Jekyll and Hyde.

I'm significantly happier than I used to be, but I can't help but cry when I'm alone late at night.
It was never supposed to be like this. None of it. But here I am, living it.
Late nights with my friends are the easy nights. I come home happy and too tired to do anything but crawl in bed and sleep so deeply my dreams get crazy. But now that I'm alone, only a few of my nights are like that and I have to succumb to how I got left behind and how I shouldn't have been. I become at home with the mess of my room, the clutter and chaos comforting. It's just another one of my mechanisms to materialize my absolute and utter helpless feeling.
I know I'm really sick. I've accepted that. Once I got past all the bullshit and came down to it and I saw what was really underneath my petty problems, I got it. It's not even that I'm embarrassed about it. I have great friends. They would support me. It's more that I don't want to become another teenager drug induced to feel happy again. It'd be like a submission. Like I'd be all those whiny brats who cry because their parents don't get them.
It's not that I want to be happy all the time; I don't. I just want a little control back. To be able to handle things and be able to work at things. And it almost makes me want to get some freaking help. But then my mind spins and I think who the hell would help me for free? Who would be able to understand why I can't throw that away or why I can't get out of bed?
I hate looking in the mirror. Not only because I hate the outside but because the outside is just an outcome of the psycho on the inside. Like Jekyll and Hyde, but the monster is winning. Always.

A poem.

A man once drowned in a fountain of angels.

People sat and watched under a sea
of black and light.
An angel was once caged and chained by a man.
God slept on over a sea
of death and sorrow.
And all the while,
a single lark sang a deep and hopeful tune.
Five branches crossed over an ancient crypt.
May all who seek find empty wells.
For the man with the blood of the Angel,
who soars into the heavens
and lights like the sun,
may he find the hope he seeks.

To a Robert Burns

The best laid plans of mice and men go often awry.
I backward cast my eye on prospects dear.
And forward, though I cannot see, I guess and fear.




Just once I'd like a plan to actually work. I spend way too much of my life making plans and never going through with them or having them fall apart. But then, such great poetry wouldn't be written.

Let's be honest.

I won't wear my retainer every night. Hardly once a month even. I can't always get up to take my contacts out before bed. I floss once a week. I can't not Facebook stalk and I can't always be in the mood. As much as I want to, I can't bring myself to go buy more hair dye to cover the blonde peeking through and I don't have time for a trim every two weeks. Despite good intentions I tan once a month and work out even less. I cry when I say I don't, which is nearly every time. And let's not even bring up homework. For all the things I wish I could do, I can't even do what I need to. Everyone knows flossing is important for oral health and wearing my contacts to bed has been really bad for my eyes according to the eye doctor. Yet I don't. I am a bit lazy. I will admit that. But maybe I'm just so set on being who I am I won't change. Maybe that's why I can't move on because even though I know I have changed and everyone else has, I refuse to believe things can't be the same. Where's the wake up call?

I just learned what some of these keys do. Look at this! [ ] \ { }| ^ ~ `§ σ ô

A day and a dream.

Clear as day. Most days are hazy and the light makes things warped. Daytimes lies. When people say clear as day I think something goes off in my head to be wary around them whether they see the irony in their words or not.



I had a dream that I swam really far down in the ocean. And I was terrified because deep, open water scares me. And there were tons of jellyfish all around me as I went down and they were stinging me. Then I got to the floor of the ocean. I started touching all their tops and they were smooth and soft and they all gathered around me. And I heald my breath the whole time.

I'm tired...

There are some things in the world that you just can't pass up. You just can't have an opportunity for some things and not take it.
1. A visit to the beach.
2. A chance to whistle without being annoying.
3. Painting with your hands.
4. Learning something interesting.
5. Listening to a good song.
6. Something sweet.
7. A really good hug.
8. An adventure.
There is so much people deny themselves or others when they just shouldn't. It is sad that some people don't ever get a chance to do anything worthwhile for themselves. I don't mean in the world or the environment or finding a cure for cancer. I mean for themselves. And that is so sad. And so many people do it.

The seconds the soul is cradled.

This morning I woke up and I drove to school. And the air was cool and clean and I could feel fall coming. And I wondered if, on our deathbed, right before the end, we closed our eyes and went back to the happiest time in our life. If our eyes saw no priest, or empty alley. No relatives holding their breath or a dark hospital room through milky eyes but we saw with the crystal clarity that is only possible through rememberance of true happiness, the best day, the best hour, the best second, of our lives. Where he lived up in the mountains with his young wife and made love to her every night and somedays they stayed up talking until the early sunlight streamed through the window. Or where she swam in the small pond in the woods where the water ran so clear she could see the millions of colors of the rocks and the plants and the fish that swam inches from her. Or simply when they stood in the doorway holding eachother for twenty minutes straight with no talking, not trying to kiss, no moving, and absolutely no selfishness. I wondered if the last second, we looked back and we saw it was all worth it for that one time. To be really happy. And though we all may not die in a happy room or in a serene way, and though some may be crying and be in terrible pain, that last moment will be one of home and happiness and a sense of being found.


And if I were there when Rudy was sleeping, the bomb about to hit, I'd say to death, "I know you. And I know humans haunt you and the terrible things they do. But cradle his soul in your arms, not over your shoulder or hanging from your fingers. Hold him like you held the children from the gassing chambers and hold him like you held her little brother. Hold him like he's just the lemon haired boy dreaming about the kiss from the book thief next door. Walk with him down what's left of Himmel Street and hold him in your arms while she finally kisses those dead, bomb burned lips and I want you to cry. Because you'll never get a vacation with humans. And because I know he makes you cry, the boy who wanted to run like Jesse Owens." And I'd look death in the face and I'd know him. I'd see every sky and every color he's ever seen and I'd cry with him for the glorious and terrible human race.*




*If confused, please read The Book Thief by Markus Zusak in its entirety.

Parallel Universe.

So there is a theory that because the universe is infinite, there are more of us; exact replicas of ourselves living different lives at this very moment. Parallel universe. So somewhere, unfathomable distances away, we are living an infinite number of lives, each one different based on the many decisions, actions, choices, thoughts we have every second. Actions and thoughts others have. So somewhere, I'd like to think, I'm happy. Somewhere my mom is okay. Somewhere I'm not so sick all the time. Somewhere I'm with you. Somewhere I have less scars. Somewhere I lived up to my potential. Somewhere I still think the world a happy place. And that has to be enough for me, that there could be a life that worked out. It has to get me by knowing that in a way I am living out the life I wanted. So for now, we can just do our best, and late at night we can open our drawer of dreams and look at the life it could have been. That we are living somewhere else. Because it's beautiful and we know, deep down, that life was once possible because we once deserved it. Yes, I know the pain it brings, searing through our veins and straight to our hearts and that every night it's harder and harder to close that drawer back up. But we do, because we have to be brave and we know the hopelessness we feel would be so much worse if we clouded our minds with the dreams we can no longer have; the life we no longer have the chance to live. If I could, I'd reach my arms into the universe to simply place my hand upon your face. The face that does not belong to me in this life, but to a me in another, just to have a feel, a connection, to the you that I love.

I hope that this brings me to you, trillions upon trillions of light years away.

If this is it, I want to say the right thing.

Here is my letter. Maybe someday, after things have long changed, you'll find it and read it and know that somethings don't change.


Dear,
Love has been a tricky thing with me. I know what it is and I know what it isn't and yet I still haven't got a clue as to what the hell love is. I may not know everything and I doubt I ever will but I know somethings for sure. I know that love has not always been kind to me. I know that I haven't received as much as I should. I also know that I could be giving more. And the most important thing is that I love you. I've waited a long time for you to come around and when you did, it wasn't like I was falling in love. It was like like took me and shot me into the air and I kept going. When you left, it was like I had to fall back and the Earth's gravity sucked me back to the ground. It hurt. And I'm sure it always will. Some days it's the same as it was when you were first gone. Other days, I pretend not to care and I just feel like being destructive. But the days that hurt the most are when I think about you more than the other days. Like when I look at that cat or at that moon or even when I chew gum. I can't let go and I'm sorry for whatever burden that has ever put on you. No matter how hard I try, there is a hope that maybe, if you always know I'm here and how I feel, you'll realize while watching TV that you made a huge mistake and you want to come back. I know that won't happen. Two sides battle. Hope and eternal hopelessness. I'm the casualty. I just want to say that no one will love you like I do. But the real thing I want to say is that I never got the chance to say thank you. You changed my world by loving me like no one else would; like no one had the courage to. I hope with all my heart you can be really happy. You are the love of my life. This may change. I don't know. The important thing is that you made me want to stay around to find out.

Love always,
Emily

P.S. Thank you also for being my best friend. My very best friend. And for doing your very best to teach me things I wanted to know about like cars and about some things I didn't realize I wanted to know about like country music. Goodbye.

Greetings.

Meet my grandfather. He was born in '33 and spent his whole life paiting signs on huge buildings. He can carve you the Mona Lisa on a woodchip and he thinks all hospitals are uneccesary unless one of his family memebers is in one. As a kid, his idea of Sunday school was being dropped off and walking right past the church to the drug store to read comics until Sunday school was over and he could walk home. He was thrown out of Lutheran Bible school for making references to the pastor's mother. He claims to hate dogs and you see him sneak everything from steak to cookies to any dog he meets. He's the only person in the world I know who can fix anything. His big calloused hands have rocked me and picked me up off the ground with tenderness. He loves jokes of all kinds. He knows all the trees and all the birds. Meet my grandfather with me, for the first time.

Blues and greens.

Sometimes, we will really feel the world. We'll hear everything that it is always trying to say. We can it flow right through us. And it scares us. Shakes us to the core. Because it's easy and safe to think we are all alone in the vast sky above our little brains. But there it is. Below us and above us. It's everywhere. It's going in between the very atoms of our bodies and our brains. So next time we drive, we'll put our bodies out the window again and open up and we'll feel it.

Red, the blood of angry men.

Somedays, I'll wake up and feel like I'm in the movie August Rush.
Other days, I wake up and I'm in the passion of Moulin Rouge.
On some, it's Chorus Line, all the way.


Today, I woke up and I was in Les Miserables. Mainly the part where everyone dies, which is most of it. But the ending mostly. With all the dad back up and the flag waving and the red and blue everywhere and the song just beaming. Yes, that was this morning.

High school.

Okay, listen up.

You will get lucky. Because you are hot and great in the sack.

Let's go to prom and fill in all the blasted stereotypes. Let's get drunk and have sex we think we'll remember the rest of our lives.

Beat me. Ha.

I fell down the stairs.

I got punched.

I have a hickey right on my boob turning a disgusting color.

I fell off a bench.

I scraped my leg on my car.

I slammed my hand in the front door.

I cut my leg shaving.

I'm a crash dummy.

Camel Crush

Screw my big, beautiful dress.
And my stupid diet.
And my tan.
And all that money.
Screw prom.




Let's take a drive.

What is in a name?

I once heard a boy call my name. He called it loud and clear and I turned. But here is the thing about names; there is always someone who is near who has your name, too. I turned and saw a face I didn't know. When I realized it wasn't me, I went on, hating all the parents who had to name their children with the same name. I once heard a boy call who I was. He called it loud and clear and I didn't turn. I went on hating all the people who knew who I was.

I will name my child something hardly anyone has so they can always get away.

Me

I make up Broadway musicals and their scores in the shower. And they aren't half bad. The choreography is trash, but I haven't got much space to work with.

I am not an organized person but I freaking hate dirt, mostly in other peoples houses.

I am very passionate. About a lot of things. And I am full of empathy.

I can read like a demon and their is no one who can brush their teeth with such fevor like I do.

I am appreciative of good music and anything broken and it's possibility.

I can make anything craft-tastic with sequins and ribbon and glitter and stickers.

I'm not close. Hardly a baby step. But it's better that going back.

Just.

All my life I stumble,
But up here I am just perfect,
Perfect as i'll ever be...

The new visualizer on iTunes makes me want to cry. I imagine it is the closest I'll ever get to the things people see when they have that disease where they can see sound. Kind of like the Northern Lights, which I have also not seen. I want it on my ceiling.

X

I've always made the good choices. Yeah, I fuck it up a lot. But there is never a time when I sit back and say "Shit, I should have...yada yada." The time when I'd just rather die. He tried to off himself. And if he had died, it would have been on my hands. He came to take me to the hospital to see him and I said no. I went and got drunk. Made new friends doing ecstasy. And I'll never get a chance to apologize. He made my life hell years ago and here I am feeling sorry for being the reason he would have died. Life is never what you expect it to be. Stop making plans.

Buffalo Wings.

I'm going to run. And I'll keep going. So far that the burning pain in my legs will numb and the blisters turn into calluses. And I'll do my best not to look back. Just wait. One day I'll be here and the next all you'll see is the dusty trail that I have left behind. I'll go until the trees and grass and sky all look new and different and unrecognizable. I'll run until even I am different. And if I'm not, I'll just keep running until I am. Because running will be better than sitting around watching my ice heart melt into cold useless water that will evaporate at the first ray of sunshine. Maybe I'll run so much that I'll lose my humanity. Maybe I'll just become a buffalo and I'll roam forever. I'll be a buffalo and get wings and fly. Ha. Buffalo wings.

Which is more foolish, a child afraid of the dark or a grown man afriad of the light?