Monday, February 28, 2011

You Know Who You Are.

When I was younger, I was a good child. In reality, good might be an understatement. I was an adorable, honest, happy, sweet, beautiful girl. My long hair flowed in strands of sand. And my eyes were pools with diamonds at the bottom. My mother dressed me in pink and white checkerboard dresses, pretty skirts that swirled when I spun, and faded blue overalls on days I went adventuring. Either my hair was done up in two dog ears, swaying from each side of my head, or it was left down and flowed down the length of my back. Never did I try to hurt a person nor an animal. Not even the creepy crawlers that lurked under rocks and in the dark corners of my basement warranted any malicious act from me. Instead, they were all investigated and cherished with such childlike wonder and innocence. Teachers adored me because I was inquisitive and incredibly smart for my age. The word 'lie' was not in my vocabulary. Because I was accommodating and gentle, boys and girls flocked to me as their friend. Even older children found themselves playing with me during recess and inviting me to birthday parties with cake decorated in overly intricate frosting. My two bigger brothers would tickle me until tears rolled down my cheeks and hold my hands when they thought the river was too quick for such a little girl to cross alone. At one point, I even begged my mother to have me baptized along with my older brothers and it furthered the idea that I was perfect. I was that twinkle in my mother's eye, Daddy's little princess, the blessing upon my family.

As I got older, my personality, my appearance, my life changed. I do not want to say it was so and so's fault or blame the same people therapists and outside opinions claim is at fault. No, some things happened because I wanted them to happen and others because they would have happened no matter what. That is what happens as time goes on and I'm not ashamed of who I am. Regardless of what people label me as or the vicious words they spew at me, I see no urgent need to change my thoughts and feelings and generally all the little quirks that make me who I am.

My hair has been dyed for nearly six years now and sometimes it's curly, sometime it's straight. When I don't feel my best, I throw it up into a ponytail or anything to keep it out of my face. At one point, I had eight each ear. But the top ones made it too difficult to sleep so I let them seal away and only four remain in each. My eyebrow is pierced just like my mom's and I got my first tattoo a few weeks after turning sixteen. I have designs and ideas for at least four more. Maybe I will follow through with them, maybe I won't. That's another change. I cannot keep one idea constant for more than a week. When something new comes along, I will be one of the first to indulge and the first to move on. I've kissed more than my fair share of guys. Honestly, it would be a little tricky to even count them all. And I've kissed a couple of girls. Many people might think that is horrible, sinful and I'm going to hell. But I don't think I can go somewhere if I do not believe it exists. My mother almost disowned me when I told her a few years ago I lost the faith she had raised and nurtured me in. Sometimes she tells me she does not know why she ever wanted a girl, other times that if she had had me before my brothers, I'd have been an only child. Still, we have an amazing relationship and I'm not embarrassed to admit that when it comes down to the facts, my mother is my best friend. I do have other friends. But I think the definition of a friend is really nonexistent. There are people I like to hang out with, there are ones who I run crying to, others still who only hang around because of the dirty little secrets we share. My grades have wish washed throughout the years from straight A honor roll to having six weeks spent in summer school because I just didn't feel like doing my English work as a sophomore. I still can run mental circles around nearly every child, teenager, young adult, and many adults in this small town. And I love to lie. Sometimes I do it just to see if I can get away with it. Very rarely do I lie to dear friends and family about anything important but something inconsequential like saying I went out on a hike or with a friend when I really stayed at home and drifted from the tv to the computer.

That is who I am. That is who I plan on staying. When I go to university in six months, across the state from my family, I won't lie and say I will be a good little girl like I was. That means sometimes my plans will include drinking, illegal activities, sins. I plan on living my life and having fun. There are so many things I want to do and experience before I settle into the mundane life society will eventually force on me. A career, husband, children, while I look forward to them, I also fear them. I do not want to be in a rocking chair and telling my grandchildren about all the things I wish I had done. I want to enthrall them with wild stories and crazy times where I laughed and I cried and I loved and I lost. But most of all, I want to know I had a life that was worth living and I did not hide myself away because I was too scared to take a risk. We all die. We may end up in a heaven or a hell, a new body or galaxy, or we may just end. And if my choices are not your style or they sicken you, then you have no obligation to be in my life so you can continue to judge me because we are different. I am not ashamed of who I am but I do pity you for thinking I should be.

Monday, February 21, 2011

Always Time to Smile

In the past, I tried to keep a secret my depression and inner misery from the outside world. There have been days I believed it physically impossible to drag myself from bed and face society with such a forced smile. Other times, I managed to gather enough strength to take on the day. The last few months, however, I have been more lenient with my emotions and I haven’t tried so hard to shove them down into my soul where they rot me from the inside out. But the point of this isn’t my mental status…too much.

Just over a week ago, I broke the heart of my best friend. We had been blissfully together for eight months. Or so he believed at least. In early December, I found out this horrible secret he had kept from me. Maybe he truly thought I already knew, maybe he just said that so I would stay. Of course, I tried to walk away then but I’ve never been one for being alone. His tears and apologies brought me back. In January, the side of him I always knew existed but ignored decided to remind me of its miserable presence. Again, I worked up enough nerve to tell him I no longer wanted to remain together but not enough to follow through when he cried and pleaded and begged me to stay.

Since then, I’ve slowly been letting go of myself. Physically, mentally, emotionally, I have been soaring downward in a spiral that will only end when I have no where left to fall. But today, I realized this more so than I have in the past several weeks. I guess what I am saying is no more. I will not let myself drag my heart and soul through anymore misery just to feel something when I know I am perfectly capable of loving myself because I am beautiful. I am smart and considerate. I know how to laugh at myself and make others laugh as well. I am talented in many aspects. My friends, I allowed myself to forget I truly had friends. But I now know I do. And they deserve better than this lump of forced happy. I am nice and kind and generally a good person.

I deserve more. I deserve to be happy and not fake it. I deserve love from others but mainly from myself. I deserve it. And I am stopping at nothing to make sure that I finally get it.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Night, Beautiful.

Dancing in and out, in and out of the haze,
a gaze of a dark shadow alone.
Footsteps echo the hallways of her heart.
Silly girl, she is just another unknown.

Whisper to the stars not to shine tonight
but they sparkle like dew on the blades.
No one hears what is not truly there
behind locked doors and drawn shades.

Fingers twist into her honeysuckle hair,
tugging, pulling, ripping, screaming to feel.
Yet the scene is as numb as ice in a soul
and time has passed too long to heal.

Who are you to judge a tortured pet
of a sick child playing in the sky?
Forced birth, forced life, chosen death.
And no one will ever ask why.


So the past few days, I've been going through my older posts. And I have to say, I retract the statements in my very first post....

Kevin is NOT awesome.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Prom Dress

Looking in the mirror, she was no longer a child. The jade eyes staring back her held no innocence or naivety. Instead, they held secrets, whispered tales of love, bemoaned stories of pain, and shone with promise of life.

She gazed at the young woman in the reflective glass. Ebony hair fell in twisting locks down against her bare shoulders. A few strands slipped over onto her chest and contrasted against her snowy skin. Turning slightly, she could see the rest cascaded down her back. The skin it adorned was pale and soft to the touch. The tips of her fingers reached and gently graced her left cheek. Then they glided down to her scarlet lips curled in a reticent smile. Continuing, her cool fingers tickled the flesh of her neck, the hollow of her collar bone, the top of her breasts till she met the frame of her deep pink dress.

Her fingers trailed down the edged fabric, around the flowers traced in sequins and rhinestones. Both hands grasped at the material flaring from her hips and reached out. She began to spin and spin and spin. Her laughter rang out and bounded from mirror to mirror as she stared at the ceiling in ecstasy. Soon, she fell with her knees tucked under and head resting upon her arm.

In an instant, she began to sob. Tears sprang from her eyes like rain from an angry sky. She shut them tight against the world. Her shoulders shook and coiled herself into a ball. Years of memories washed over her.

With hair in dog ears, waddling in the red dirt after her older brothers. The day she tied her shoes all on her own. That first day of school, more scared than looking in the closet at night. Running into her mother’s loving arms because little children didn’t understand how much words can hurt. Butterflies when the cutest boy in middle school looked at her. When she learned danced carefree, no matter who was watching. The echo of her footsteps down the hallway of a new school. Her first wonderfully amazingly magical kiss. The tears from losing of her first love. The morning she woke up and realized life goes on. The first time she stepped onto a stage, into the spotlight. How her favorite teacher praised such a silly girl. Taking a horrible picture at the DMV for her learner’s permit. The moment her fingers closed around the steering wheel. Fear rushing into her heart when the car hit the tree. Crying to sleep in her mother’s arms. Crashing her scantily clad body into a pool of crisp water because she didn’t want her friends to think she was scared. Winning first place again and again and again. The disappointment of winning second place again and again and again. Kissing for the first time in the rain. Flirting with a cute boy whose name she didn’t know. The first moment she thought of herself as beautiful. Surprise and joy as she ripped open her acceptance letter. Playing hide and seek in the grocery store. Sneaking into R rated movies because her friends forgot ID. The rush of arguing with her professor. Breaking his heart. Noticing how many friends she truly had. How hard she worked on a Saturday morning at school. A secret crush that everyone knew. Filling out her form for graduation and ordering her cap and gown.

Her life collided together in that one moment and she could no longer control the sadness of growing up. For so long, she dreamed of the day she could run away, the day she would escape. Now the days were rushing faster and faster. She screamed inside her head for everything to slow down and give her one more day as a child. But the seconds ticking away on the clock and they grow louder in her ears. Slowly, her eyes began to open.

Looking in the mirror, she was no longer a child.


here come the clichés:

it's not you, it's me.
i still want to be friends.
i love you but i'm not in love with you.
i just can't be in a relationship right now.
be honest, it doesn't matter what i say.
you won't hear the pain in my voice.
instead you'll hear your heart breaking.
and i will apologize again and again
and again and again and again and again.
silence only exsists until you bite back.
and i can feel you shutting down.
but in reality, what did i expect?
we both know you never saw it coming.
left hook, right jab, knife in the heart.

your tears make me glance back
into our lives, the memories we made.
please don't forget them after this
please don't think our love wasn't
because once upon a time, it was.

it's the same story, just different names,
different times, different places.
if possible, i'd erase and rewrite the ending
but they wrote it all down in ink.
so prepare yourself for the clichés.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

five minute fiction

One day, we'll go north.
North until the end of the world.

Our tongues will catch ice crystals
and our souls absorb the auroras.

Beauty will be in the eye of the beholder
With no right or wrong, just real.

Warmed by laughter and love,
nothing can slow us down.

Till the lights from the sky dance in your eyes,
darkness will soothe with a lullaby.

North until the end of the world.
I dream one day, we'll go north.

five minute fiction

they tell me they know how i feel?
well you can go ahead and lie to me too,
i think we both know the truth.

everyone is alone in a crowded room
but do they know the loneliness in heart?
it's the fear of never knowing love.

yet how those three little words spew!
too much, they say to the young.
too little, they say to the grown.

in a form or another, you know.
you know the taste and the touch,
something a kid like me only dreams of.

but night turns to day and life goes on.
they tell me they know how i feel?
i wish i knew how they feel.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

La la la la.

I'd sing you a song,
If my words could keep a tune.
And we know I can't do that.
So, baby, I got you the moon.

Do you love me now?