Letting Go

(Listen to this as you read.)

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the

wind is blowing and the trees are swaying as the

crickets sing and the sun shines designs on damp pavement.

I hope that you're walking barefoot, if you're out there

somewhere; you'd want to feel the pebbles between your

toes as you balance and dance away the ground.

I hope that wherever you are, if you're there, you

get up early enough to pick basil from your sweet garden

and watch the sunrise cross your face.

If you're out there somewhere, I hope the stars are

shining on your neck and the moonlight carries you across

the sky every night while you conduct a symphony in your veins.

I hope that if you're somewhere, you feel the cool

ocean lap across your feet and hear the waves crash in your

ears; I hope you get a little sea salt in your hair.

I hope that wherever you are, you're looking

at flowers more and looking at lightning the most. I hope

that spring comes after every single winter.

Wherever you are, I hope more than anything that

you know I love you. I hope you know that you're the reason for

everything I do.

I hope you know that while the sun still shines here,

it seems a little duller, but that may just be because you

needed a little piece of the sun to take with you.

The ocean is a little cooler, the sound it makes a little dimmer,

but that's okay because as long as you have a piece

for yourself, I am fine.

Wherever you are, I hope you know I'm okay.

I'm okay.

I choke out the words everyday, but I promise,

I'll be okay.

I hope you are.

I love you, but I have to let go now.

#4

Take a crayon and color the faded lines with

soft pastels or black and white because

through these frames the eyes lie no

matter how many times you clean the glass there

is always one smudge left and it's right where you

are trying to look.

#2

Getting scrapes on my elbows and knees and

the bottom of my feet is a small price

to pay for the universe to

be in my hands.

I pray that little specks of dirt and

leaves

and love will work its

way into my cuts and taint my

blood.

I want to feel the sting because what

follows the sting is a mother's voice

softly saying that it will be alright.

I want to feel the sting, I want to feel living,

there's a difference.

everybody knows that living is different than alive.

I have the universe in my hands so I can bring the

sky to meet my fingers

or maybe even

my fingers to meet the sky.

I can make the grass grow greener or my bones grow stronger

and whiter so

I will never break again.

I can make a bike pedal faster and turn the

corner without a

single warning.

I can run faster than anybody in the world,

if I want to,

and I can make the world speed up.

I have the universe

In My Hands,

but there's two things I can never do

even if I try.

I can't fall in love.

I can't slow down.

I asked you to hold me

not because I was chilly but because

there was a smoldering in my soul,

sometimes they call that love,

but all I needed was to pass it to you

so that my heart didn't attain the irreparable

damage it was used to.

I have the whole universe in my hands,

but I can't find love,

and I can't slow down.

dkeghfaweguh[w2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I don't ever post non-poem posts but let me just say I had the scare of my life today, poets.

I THOUGHT I LOST MY ACCOUNT.

Blogger wouldn't let me log in! My face was flushed; I started hyperventilating! I tried for 1 whole hour.

...Then I realized I kept putting a random comma in my email address.

Oh, life.

To become more.

Inside of every one of us, there are oceans.

There's enough blood to create tsunamis and our hearts

beat enough times each day to

paint skies pink and grass purple, and it's

enough to

keep us alive but not enough to keep us living.

I Wish There Was An On-looker Who Believed

If you stop to think,

for a moment at most,

about the way rain fell on black pavement...

It splashes and spritzes out from underneath the

fat droplets

It gets caught in your eyelashes, weighing your

lively eyes down.

You run towards the car across the pavement in a sparkly

blue dress, the most beautiful princess.

Then, you jog.

Then you walk.

Then you stand.

and you stand.

just standing.

Looking to the sky, drops fall flat on your face,

caress your cheek bones,

mingle in your hair.

As cautious as a toddler, hesitant as the first kiss,

you spread your arms.

You don't know how, but somehow, someway,

you're spinning.

You are still looking at the sky, arms flung wide,

rain beats down on your smiling face

and not for one moment, one moment at all,

do you dare close your mouth; pull back that toothy grin.

The rain tastes too good, tastes too sweet to fight it.

Your perfect curls become weighed down, hairspray

runs away.

Slowly, frizzes start popping up, but you don't care one

bit at all.

It's slicked back,

mascara slides down,

but you're beautiful.

Butterflies aren't supposed to fly in the rain,

you heard,

maybe it makes their wings too sore,

but you swear to God you saw one.

It flapped and flapped and you could

tell it was struggling, keeping from drowning,

but still graceful as a swan,

pretty as a petal.

And you thought,

"I've finally found what I want to be."

A car door clicks, and broken from your trance,

you stand straight up,

dress hanging down, sopping wet,

no makeup to be found.

He runs over, umbrella in left,

holds out his right.

"Take it," he says, coaxing you along.

You think, seconds feel like hours and

minutes feel like days.

You don't know why, but for right now,

you're perfectly fine.

You take another look up, his eyes stay still

on your face, searching in the most loving way,

trying to see your thoughts.

"I want to be a butterfly," you said.

"You can."

In that moment he abandoned all hope of reasoning,

all hope of making it back home,

so he shouted to the driver,

"Sir, could you please turn the music up; the

headlights on?"

He dropped the umbrella, the rain fell harder.

He took her left hand, pressed it to her lips,

and almost died.

For the first time,

for the first time ever,

you felt beautiful.

And he saw that.

For the first time,

the first time ever,

you felt free.

just free.

If you stop to think,

for a moment at most,

about the way rain fell on black pavement,

I found that the you's are me's and

the he's are you's and I want nothing more

to be a butterfly in the rain,

and unspoken beauty,

a hushed secret,

with you.

Just another onlooker,

but one who actually believed.

Welcome To The Planet.

The grass tickles my nose as

I roll around in it.

It's green and it's cool, and I like the

way that it feels in my hair.

The sky looks blue as

it fills my eyes.

I look around and it's bright and beautiful,

and I like the way it feels in my soul.

The pavement scrapes my feet as

I walk barefoot across it.

It's good and fun, and it doesn't even

hurt, it feels like life.

Your eyes feel like home as

I look to heaven.

It's home and it's home, and there's no

other word to describe it but home.

Here's to the hurt and to the pain and to the way it rains and looks like it will never stop because now I know that every lightning bolt I've ever witnessed and every thunder boom that has ever shaken my spirit has a beautiful story tied around it's wrist.

Here's to the fact that I gave up on time healing wounds and to losing my way and to the way it feels when you're suddenly placed smack in the middle of an oncoming train with nowhere to run to because now I know that trains don't want to hurt me, they just want to see how high I can jump to get away.

Here's to you and to your spirit and your soul. Here's to the hum of the universe. Here's to God or whoever runs this crazy place we call home. Here's to the hurricanes and the floods. The tornados and the cyclones. Here's to that place that we reach every once in a while that we feel we can never get past. Here's to Hope whispering "one more time."

Here's to me.

Here's to you.

Here's to that feeling that for the first time in my life, I feel free and crazy and careless, but never reckless. Here's to knowing that things are good, but they can get better. Here's to saving your fork for dessert, because I've heard that the chocolate cake is delicious.

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.