#29

Wishing means nothing if nobody 

can hear and 

these ships have anchors that bind us the the shores

of our subconscious. 

The bottom of this ship

scrapes the sand 

where our souls once stood

and

where you once were

and 

where we once laughed. 

A Dream

Last night, I couldn't fall asleep. Nights are the hardest for me. It's like the weight of the black sky suddenly falls upon my chest and, try as I might, it's just not possible for me to hold it up without tears spilling from my eyes. I don't know what it is about night time. Maybe it's just the fact that it's quiet with only my thoughts making sounds, or maybe it's the fact that it's the only time I'm truly alone from other people during my day. Whatever the reason, the nights are the hardest.

Lately, it's a ritual. I get ready, climb into bed, start feeling upset, call my wonderful boyfriend Michael. He talks me down and helps to calm me so I can fall asleep. Sometimes he tells me a cheesy bedtime story. Sometimes he just talks about his day. Either way, hearing his voice is something that instantly soothes me. Many mornings since August 29th, I've woken up with my phone on my face from where I dropped it when I fell asleep as he talked to me.

Last night was no different. We talked. I was doing really well until I decided I just needed to stop talking and sleep. So we hung up. That's when it all crashed down. I struggled, then remembered Mrs. Stewart and Bailey (if you haven't read Mrs. Stewart's blog, please go read. www.chrisstewart69.blogspot.com) and how in one post, Mrs. Stewart said she talks to her late son when she needs comfort and how I read on twitter that Bailey does the same. I felt a little weird talking to my dark ceiling, but I was desperate. So, I tried it.

I can't remember what exactly I said. I talked to my Nana and a dear friend who passed before her. I told my Nana how much I missed her and how I have been trying real hard to keep a smile up and to keep living my life, even though it is so hard without her. Eventually, I told her that I would love it if she could leave Grandpa's, my mom's, my aunts', and my uncle's sides for a few minutes and spend some time with me. I told her I needed her and I needed to know that she was there.

Now, I believe in miracles. However, I also believe in science. Therefore, I'm having a hard time figuring out whether what followed is just a result of that I was thinking about my Nana before I slept, or that my Nana was really with me. I'd like to think the latter.

I eventually fell asleep. At 2am, I woke up (as I often do these days,) but instead of being upset, I was filled with a sense of hope and happiness. I couldn't place it, so I didn't question it. I enjoyed it and fell back asleep. In the morning, at 6am when I finally woke up for school, I figured out I had a dream about my Nana. Only, in this one, it wasn't that I was an outsider looking in, as I normally am. I had an active role in this dream. I'll save the specifics for me. I'd like to keep this one close to my heart. However, in essence, we were together and we were watching her as she went about her last day on Earth.

It was like we were watching a TV show and talking through it, but still keeping one eye on the TV screen. She told me what she was thinking at certain points that day, and I told her what I was doing. Finally, we ended up in the hospital room together, watching over her, my grandfather, my aunt, and my uncle as she slipped away. Again, I'll save the details of what she said for me. I'd like to keep this one close to my heart.

I hope that she really did visit me. My biggest worry has always been how she felt her last day; what her last moments were like. I've always been worried that she was scared when she died. However, in this dream she proved to me that she wasn't scared. Nor is she now. She is serene and happy from what I've seen.

I'm grateful for this experience that she gave me last night. If this is how every night will be, I don't think nights will be so hard anymore.

Thank you for reading.

Um Alright?

I remember when we were friends.
We used to laugh and walk down the
hallway with smiles on our faces,
loud stupid things spewing from our mouths and
inside jokes about crazy hair and weird sayings.
I remember when we talked.
We used to stay up late on twitter ranting about things
only each other knew about,
texting each other pictures and
saying words only we knew.
I remember when you cared.
You'd ask me if everything was okay and
actually wait for a response.
I remember when this happened.
Out of the blue like why aren't we talking like
I don't understand
like
what.
happened.
Is it the partying with your new friends and
your stupid, mundane new vocabulary?
(I'll admit. That was harsh.)
Is it the poison you inject to alleviate the weight of
the rock and stone?
(Okay maybe not all my facts are straight.)
Was it the fact that I'm no good for you
with my antics and issues, laugh and tears?
(That's fine.)
If this has taught me anything, it's that
life is a game of
Memory.
Flip a card over once, but remember where it lands.
Don't pick it again.


**Well that really wasn't a poem. Well maybe. Who knows.**

#28

When I think about the fact that it's been

four months

sixteen days

twelve hours

twenty one minutes

and twenty two seconds,

it seems as if my eternity is destined to be a long string of mondays held together

by the thin rope of a fraying smile,

swaying gracefully in the breeze like a

clothesline

and hiding underwear behind Polo shirts.

The End

I'm going to take a little different approach here. Someone recently told me I should try using this blog as a way to get my feelings out, not just in poetry which can be tricky at best to articulate just what it is that is stirring beneath my bones, but in solid prose, standing tall.

So here we are. I'd like to begin at the end because I've somewhere been told that the end of it all can put all the rest in painful but needed perspective.

On August 28th, at 11:15am, I was climbing trees with some friends. We went up to Adirondack Extreme to celebrate a late birthday party because, as always, I couldn't seem to get my act together and plan anything on time. My birthday was two months earlier, but my mom told me I had to have a birthday party because 16 was "a big year." She couldn't have been more right about that.
So we went up into the trees and the day couldn't have been more beautiful. The sun was shining brightly down on us, creating lovely shadows across our faces where the leaves on the trees served as stencils for the negative image of the sun. The course was challenging. If you ever have the time to climb at ADKX, then I highly recommend it. It was tons of fun.

Anyway, after the grueling workout that it really was (although I am a rower, this was totally different than any exercise I was used to) we ate our bagged lunch and headed home. We had to race back as fast as we could because one of the people who came, my teammate, and I needed to get back for practice. Somehow, we made it. Exhausted as we were, we completed our SECOND two hour practice of the day after climbing in trees for four hours.

I know I got home at 8 from the river, but the next hour or so is fuzzy. I probably showered, flopped down on the couch and watched TV. Actually, I probably ate my house out of everything as I usually do after practice. Whatever I did, it seems inconsequential now compared to what happened at 9pm.

Around 9, I found my mother at our small breakfast bar with her elbow on the granite counter, her hair disheveled, and the phone to her ear. Her lips were pursed, her eyes blinking back frantic tears. She hung up and told me that my beautiful Nana had a seizure or a stroke or a heart attack or something and was on the way to the hospital. Immediately, I went into action mode, a trait I have inherited from my mom. I didn't cry like she did, instead I was there to comfort. Then, when she was okay, I went upstairs, called my wonderful boyfriend, and lost it.

This little cycle happened over and over again, with each call bringing more news. I wish the news was better than it was but each phone call got shorter and each length of time my mom cried grew longer. I hoped desperately that she would be okay; I prayed. I tried everything. However, she had a massive brain aneurism and was not expected to make it.

She was placed on life support although she had a DNR, and at eleven at night, my mom came up to my room. I was sitting in bed, my blanket pulled around me, and just staring ahead of me. I recall not being able to think about anything at all. My mind was blank and my throat felt like it had been pinched shut. My mom said to me, "They will take her off of life support at midnight. She probably won't live past an hour without it." Then she handed me the phone. "Do you want to say anything to her?"

I'm 16. I didn't know what to say to my grandmother. I wish I could remember exactly what I said. I told her I loved her multiple times. Oddly enough, I told her it would be okay. I told her that heaven would take her and that she could let go. I told her I would take care of grandpa and my mom and my aunts and uncles. I told her to please watch over me. I also told her to say hello to my friend who had passed a year earlier and to God and Jesus for me. I tried not to cry. Above all, if she really was hearing me (although science argued otherwise,) I didn't want her last Earthly memory of me to be a sad one. Needless to say, I did cry a few times. I'm sure she forgives me.

At 6:30am on August 29th, 2012, the end came. I wish I had a time turner so I could take myself back to every moment with her and squeeze her a little tighter, say "I love you" a little more sincerely. We had a relationship that nobody but us understood. I would give anything to fly up to that far place where she is now and just see her face. After all that has happened, I would give everything to know what she thinks of me now. Lucky? Strong? Proud? I think I know the answer, but I want to know what she really thinks.

I cry because she isn't here, but really, I know she is. The trouble with it all though, is that she doesn't need to see me, but she can. I need to see her, but I can't.

Thanks for reading.

#27

1,111 is like eleven eleven
squished together in a nice dainty little package so
that you don't have to worry.
No colons or spaces to get between,
nothing here but you and me.
I'd give up all my 1111 wishes for you,
for your new friends in that far place for
the ones who left
for the ones who can't come back
come back
come back
come back
It's not that hard, they always tell me, move on get over it, move on get over it
but this is my words spilling out of the tar pit in my soul
excuse the typos.
This is me angry
hopeful
sad
hurt
discouraged
disappointed
hopeful
hurt.
There's a fine line between hurt and hope the more you hurt the more you hope
the more you hope, the more you hurt.

Angel Christmas

Christmas comes
Christmas goes
transient as the last seat at the table,
the one filled by hot air and paintbrushes and
memories of a time less painful when the
falling snow didn't remind you of angels
and the clouds didn't remind you of
the far place where you can't be.
I'm jealous that you went because
you don't have to be stuck here anymore,
a lost soul in a cruel fish bowl
with a mirrored side like a funhouse.
Well there's nothing fun about this and
this house is made of
the dreams wasted,
thunderous voices booming insecurities
across the hope torn apart,
turned to shame.
Christmas comes
Christmas goes
like the people who don't have time to say hello,
the ones taken too fast to say goodbye.
You shouldn't be scared or confused when you
leave this near place.
Christmas comes
Christmas goes,
a woven melody that I hear, entwined with the
storms I'm not sure my paper skin can weather anymore.
Yesterday was a good day
because Christmas came
Christmas went,
you went though,
and you haven't come back.

My Reason

I swore off of love poems some time ago

when I decided that they were as mainstream as 

those fake glasses with the thick, dark rims and 

little metal ovals in the corners. 

I mean, I haven't totally gone back on that promise,

but recent events have proved to me that I need to explain something,

the reason for all I do.

So this is my love letter.

My love letter for you. 

It was August 23rd, I remember, that we 

sat down on cold steps that 

were warmed by the smiles across our face and 

out of nowhere, you saw the lock inside my heart 

start to turn at the press of your lips against mine.

I felt it but I didn't say it because to guard your heart is to guard your home and

back then,

I didn't know just how wonderful you are.

I walked down the street in December by myself and 

it was a cold night with glitter spilled on a black canvas and 

the beat of my heart provided the metronome for the 

symphony of the universe around me.

I heard your voice in my head.

You said,

you're a moon rock in my asteroid field, stardust inside my wand.

I replied,

listen here, wave-breaker. I'm not amazing as moon rock or fragile as a speck of dust but thanks for the compliment I guess.

That was months ago and I promised myself back then that 

it would all end, that 

somehow this night would fade and this star would cease to shine.

I'm pretty sure I'm not stupid and I'm not usually wrong about these things,

but you've proved that stars do burn for billions of years

and one beautiful day can last forever.

because one night we stood in your driveway,

not caring that the neighbors were probably watching with bowls of popcorn 

from inside their windows 

while we danced by your car,

my head against your shoulder and my feet entwined with yours.

You found my lock and you found the key 

I carefully hid away so well,

but I didn't care.

That morning in August you were the only one I called 

and you came over with nothing to say and only tears in your eyes.

I hope you know that meant the world to me.

I hope you know that's when I figured out I need you.

Now people ask me what I love about you and I 

don't exactly know what to say.

So, I smile the same smile you have and try to feel you next to me

to spread your aura. 

I say the only words that I can to attempt to spit out the 

tangled emotions and memories that

float inside the faulty safety deposit box in my mind.

"I just do."

I must show it, because somehow, they always smile

too and nod, saying "I understand."

If you live to be a hundred,

I want to be a hundred minus one day,

so I never have to live without you.

If a day should come that we must go,

I'll stand and wait for you up in a tree, and when you 

find me, you'll help me down.

Until that day comes,

I love you,

I love all of you, 

simple,

true.

I hate poems that rhyme,

but you bring it out in me.

You do.

And my reason?

My reason is you. 

Angry, The Sequel.

I'm sick of yelling through caps lock, unable to hear each other over the
din our own screams create so I'll
put it down right here.
I hate the stranger you've become, the way others have changed you,
the way the world has molded you.
I hate the way you fight me like I don't love you, like I didn't trust you,
like I don't want this to work.
I hate the way you blame me when you don't even take a damn second
to see things from my point of view.
I hate the he-said, she-said that got us into this in the first place,
and I hate the fact that it is midnight but I cry
as silently as possible so that
nobody will ask me what's wrong.
I hate that you don't need me and I hate that
I'm replaceable.
I hate that I need you and I hate that you can't
be replaced.
You'll probably judge this hardcore, but this isn't poetry, it's a brain dump.

#26

Well, I thought falling was imperfect,
that there was no way around the lightning splitting trees,
no way to prevent the shatter that inevitably ensues,
only cataracts to look through and
misery-tainted ears to listen through, but
as always I was wrong because
when I fell off of a skyscraper, I can't be sure if you pushed me or if I jumped.
That's beside the point.
When I hit the ground and looked up you were there and
it didn't matter that people were circling around me like paparazzi vultures,
all that mattered was seeing you give me a thumbs up
from the top balcony all
that mattered was your crinkled smile.
If falling is like this all the time then I don't mind splitting in half occasionally because
you'll just grab your keys and go,
drive fast away,
find the duck tape and
piece me together again.

#25

It was a cold, windy, November night when I watched my
demons fly away and my
soul grow roots in the home of another, yet feel
gutsy enough to let the petals go
even though it is not mating sea on.
The night is cold buy your arms and your lips are warm and
all I can think about is how nice it would be to have you sleep
with me,
not that weird way but
the way where I put my head on your chest and fall asleep
to the metronome of your steadily beating drum.
I sick of living in the shadows of my past and
leaving out all the rest,
of making enemies with uncertainty and
friends with animosity.
Raise the stakes or fold,
I go all in.

Explanation to Brutus

The fault, Dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves.
our stars shine so brightly but who knows what they truly are,
a million miles away from this concrete jungle of
fear and tyranny
false hopes and false witnesses who
take an oath upon the court that
they solemnly swear...
I solemnly swear that I have had enough of this fucking nonsense.
I have had enough of the screams that
rip through my mind but never through my ears and mouth.
I've had enough bad luck for five and
I've had enough midnight despair for everybody.
Lay your faults on me like an anchor and keep me at bay.
If you don't the surge from the storm may
swipe me into the nearest Forever 21
where I will be on display for people to buy unaware
of the price of beauty stitched into the fibers of my being,
slavery is sewn into the fabric of our clothes.
I'm creating an anthem.
This one is for the girls who cover their faces with makeup to hide their
souls from the world.
This song is for the boys who think they are men but deep down they are just
infants.
This is for the ones who want to sing but hate the sound of their voice, for the ones who
paint their nails to cover their flaws the one with cracked broken
lips,
the ones who suffer from the nighttime tormenting fits.
This an anthem of dreamers and believers,
of condescending critics and
their peers
for the poets who are told if it doesn't rhyme it's not a poem and
for all of us who have been knocked on our knees just one time to many
This is for the ones who write because their souls need to be fed,
for the ones who sing for their emotional bank to be kept clean
and for the ones who express who they are
each and everyday.
This is an anthem for all of us, for all of us here
who take a stand against normalcy and society,
who think the -ologies have taken it just a little to far.
This is for the spirits that want to burst out and
for the rib cages who keep them in.
I'm talking about an anthem.
Listen to my anthem and let wildflower vines tangle with your bones.
Let their stems clog your veins and let your soul take
over in the grey area where it meets the body.
When the man up there returns back down I hope you're not in a house or
a building or in anything for that matter than
your naked body stripped down of fabric,
the fibers of your being shown to the world because
we are the beautiful ones.
We are the ones they hate because they love,
the ones that get thrown against walls because we break them down,
the ones who feel a need to sit on rooftops and explore the depths of humanity;
Don't let that wildflower die.
Listen to my anthem.
The fault in ourselves, Dear Brutus, is each other's stars.

Tidal Wave

On the high tide of bliss trouble is covered,
covered but the seaweed and life forms and sea shell that have
drifted in to cover up murky bottoms.
I wish my soul had a moon,
my heart could be a moon,
I want some tides in my soul,
but the kind that stays.
I need a high tide,
I need a sunrise,
I need some concealer
to cover up this dark spot and wrinkle.
You see, a smile is just a piece of the tide,
a laugh is just crying without tears and
when I said,
I'm so happy I found you, I meant it because
you make it so the
high tide never goes down.
Maybe that's not healthy.
Maybe I need to see to the sand in order to
dig for the gold which I seek,
but I say,
fuck the ordinary, I want to be extraordinary,
unlike the name implies.
I want to be strong like the waves of a hurricane,
knock me off my feet,
I want to pretend like the last six years didn't actually happen,
and I want to pretend that I can actually express my feelings in cryptic, creative, unusual ways but instead I end up just dumping my brain and dumping my feelings into a box carved into my computer screen, my blinking cursor mocking my pain, my hands are covered with the blood that I lost when you went you left you left you went you're gone and somehow I'm fucking jealous. I'm jealous you're in a place where it's all fucking dandelions and daffodils meanwhile I'm stuck here picking up the pieces of the debris after the storm.
You know how hard it is to smile when people ask how you are?
If  I told the truth I'm sure I'd be locked in a mental ward.
You know how hard it is to watch a grown man cry his eyes out?
You know how hard it is to imagine you could be next?
To know you could be next?
To think that the one you love with your whole heart could be next?
I'm sorry but I really can't go through this again. I really can't go through this again. I really don't have the strength or the courage, or the classical beauty that you say I do to go through with this, to go through this, to make it through this one. I need. Help.

Help me, I'm drowning in a self-induced tide
to cover my motives.