Quake part 5

Honestly, I was buried alive. Millions were buried, but somehow I was saved, saved by someone who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I was fine, just fine with dying. I  could accept dying at home in the home I kew as a child---where my mother rocked me to sleep, where dad would pat my head while leaving to work, and years later when Lucca would make me breakfast and where my brother would chase me around the house. I was so tired, I couldn't fight anymore.

Yet, some part of me kept fighting, it heard the voices, and so my breathing continued. Some people talk about the survival instinct, not sure how much I believe in that stuff, who would want to survive to this state of humanity, I sure didn't. I was destined to die the long and hard way out. But, Damn it, I just wouldn't die!

Weightless

I dreamed of sand castles so you built me an ocean
with coast to coast beaches so that i could sculpt my sand.
I breathed in wildflowers so you chased down every seed in the providence
 to build me a meadow, so that i could chase the scent.
I wished for starry nights where i was less lonely
so you chased down the moon and caught it in a jar.
 where it remained no bigger than your thumb.
You gave me everything and i never asked you just knew.
You knew i longed for flight so you built me wings or paper towns and mason jars
so that the sun reflected fractal forms of light....
you gave me wings to carry me to my dreams.

Stormy Night

I met you in a storm, where the people were rain. Downpour and soaking wet I saw you fall and slip in a puddle of people. You never were one for rainstorms you didnt like the bittertaste of asphalt or the humid air that plastered your hair to your face after the storm. Lightning cracked way to many jokes that thunder didnt understand, and the grey clouds put a damper on the mood. You didn't like rainstorms- how they popped up unexpectantly and oh how you hated how the trees would droop. 

You prefered the sunny days when people were an azure sky that masked unhappy faces that are forced to be happy.

Sunny Day Running

As much as I dislike the pounding and thundering of my heart as it spikes from my chest to my throat and head. As much as I hate my muscles straining and pulling as i push myself uphill. However, running does something that no amount of writing, flirting, and being me can do. Ipod blasting a random pop song set on repeat, my pace matching the bass on the back drop of the song. I find that my mind is at it's clearest, when i am burning my joints. I find the most inspiration when my body is being pushed to do something it hates. None of this is making sense now, perhaps i ramble when i dont know how to explain. Explain that the only reason i am running is to balance my sanity.

Be.

we choose who we want to be, so today i feel infinite. Instead of being made of breakable glass i am as infinite as a star. Someday, came suddenly so today i feel infinite.

Looking Glass

Our scars are reminders that our past was lived
and that we are glass, a breakable glass.

Fairytale

You once said I wasn't lucky to have you because God loved me and gave me you.....or something along those lines. I didn't believe you until my life began resembling that of a sappy romance novel---only difference was i was living it. 

I remember thinking how awfully amazing it would be to have my own devoted Mr. Darcy, or Edward Cullen ( can't believe I used those two in the same sentence), or my own Jonathan Harker that wistfully gave soul and even a very slight flutter of butterflies. I thought things like that didn't happen to people like me. 

I dreamed that one day a strapping prince would sweep me off my feet, however society and experience had shown me that fairytale romance was something to be kept in stories, but upon meeting you i was blown out of those pages and into a fairytale of my own.

Now I find myself looking for my dusty glass slippers that are now hidden in a trunk along with my magic mirror, poison apple, yellowing princess gowns, and pressed flowers all covered in a layer of sparkle dust. 

I was never one for cliches you are my soul mate, you are my prince charming, you give me butterflies, and when we kiss fireworks go off and all that sappy stuff its all mine and i find you worth the waiting. I thought I couldn't wait for midnight or the spell to be broken but i have and now i am no longer trapped by the snares in an old rotting castle of dreams. 

Stuck in Maybe

Never thought i would be the one to say, perhaps there is such a thing as soul mates. Maybe there is and i was silly not to believe in them. Maybe the universe did design and sculpt you to be exactly what i needed. Maybe, we knew each other back in another life. Maybe God has something bigger for us that we can only accomplish together. Maybe i have said too many maybes and maybe all of it is true.

Sand

I can feel you slipping through my fingers the way dry sand slips through an hourglass. It's odd for me, you were once the only stability I knew, so strong and sure. But, now I find that you are turning into the thing i once feared....a ghost. You haven't gone anywhere---just changed. You are choosing the path I wanted you to choose but it is one that I cannot follow and that scares me the most.

Trigger-finger

Block them out....block them all out
no more resounding gunshot of plastered kisses
He didn't love you ....did you forget how he treated you?
He hurt you remember- he played you
you don't want to remember because he flattered
caressed and smiled.
They all did that, they all hurt
used, and left

Block them out, block them all out as they
do the same thing to the next girl
it's not important it doesn't matter
because you are sitting here alone
and they are holding the heart of
another pretty girl with a
broken smile that needs his healing.

I would much rather be bleeding or
pulling an invisible trigger then
watching, seeing, envisioning
your world where I am nothing
but a ghost.

Motive

Writing seems to be the only thing that helps lately--talking seems pointless as if my lips and vocals can't form coherent words. Just stumbling and gasping like a babbling fool. No wonder it's uncomfortable to be around them. I would rather be drowning then speak or even be next to the opposite sex. It wasn't painful before, but now it is....mind racing and wondering if they too have an alternative motive.
Funny how everything comes out a journal against a blank canvas but not just a journal it's a poetic version of my thoughts. Somehow it's better this way--rather write about it then speak my own thoughts with them lingering so close behind me-- breathing insults and judgements down my back and neck---leaving cold goosebumps.

Bedsheet Memoir

" Sex is the best kind of natural high. So the saying goes, but I don't believe them for one second, especially when it is your very first time--they say it gets better, but no way am I trying it again to find out. It was beautiful and ugly all at the same time, but more importantly it meant more to me then my one- night stand partner. I had everything to lose and everything to gain--but mostly everything to lose. Sex changed me and I can't go back to the girl I was two days ago."

Fingers pressing ardent roots
of heated intertwinements
between sweat soaked bedsheets
untouched secrets whispered
between strangled breaths.

I regret the days spent
daydreaming of a touch
where a different kind of sex was
felt.

One not damaged by a half-hearted attempt
and a sex-crazed male
one not tainted by the
weeping of a girl forced to grow into her woman
skin.

One not tarnished by a broken promise
of no intimate relations until
adorned in white and sealed.
Two days--no sleep for I fear your presence
near.

It meant more then just
two strangers exchanging a mating language.
Innocence burned along with it
Human nature is what they say.

But those lips are scorched by fire as well
hoping to soothe their own restless errors
that now haunt them as demons behind
their backs.

Dreaming, no hoping that if they repeat
the fault of their kind enough
times it will actually become truth.

Your smell still lingers--ironed into the sheets
that now keep our secret.
I find I cannot breathe
for it wasn't only your mistake but a flaw

in my own mental makeup.

Metaphorically Speaking

" I'm talking about life. In my kind of falling, there's no landing. There's only hitting the ground. Hard. Dead, or wanting to be dead. so the whole time you're falling, it's the worst feeling in the world. Because you feel you have no control over it. Because you know how it ends."

--John Green, Will Grayson, Will Grayson.

This is how my life feels right now-especially with all my mistakes, u-turns, and not listening to my GPS- I am now falling-no driving off the cliff repeatedly and it hurts every time I hit the ground. It's cold, lifeless, and hurts the more you hit it because your body doesn't have enough recovery time. So you not only break new bones- you re-injure old ones.

The worst thing about falling is that most of the time you don't realize it is happening till that split second before your body explodes and bursts into stars--maybe I have been falling too long, maybe i just need to breathe and actually slow down before I get too close to that edge. Maybe, this metaphor is cheesy and I sound like a raving lunatic--but, it's all real to me and falling in real life is just as painful as the mental- life crumbling kind. Either way falling is horrible and in most cases you can barely balance and catch yourself in time.

Because it Matters

"Neither novels or their readers benefit from any attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the foundational assumption of our species."

--John Green, The Fault of Our Stars.

Some stories do in fact hold some level of truth--everything I breathe, dream, and chase are put into words that rebound a profound truth about the people I meet, the feelings that I feel, the thoughts I think, and the environment I grow. All of it carries simple facts about my life- I don't expect any of you to understand or even try to care- these are all remote parts and separated memories that make up the person that stands in front of you.

I have the hardest time speaking my past so I write about them instead--it gives me some tangled inner strength to live each day and be okay in this dark and twisty place- this dark and twisty place that makes me wonder in dizzy circles with no where to go but around. Writing the things in my head make my life more tangible. And now I am just rambling about how my stories matter and others matter too, Like, John Green's Looking for Alaska. Made-up yes, but some truth is hidden between paragraphs and page numbers. My writing has to matter, because it makes me matter and makes living in the future that much easier.

Person

" Being in a relationship, that's something you choose. Being friends that's just something you are...[But] I do pick you...We've been friends too long to pick, but if we could pick, I'd pick you."

--John Green, Will Grayson, Will Grayson

Maybe John Green was on to something. Maybe all the young people out there- myself included could learn something profound--being friends is just something you are. If I could pick one person it would be Victoria--she is my person. She is the person I would call to help me wrap up a dead body in the dining room rug. She is the person that can read my mind through a text message and the person that makes silence the most comfortable state to be in. Unlike the quote above I didn't have to know her long to choose her. She is my person--in fact she is probably the person that also provides the escape vehicle-- maybe because she thinks ahead but mostly because she is just that awesome.

Illusion

" I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, then all at once."

--John Green- The Fault of Our Stars

I am selfish, I am mean, I get in the way of things- and those are the reasons I broke you. I literally broke you---you don't work anymore--you lost your passion, your smile, your sparkle behind your eyes. My world was crumbling, changing and I changed myself to feel stable in my own skin. I never realized I took all the pieces you loved and morphed them into a monster. I became centered on my own need to survive--only when I lost you did I realize that you were my source for survival. I miss you every day and I am afraid to crawl back knowing you might not take me back. I broke you and in the process I broke myself. I fell in love with you and I let the petty things of growing up corrupt my heart. In some ways I just woke up from a nightmare and I find that yes, I still love you.

Clean, White, and New.

Dearest friend,

I pray once this letter reaches you that I am still branded in the back of your mind. I am sorry it took so long to answer your chicken scratch letters, I got all sixty-three of them. You told me about the day we met, our first kiss, even the day you left. Your letters were all written in long-hand usually stained with coffee, tears, or buttered popcorn- some were even sprinkled with your hand-drawn sketches. All your letters even ended the same way.

'P.S. I still love you.'

Written as if you were trying to speak some mantra to bring you back to me. Each 'I love you.' written differently as time progressed and we both matured into our childhood. I feel bad that this is my first return letter. But, now I know what I was meant to say to you after all this time. I love you, damn it! I tried to forget you, I tried forgetting the way your lips were soft against mine, or the smell of your skin, and the sound of your chevy truck- I still can't forget.

Our last summer, we went sailing remember? We dined at dives that severed french fries and milkshakes, and we danced- danced even with everyone looking- we danced anyway. Do you remember? ....we danced anyway.

I still love you is all I have to say. It hurts and I can't get away. The letter when it reaches you I hope it is clean, white, and new. For even though it hurts it's how my life is like now--even without you....even without you I can't breathe.

xoxox

the girl who ran away.

Native Color

How can the relationship we breathe and dream is only a handful of contradictions.

Not in anyway bad contradictions, just contradictions.

It is beautiful and somehow ugly in its raw and human state.

With you I am made happy yet frustrated. I am confused yet found.

I can't help but want to search for your company. The contradictions are just as much company as you are and I need them as much as I need you.

My Own Alaska

“She said, 'It's not life of death, the labyrinth.'
'Um, okay. So what is it?'
'Suffering,' she said. 'Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That's the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?...Nothing's wrong. But there's always suffering, Pudge. Homework or malaria or having a boyfriend who lives far away when there's a good-looking boy lying next to you. Suffering is universal. It'st the one thing Buddhists, Christians, and Muslims are all worried about.”

― John Green, Looking for Alaska

Is it such a bad thing to live the life Alaska did or die the way she did? I may be a writer but, never have I been able to write such a character in my head that I longed to be that person. Alaska saw the world her way and lived to be her own kind of remarkable.

I want to be my own piece of remarkable- to live the way I think and die on my own terms and not the terms of others. Like the way I drink my Dr. Pepper, I want to watch as I pop and fizz.

I wonder what it would be like to be the moment of my life- where I could see how my actions led to my success and overall death- not to regret the choices I made but to relive my wonderful piece of remarkable and be completely content. I don't need to be Alaska, I can be myself- just see my world the way I want to see it. Choose to be outside the overall norm and be my own identity where Alaska is just a place and not a person to aspire to be.

A Mr. Darcy

The handsome fellow walking across the green grass field to propose a love so intricate and complex. To confess his soul to your every whim and wonder.

Is it wrong to want the sappy romantics that make up romance novels? I never was one for reading the love stories, the love seemed too abstract and foreign. True love isn't spurred at first glance, but matures and grows. However, me being impatient I can't help but crave the sappiness of romance novels.

I mean who doesn't want to fall that fast?

Attic Windows

Awaiting the day when raindrops will stop mimicking the falling of tears and I can breathe again. This intoxicating presence of your scent, or your eyes, or your smile causes a smile of my own to slyly position itself on my face. I find I cannot wait for the lingering company to slip away so that we may flirt with the gods and fate itself--as if we are afraid of nothing in the space of a moment that we have together-its as if it is forbidden.

Best Friend

he never was the one , never the one to ask for a dance

never the one to buy flowers that would die the next day or cheap chocolate

never the one to aggressively seek revenge

He was just the one to talk about life

over coffee and checkers

Just the one to blast country favorites through the windows

of his truck

just the one to talk football, camping, fishing, and dutch ovens

just the one to understand falling away from a God

we don't understand

just the one to offer a jacket and an open door

just the one to fall asleep next to me in geology at 1.

He lived everyday like he was dying

and breathed every moment like the last song

he never stopped to change the person he was meant to be

he never dreamed dreams that were too small.

He held my hand and tickled me till i begged for mercy

he kissed me softly and sand forgotten country lyrics in the calm of the room.

He got me and i got him.

Nameless

Tears pour down my face

unable to stop the flow.

I cradle your hand to my chest

and wait for you to whisper back.

Your eyes are cold and sober

dead to the world that you helped create.

Dead to the smile you helped me find.

My tears course down your face

and i find myself clinging to you

as i cling to my own life.

Without

Just barely a moment

I glanced upon his face

he failed to recognize

I was the one he was searching for.

Yet, he stumbles past the gaggle of girls

adorned in trinkets from former lovers

he awaits a signal that doesn't come.

Again he stumbles on- looking for her.

Never realizing he passed the one without

a second glance.

I watch and wonder

wonder whether he will breathe in the scent of lilacs

and remember that I was the one

that made him realize that him and I

are a shared piece of different.

Whisper

I find my forehead pressing up against the cold of the window and wonder why the snow falls in silence.

I notice the twitching of my fingers as they hang in air and wonder why the sky remains so grey.

I feel the intake of breath through my lungs and wonder whether the air tastes the same outside of this room.

I smell the scent of unwashed sheets, pop-tart edges, sweaty gym socks and wonder why the earth revolves on its short axis to leave my days lonely- leaving me wanting the nights.

I touch the static ends of my wind-swept hair and wonder if he still longs to catch the strands as they danced freely from my head.

Today, I woke up and realized that wondering requires action. Today I dreamed a different life and I no longer needed to wonder.

WE

We all make mistakes, we act with impulsive, we are greedy and selfish- we are human. But, does that really excuse any of us from being so terrible. Humans are selfish and spiteful, the do things that hurt and breed hatred. We all do things that are horrible and we can't ever take them back. The past can't be relived and changed- yet, if we could go back we probably would still be the same selfish creatures we have always been. Always hurting, always defending ourselves- always on the offensive. If we had a choice we wouldn't change the things we have done- because all we are are selfish creatures.

DodgeBall.

I won't let you win- you won't break me

not again, i am stronger than anything you have ever faced.

Play your games, probe my mind, read my quirks- they tell you nothing of what i am or who i will become.

I won't break down my walls- i will reinforce and refuse to let you in.

Your eyes reflect the shimmer of white light- hope. But i won't

let you in not this time- my mind is my own

and not your personal playground.

Photographic Memoir

things never were ok- you said they were but the tears never healed. Its downright painful to say goodbye- its hard to have you within my grasp. It's funny how you glance my way in a crowd of people and smile. We never really moved on- because it ended as quickly as it started. You played with fire and now i have to rise from the ashes of a past not lived.

with the winter chill breathing your name on my lips i now know the truth- it was all a game and you played your game and stole my heart. Your pictures relive a time before we were forced to grow up. Every memory spread out upon the kitchen floor- i laid it all down and you burned the pictures of your regret---its me.

It's only me on this road now- you are no longer beside me- you abandoned me to the elements too afraid to admit anything. My heart is no longer beating- it hurts too much.

The war wages on inside my mind for everyone to see but only guess at what used to be. I want it all to disappear- everything except the pictures of you and the pictures of me branded upon my eyelids.

I'm drowning and you stopped giving a shit before i even awoke.

Frozen

You stopped fighting, you gave up the one thing that made you special...life.

Now i find myself questioning the very thing you gave up. You left for greener pastures and I am all alone. I wonder why you left and why you stayed in the place so dark that no light found your smile. I reached for you, but you fell transparent through my fingers, you stopped fighting and I couldn't fight for your last breath because you faced your demons alone.

Now i am alone.

Far from Normal

He was a boy without a father-living, breathing, searching to be something better then the past that followed him.

He was a boy without a family- torn from pictures, journals, videos- forgotten and scorched he weeped.

He was a boy without a friend- to follow his footprints in the untouched snow- always alone breathing the air of emptiness but living with the strength to be something more than the norm.

Sight

I can't find the courage to journey outside- the rays of sunshine peak through the cracks of the window casting shadows across the room- I can't open the window, I can't pull up the binds- i can't feel the wind on my face- barred perhaps, barred in my own mind- It's harder to pretend that nothing is wrong- that breathing doesn't ache and that living doesn't kill. Trapped in my mind- pounding on some invisible barrier that keeps me from reconnecting- foolish i know- but i feel so trapped and no one can hear my screams.

Echo Letter: 3

You won't answer my dying calls, your silence is all i deserve- i know that now. I became selfish and fell to a poison that claimed your life. You once smiled and played with a language only we knew, but somehow you refuse to answer and it hurts with ever breath- every breath that comes and goes- i can feel it dragging out the last of my sanity to be replaced with fear- but what would you know of this- you refuse to answer to my calls as I search under the peach trees.

As breathing gets harder, i find the razor that cuts my skin hurts less and bleeds more- because i know you are never coming back- maybe thats why it hurts to think of you and feel the sunshine. I broke you and stole away a calm that kept you whole- i don't blame you for not answering for all i do is claw at the heart that you gave me so willing- i never meant to hurt the one person i could count on but i did and now your hand holds the razor and cuts between flesh and bone.

Echo Letter:2

I can't lose you, don't you see how much you mean to me.

But, how can you? when i am too afraid to show my face, afraid to show my scars.

You are fading and I cant tug you back except to protect you in my untainted memories- back in a time when you weren't afraid to touch and laugh with me, back when your smile made the holes less frayed. Now, i find that you live in a world that quotes melodies of classical music and broken guitar strings- that I am not present in that canvas- you won't know my secret until i lay dying amongst peonies in western winter- you won't know how i longed for the days when you cared for me- you won't know how i fell for you and you weren't there to catch me.

Your hurting and i can't unwind the past, the past that i stole from you with selfish aching of an untamed heart- I can't change the how your fingers fit perfectly between mine- Things that now bring hurt and pain- pain you mask behind your coy smile and laughing eyes- only i see the damage my wildness did to you and now i can't change it

perhaps the cutting wont bleed as bad- perhaps you will fade and never look back?

The Echo Letters: 1

It's not like I mean something....

hiding desperately in a room full of chairs and tables, i don't understand the meaning of my hiding.

Until he appears followed by by his flock of judging friends...the ones that judged and condemned me forcing me to close in on myself. Yet, even among the growing crowd i know that i cannot hide. Sitting alone, trying to look busy doesn't help much when it comes to trying to avoid your gaze- but then again its not like you are looking for me. I can't call out his name to meet him. An outsider visibly hidden the only writing letters. I can feel the shaking starting up again, but it never really left the first time. I have always struggled to make that special bond with people, the friendship relationship. Even with people I am close to, I find i am unable to join them, let alone look up. Trapped somewhere between a lie told long ago and the emptiness of not knowing my own identity.

Perhaps i am just a ghost- living and breathing in a fractal world that only means something to you.

I stare at the floating ice shards and wonder if you can see the pain amongst the fear written in my eyes. As i walk past you I silently hope I remain a ghost.