4 below

81 is no where close to 14, and

both are far from forever,

and I honestly would try to understand it all,

but tears fog my brain

and I'm all too tired and all too small to make

a poem when it's 4 below zero in my soul.

#3

If I could see through my tears,

it would be a miracle.

If I could eat my dinner,

it would be a miracle.

If I could smile,

it would be a miracle.

If I could feel,

it would be a miracle.

If you came back,

it would be a miracle.

Miracles never happen, so why does everybody think they exist?

Slipped Away

You promised you'd always be there,

and you shouldn't have.

Now only the ground hugs you,

not me.

I couldn't even say goodbye.

There's no time, rush rush rush,

leaving without a second glance.

I prayed, screamed for you to wait.

Screamed.

SCREAMED.

Come back.

Don't leave.

Come back.

(it's in God's hands.)

As always, I'm just one step behind,

a little too late.

You're gone.

(what's the secret? love.)

Still, I want to climb the stairs into your

house,

go into your kitchen,

and see you sitting on a stool,

waiting for me.

I feel like the soup should be cooking,

tea should be steeping,

we should be talking.

You should be running your fingers through

my hair,

speaking softly that way we can still hear the

birds.

We should be watching sunrises over your porch,

wading in the cool ocean water.

I should be next to you,

I should be there.

(don't burn your bridges before you cross them; you never know what's on the other side.)

You should be here.

It doesn't feel right.

You're not gone.

It doesn't feel right.

You're not gone.

They're wrong.

You're not gone.

Not.

Gone.

Right?

(you're beautiful and you can do anything, Hannah. you can do it.)

Come back and I promise that never again will I take one more thing for granted because now I know that life is as fragile as that teapot that he bought for you.

Holes

There are no words to describe.

It's like leaving your shoes out overnight,

the dewy morning rolling around,

putting your shoe on,

and realizing it's cold.

It's like skipping down a sidewalk,

then hitting a pothole,

smacking the ground,

dazed and hurt.

It's like getting an envelope in the mail,

addressed with your name with care,

opening it,

only to find it to be empty.

If you took a knife and stuck it to the core of the Earth, I bet it still wouldn't reach the bottom of the hole in my heart.

Definitions.

From the murky depths of a just-thawed lake,

my soul pours.

It tumbles through the filth, and the whole time,

it's saying "I'm fourteen years old, and most days I'm

just trying to be me."

Me.

It's a funny word, because it's all one that

we have in our vocabulary, but it can't be put in

a dictionary.

Who's to say what the definition of me is, if I don't even know

my own definition?

You.

That's a much easier word to ponder.

I can say much more about you.

But I've known Me for as long as I can remember,

so why on Earth would I have a definition for You but not

one for Me?

Me.

Well, I know that when I was little, I wanted nothing

more than to be an Astronaut.

I wanted to wear the moon boots and be the first lady

ever to press my foot into the moon dust and the stardust;

even be the first to touch the garbage dust floating around out there.

To sail past the sun, non-existent winds whispering me forth,

God's finger on my back.

Never could I have guessed that

I would never be able to do that.

When I was little, I just KNEW that Prince Charming

was out there.

He rode a white horse and he was a night in shining armor,

protecting me,

the finest maiden in all the land.

Never could I have guessed

that I would have to

steal his sword, take his armor, and flee on his

white horse...

all to protect myself.

When I was little, I laughed a little more and

when I did, it was a Hell of a lot easier.

When the sun was in the sky, it wore sunglasses,

you could sing a song to make the rain go

away,

and babies only came when

"a mommy and daddy love each other very much."

I never could have guessed that the sun is just an

explosion, the

rain is just a cycle, and

a mommy and daddy don't even have to know each other

to make a baby.

When I was little, a soldier's gun was a

far-off thing. I knew

that it rang like a doorbell, but when people

answered, they didn't walk again.

I never could have guessed that a soldier's gun

could be heard around the world,

to my back yard,

the doorbell ringing on my friend.

And when I was little,

death was a big scary thing that only happened in

the movies. And when it did,

everything was okay by the time

"The End" rolled around.

It wasn't a big problem, just a minor inconvenience.

And now I'm just a maze, a series

of layers, if you will.

You can,

I CAN

try to pry open a door,

go down to the next level,

get to the core but something locks every time,

something just doesn't rhyme with the sound

of the universe and the beat of my

heart.

They say to me, YOU are weird.

YOU will never succeed.

YOU are not worth it.

YOU are NOTHING.

YOU, try not to keep living because you will be a

failure.

There's a key inside me,

underneath that murky just-thawed lake,

screaming for me, me only.

Wanting to be found.

Not by you.

Me.

All the Me's are You's and all the You's are Me's

so somebody please tell me why the definition isn't the same?

Try it.

Playing with matches

ends fast like automatic toilets

flushing before you are ready.

So I sit in a purple spinny chair, look at the world

as it whooshes by.

Lines blur, colors fuse, and suddenly,

Nothing matters,

but everything does.

Something was written in braille.

And it was so simple and so unbelievably blatant that as

soon

as the lines blurred that the blind man could

see.