs (numbers 81-60) are whining in the background. I think Slash looks pretty good for his age and find myself briefly wondering what kind of shampoo he uses.
I think about a lot of things when I think about days that feel like summer. I think about a lot of people I have known and places I have been- mostly nouns but the occasional verb I guess, and all the adjectives you crave. Am I really more than just a blue-eyed metaphor or was the song written for me? Sometimes I'm pretty sure everyone knows who I am but me. How weird is that? I know that when the night falls and the stars are standing aloof and silent, too good for this fallen earth with our broken lives and the brevity of everything, that I want to be there with them but I am only skin and memories instead of hydrogen suspended dust.
I look at you sitting beside me, my best friend, who so delicately reminded me that I need to update my blog. I don't know how it's so easy for you. Once I ran out of things to complain about and had to start being honest, it's like walking on pins and needles to update. I don't want to bore the world with a littany of what I have done in a day but I don't want anyone to read my thoughts. My thoughts and feelings are the only thing that keep me sheltered from the rest of the world. No matter what people do, they can never take away the deep-seeded wonderings and ramblings I possess about life, the universe and everything. I can tell them my life story, but as long as they can't follow my logic I know I will always be safe.
So perhaps I am just a coward. Perhaps I'm just jaded. Maybe someday people will think of me as a young Charles Dickens, but that might be pushing it a bit. Whatever the case, all I know is that no matter how much the world scares me sometimes, I am happy to be sitting here with you, pretending I'm not afraid and knowing that my thoughts are safer with you than myself.
And that's the reason I love you.

A Forest of Thoughts

The wind blew in new air, and with it old memories. 

The snowflake fingerprints you made that dissolved when they touched my hand.

Each one unique, can't belong to anyone else,

Standing out against the pale horizon 

Of my skin and a winter sky.

The withering sound of a long lost voice

Swept away by the crackling of icicles and years

Getting lost amid the pines of weeks and briars of more lost dreams.

But every trail I pick out through the woods of time still leads me back to you.

Tripping through poison ivy days I'd never live again

Happening upon a place in my mind I thought I had left behind.

I found you waiting in the summer, with thriving green eyes

The only clue that there was once something that could survive.

And I sat on the log, by your side where I was

When the snowflake fingerprints fell.

Enraptured by the thought that not all snow freezes and kills.

Then the bitter frost of reality snapped the branches down to earth

Slaughtered the shoots of new happenings

And the birds flew away...

But I exhale onto a dandelion

Watching the seeds dance

Wondering where they're going to land, or if they'll return by chance,

Hoping that when the frost is lifted

And the sun decides he's ready to shine

I'll see a glimpse of green again.

But that this time it will stay,

So that when I return from my memory's dense thicket

Caked in mud and snow

I can look at my own front yard

and see summer once again.

Metaphor

A tapping on the keyboard and the clacking isn't like the sound produced by other keys- not piano keys which fill my soul, or house keys which say 'you're home', or car keys that mean I am running far away.... instead I spill out cruel replies to your cruel words because we can't see each other's faces. It's so much easier to be callous when I don't hear it from your voice; so much easier to be harsh when I can't see your blue-green eyes asking why I said that. (And to think I actually slept that night.... is this where past betrayal leads us? To disregard someone who we used to say we loved, like they were nothing more than just an annoying child? Is part of the danger of unforgiveness holding the grudge against those who never even knew the trespasser?)

And are these ramblings (for the days when poetry won't come) just my way of hoping you're not like me? (Never fall in love with someone just like yourself. You start ignoring your own flaws because theirs seem beautiful) Or are they just my way of trying to work out what happened? (Last night you finally forgave me... it's so much harder to be mad when you have to see the other person's feelings scribbled across a paper face with pain's carving pen) All I know is that sometimes I'm tired of learning- I just wanna know for sure. Tired of the trial and error of everything and I just want to hide. I am not a scientist, even though biology is my best subject. I cannot test and work out and try again. I am a crazy artist who paints out the shades of gray, and weeps because black and white seem so harsh but sometimes you want the pang of honesty. 

And all my life is a metaphor.

When The Butterflies Won't Fly Away

I can't sleep because I've got a million songs and memories floating through my head. I saw your smile on someone else's face tonight while I was out. A quick flash and the things I tried so hard to forget were back as all the caterpillar feelings which had been sleeping in cocoons broke into a new array of butterflies. Five years. Who are you that you could have such power over me. Sometimes I wish I could meet you again, and let you ruin yourself as all the others did. Then maybe the butterflies could go free without someone having to first slash me open.

I pull up her profile on Facebook and sigh. I sigh because she's beautiful (man, I wish I was beautiful...*) and because she's my best friend and because she's leaving. I sigh because I want to know how it feels to be loved. (Instead of lied and led and all the 'L' words that are always Less than love) 

I peer at my phone but know that no new texts are coming. We both know we're not asleep but always hope one of us can finally catch a wink. The days are long and I think the reason we have to stay awake is because we so desperately hope the day isn't all there is. (I'm hearing voices telling me that I should get some sleep because tomorrow might be good for something* but it hardly ever is.)

So there are the ramblings of one who can't sleep because the music and memories won't stop playing. Maybe I'm just crazy. Maybe I'm just tired. But maybe broken records and torn vinyl aren't so different from fleeing dreams and butterfly have-beens.

* "Mr Jones" by Counting Crows

* "Unwell" by Matchbox 20