when you kissed me in the tunnel,
we were split in two like an atom.
we made our mouths to move
over a set so soft and scared,
and we named her like a flower.

we traded gifts,
and froze our feet
barefoot in the stream,
where the stone looked like
the flooring of a 1970's kitchen.

the blond-haired children stared
and held the hands of their mothers,
as they floated within feet
of our three headed body
on a tapestry by the lake.

we watched the wind
take the water in ripples
like the shudder of my thighs
when you're pressing into my soul,
trying to fuse us back together.

the green and brown stains
on the knees of my jeans
were proof the day happened
i wore them for five days after
so memories couldn't be washed out

Suffocation.

I want blackness to coat me
and to silver my open eyes
into a blindness of silence
where my eyelids
will no longer flutter
like damp butterflies
on your scarred cheeks

I dreamt of laughing gas
and the infectious feeling
of filling my lungs
with something other
than the air I so often inhale
in deep desperation
when you're breathing above me

when you wouldn't let me
hold your hand by the road
i felt like blacking out
under some bruised horizon
in some other town
where nobody would care
if i went off and got hurt

could've had some broken life
the way things were going
could've kept wandering on
with no reason to live
and an irrational conscience
but then you came around
and boy you changed the plot

Look here, i am drowning
but do you hear my plea?
you see me sinking
and you stand singing
some familiar folk song
we used to make love to
when love was kept pure

Not even 10 feet of flood water could keep me from you.

A night spent drinking your brother's supplies
and singing along with the saddest songs.
Swaying in the dark damp street near your house.
I laughed and held your arms away,
while you struggled against my defenses.
The family downstairs wasn't home
but we'll still pile textbooks over vents,
and worry over lighting candles indoors.
Softly, I move my feet over the carpeted floor,
avoiding that one place right before your door
where the loose plank underneath always creaks.
Our bodies glow in the faint light in the street
that filters softly through the church windows.

Sugar Skulls

And for a moment there

I was suspended over you like a marionette,

dancing for no other reason than that I was told to, 

and loving you because
that's all I really know how to do.

Light Pollution

Time moves a lot faster every day.
I hate getting older.

Diplomat's Son

Have you ever truly seen the sunlight through the trees? The dust from the gravel road, or swirling smoke on the horizon of someone's back yard brushfire? Have you noticed the house on the hill silhouetted by the rose sunset? Have you seen the bent wheat beneath your ancient sneakers, how they fold down on eachother like they were woven there?

Tears in my eyes, I walked around and was overwhelmed.

Everything is beautiful here.

Work in progress...

Been working on this for about two days. This is a rough draft, I will be making a final inked drawing, hopefully within a week. One of my friends liked it so much he said he would use it as a tattoo. So, I guess we'll see what becomes of it.
Currently titled "Spinebird"

Matter

The infinite fabric stretched on the endless canvas. The horizon of watercolors, tempera, acrylic, pastel, charcoal, and oils. Everything is illuminated in a transluscent glow, like a candle within wax paper walls. A hand is reaching toward the fruit of knowledge. Ever-reaching, a statue in frozen timeless grace. We are all matter floating in timelines. Drifting, and being obliterated by minute-ticks and the delicate trickle of sand. Circuit board babies born as the victims of the code, to be cursed through life as a trail on a map headed straight for the edge of the world and a stopped clock.

How I Discovered Truth

You fluttered by
thin and pale
like a lacewing.
I was all at once
daunted and inspired
by your ironic grace.

Years later, now
I am finding myself
desperately clinging
to your delicate aura
that balances somewhere
between reality and myth,
tearing at your thin frame
while you grip the ivory
of my pale spine
barely holding me steady
telling me to be
understanding.
Telling me that everything
is indeed okay.

But sometimes when
I look up from the fall
into those kaleidoscope eyes
I don't believe you
and all I want
is to be erased.

Mountain Daydream

You came to me in a daydream
carrying handfuls of sand.
You buried me underneath the weight
of billions of tiny pebbles
ground from faraway mountains
in some faraway land.
I choked under the pressure
of everything holding me down-
foreign objects filling up my eyes,
ears, nose, and mouth.
I became a mountain,
towering high and alone.
You became the wall between
what I love and what I've known.
Your body is a sieve,
filtering out the misconceptions in me
and I am a world of mistakes,
buried and towering- high, alone and free.
Should I feel ashamed,
or should I feel proud?
I've got tears in my eyes
and birds in my mouth, singing
"I am what you are, and you are
what you've always wanted to be.
We are one in the same,
dear child from the dark.
I am what you are
and we share the same heart."

Drew this today.

standing under a bridge, originally uploaded by AviaryForToday.

We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.

I saw those words, Oscar Wilde's words, painted on the rusting metal of a bridge yesterday.

Did I ever think it would end up this way?
No.
But I haven't done anything right so far to make sure it didn't.

I'm going to fix things. If I can.
I'll try my absolute hardest.

I just hope someone still believes in me.

Reading in the Dark

(I've been listening to Heathers constantly.)






I just want to be home again.

Mitchell is Moving.

Conor, read me a story.

Starting to think that no one actually really cares what happens to me.

Illness.

I feel incredibly sick.
My stomach hurts and I've been freezing all day, and have the shakes.
I find it absolutely ridiculous and irritating that my nerves and anxiety can make me physically ill.
I'm tired of letting my stupid feelings and sensitivity control my life. I went through the day, hardly present in my surroundings. Staring wide-eyed and mostly lost at everyone, and slowly scrawling my notes down about democracies. I just remember being absolutely scared. I couldn't tell you a single thing I actually said today.
It all started last night, seemingly paused while I slept, and came back as soon as I awoke. I was in an inconceivable amount of pain this morning, popping Midol and Advil (the only things I could find), three full doses in two hours. It didn't go away though. When I got on the bus, I put on my iPod and stared out into the cold scenery, at all the mounds of dirty snow, and all the hopeless, frantic people living their lives in a futile repetition of tasks. I immediately began to cry. Is this all we're really here for? To live unhappily for most of our lives, doing things we're told and not really having time to do the things that make us happy, and then to die completely alone with no real proof that there is life after death? To live in fear of someday not existing, but to go about doing things in a rush, doing things to earn credit, earn money, earn a name for ourselves. Earn a living. How do you earn a living? I thought that when we are born, we have the right to life, and to live as we please? But there are so many standards to be met in order to "survive." Nothing here makes sense.
But somehow I managed to find something so stunningly real, in this vast world that makes me feel so insignificant. Somehow you ended up in my life. It's a bittersweet truth. You and I did not meet until two years ago. We had already lived at least a fourth of our lives before we even met. I wish I could have known you before then, and maybe prevented some of this stuff from happening.
As you said: "You are it... I just wish I figured that out sooner."

So here we are,
in the midst of all this-
endless chaotic gloom,
looking for some spark
in the suffocating dark.
Separate cities,
and miles apart. 

Will we ever hold hands again?

Happy Alone.

(Title is a song by Earlimart, really good. Thanks to a friend for the recommendation)

So, I'm sitting in this cold basement, nursing my split elbow, trying to remember not to lean on it. I hit it on a lightswitch of all things, but it happened to be a really old dimmer switch with the knob ripped off, so there's a big sharp piece of plastic there instead. Just so happened to hit it directly with my right elbow while coming downstairs. Ouch.

So, I'm going to post honestly. This is, as my teacher said, basically a window into my head. Only a select few know about this, unless people happen upon it. Which I don't mind, usually, because I don't know them personally.

Here goes.

I haven't been eating enough, apparently, because my parents keep commenting on how I never eat. Which, I think I do. Usually. But people keep saying how skinny I've become (which I mean, I'm not, but I guess it's skinnier than I was). Trying to be less self-conscious though. It's working, somewhat.
----
(continued the next day, at school)
Yesterday, I made a terrible mistake. I keep reverting back to my old ways.
I tell myself, and everyone that I'm trying to change. Yet there is still one consistent stabbing feeling in the back of my mind. It's tiring. Overwhelming, sometimes.
Everybody always forgives me somehow. I'm grateful, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I wonder how they can keep being so nice to me. I hope they don't ever give up on me. I don't know what I would do, then.

I keep telling myself everything's going to be fine. I keep telling myself all this waiting will be worth it. That's the only reason I'm really even still here, able to write this, able to breathe and blink.

I have found, however, I've become even more aware of things. I do not know whether it is a gift or a plague at this particular point.

Trying to make this book last, Just Kids. It's become my safe haven, where I transport myself when I am feeling like giving up. But sometimes it makes things worse; there are so many parallels between my life and Patti's. Some of them are more abstract translations, but some are startlingly similar to some of the experiences I have had, and it seems to line up as I read. The story progresses, and is matched in my progression through the days, slightly slower, but more concentrated into short amounts of days, where the skips and jumps of her paragraphs sometimes span weeks, months, years. Mine span minutes, hours, days.

Woke up in so much pain. I've already taken three doses of tylenol-ish things, since waking up, to the end of first period this morning. My eyes are seeing slower than the timing at which they turn. It's making me dizzy, and flustered. It isn't from the medicine, I know that. I'm not trying for pity. I'm trying to be completely honest with myself and the rest of the world. It's just me and my messed up mind.
I've filled pages and pages of lined paper in my composition book, writing panic attacks on paper. Do you know what they look like? Illegible nonsense, and a hand of writing that I cannot duplicate under normal circumstances. The candle light helps me to focus on just getting out all the bad things quickly, onto the pages and out of my head. Consider it a sort of cleansing. Consider it therapy.

No pain, no gain, right?

Something honest.

I'm so tired of hiding behind these words, all jumbled into metaphors and images. I'm tired of pretending everything's fine with me all the time. Because

What Could Mean More Than This

You are my sunshine.

little bird

you troubled little bird
perched on the winter branch
waiting for spring to warm you

singing a sweet sad song
waiting for the sunshine
to reach its way to you

you sit through wind
and tighten your wings
around your fragile frame

you sweet little bird
trying so hard to find
some light in the cold outside

this is still my favorite i've done.

the wind finds its way into the gaps

alone again in this silly basement.
was going to have company, but something came up. oh well, i'm sure i wouldn't have been a very interesting host anyway.

on a more lively note, i've been corresponding with the artist william schaff, as i plan to buy some art from him. he's quite amazing, and fans of okkervil river will recognize some of his work.
he puts so much emotion into his work, and his style is all his own. sometimes he addresses more obscure topics, some things not for the faint of heart. but that's what art is about. he is doing things that should not be scolded, but revered. he exposes emotions and subjects in his work in a confident, tasteful, artistic way.

i suggest that you pay him respect, and, if possible, make donations so that he can continue his work. not only is he extremely talented, but he's also very kind.

you never come home anymore...

washed my hair in the sink today.

my life is slowly becoming very similar to the book i'm reading.
i suppose next i'll cut my hair like mick jagger.

only thing missing right now is a friend.
when i said i thought it might be good if i talked to you less, it didn't mean you had to stop completely. i just meant i wasn't going to bother you as much.
i mean i know you're busy and stuff...but...



i wish you'd at least talk to me.

More words.

Washed my hair in the sin

Half dead.

I sat and read old notebooks, pages and pages of secrets.
In one you wrote "You look stunning. I didn't know what to say when you got off the bus today... Every moment with you is wonderful."

I refuse to believe you never loved me (not that you ever said that), and I am putting every single speck of myself into holding myself back from you, and letting you be free. It's difficult, when I'm used to clinging onto you like I cling to your arm on a busy sidewalk.

It's crazy to think we've only known each other for a little over two years. Maybe three. You've already made such a difference in my life. You've given me everything I could have ever wanted, and everything I never thought I would be fortunate enough to actually have.

I'm not going to give up on us, I'm just backing off. It's really hard not knowing how you are or where you are or what you're doing. It's hard being apart. For every mile marker between us, there's a tear. For every night I don't speak to you, there's a scar. We can't get those nights back. We just keep progressing, and each hour ticks away and is lost forever. We can't get those exact moments back, or re-do them. But we can make up for lost time, when the time comes. Which is why I decided to let you be you for as long as you need to. Hopefully it won't take long to untie the little knots and tangles inside you, because I miss you...
I miss you a lot.

But I will sit and make art, and write songs, and read books until enough time has passed and you call me and tell me everything's going to be alright again.
I promise I'll wait for you.
No matter how long it takes.

Peter Pan and Wendy.

You're busy chasing your shadow
trying so hard to pin it down
while I'm sitting by the windowsill
waiting for you to come back around

I belong with you in Neverland.
"You're a girl," you say.
I know I'm not a Lost Boy
but we're all lost, aren't we?

You shake your head
and say to me, "Lost girl,
will you wait for me?
I don't want to grow up this way."

I wipe my little tears away, thinking
about the adventures we've had, you say
"Just keep your window open, Wendy.
I'm only a whistle away.

Keep wishing on that second star,
I'll come back for you
when you're all grown up
I'll see you again someday."

Frozen wasteland.

Listening to the Mountain Goats album, Get Lonely and tons and tons of Okkervil River. Took a nap today, listening to Sigur Ros.
Music surrounds me.

Went on a random adventure.
Bought a yellow Suntone camera, an Aztec-esque sweater, a little kid shirt with lots of dinosaurs on it, some crazy tanktop with an elephant and palm trees and some guy who looks like Aladdin, a musty old filing box for my photos, and a brown knit pencil skirt. Drank a whole 42 oz. of Arizona Green Tea.

... and I still don't feel okay.

Score.

...

Well.

This is fun.


P.S. Wow. Pete's old. The guy playing drums had bad hair.

Promises:

#1. I'm not letting you down again.
#2. I'm never going to give up.
#3. I will always take care of you.
#4. I trust you.
#5. I believe in you.
#6. I love you.

I'm trying to distract myself. With poems and songs and abstract art.

The title is part of a song I wrote this morning.

I woke up at hour intervals last night, feeling as if my insides had gotten caught and twisted in a plant riddled with thorns. My heart raced and I was drenched in a cold sweat. I'm sick, in more than one way. I think I've been ignoring symptoms of a diagnosable illness, as well as some sort of other medical things. Numerous "real" things. I'm hoping I can self-treat them and they'll go away.
Then comes the mental side of it all, the emotional side.
All the anxiety I used to feel every night is back, ten times worse than it was a few years ago.
I feel sick to my stomach every day now.
I can barely eat. When I stepped on to the scale this morning, I was scared. I've lost five pounds or more within the last few days.
Last night I wrote a three page letter to myself, just to get all my thoughts sorted out into paragraphs, instead of letting them keep frantically buzzing in my head.
So when I woke up this morning, heart still racing, still shivering and damp, I decided to write a song.
I ate a little breakfast (two pieces of turkey bacon and half an activia yogurt =/ ) and grabbed my guitar. I listened to the Mountain Goats for a while. Then I shut it off and began to write. At first I was frustrated, I kept scratching out lines, and rewriting them. Repeat.
Then it happened. Something clicked and I found a melody. A rough three-minute-or-more summary of what's been twisting up my insides.
It's deeply personal.
Moreso than anything I've posted on here.

That's why I'm keeping it to myself.
Writing, for me, is therapy.
Sometimes people don't need to see what I do...
I think I'd scare them.

Butterflies.

I'm painting an abstract painting. It's based on the colors and shapes of a tiger lily.
Hopefully it turns out well.

Just kind of making a mess right now.

scared, originally uploaded by AviaryForToday.

I don't really know what to do.
I'm terrified. 

I'm not giving up.
I still believe... it just hurts...
I never thought this would happen.

I can't believe this is happening.

I wish I could cure you.

Thoughts of hypothermia.

I sat shivering in thin denim with the hood of my jacket pulled over my eyes. The concrete was like an ice block beneath me. The man across the street was walking his cream colored Pomeranian in his big maroon bathrobe, talking to it in that disgusting manner one would speak to a baby. Dogs can't understand people. Then again, people can't understand people, so what difference does it make? I let him speak to his ugly pet across the street, as I had other things on my mind. I wasn't sure what to do, and sat staring at my phone. I wanted to call again. But I knew no one would answer. I settled for ignoring the sting of my skin in the frozen weather, and watching my chattering breaths make clouds in front of my eyes. I cried until I thought my tears might freeze on my face. I quickly wiped them away at the thought.
I hope that man and his dog didn't hear me.
I wish you were here.

Leave me alone.

I've got a bad taste in my mouth
and an even worse temper.
Don't test me, child.
I'm a bringer of bad weather.

I will let you sleep.

Something in my head contradicts the fact that I believe every negative thing that has happened to or between us doesn't matter at all. I am sorry if sometimes I am scared. I guess it scares me that I have given every ounce of my mind, heart, and trust to you. I'm afraid of feeling so vulnerable. It's something that has roots that run deep, back into dark parts of my past. It's hard to get past feeling so scared.
I don't want you to think that I am irrational, or uncaring.
In reality, I care more for you than anything in this world. Or anything in any other world, for that matter.
No matter how many phrases I use to describe my love for you are labeled as sappy or cliche, I pen them as though they were original, and being spoken straight from the beating in my chest- like some sort of morse code love letter, signed in blood. There's so much more I wish to say to you than simple expressions and commonly used comparisons.

I've tried to write songs to express how I feel about you. Only one has ever made it to your ears, only because it has been the most lighthearted and least revealing one so far. Also, I've never come up with a melody quite right for anything to match you. I don't think I have the skills to write like that. I have a hard enough time coming up with words that fit. Usually, I don't get past the second verse, because I lose myself in thought. You are absolutely puzzling to describe. You're fascinating. Beautiful. Frighteningly intelligent... Then I start to trail off and think of how I would describe you in metaphors, only to find that maybe I would describe you as a star. Sometimes you're so far away, but you are still always there, brightly shining through all of the darkness that surrounds you, and giving me hope. But then, still I think that a star wouldn't quite even do you justice.

Do you know how many times I've tried to replicate your eyes on paper? Watercolors, colored pencils, paints, pastels... every medium. I even tried cutting bits of paper. That didn't work. They're too hard to capture in a still frame. Just like the whole of you. Tall and thin, always thinking- always moving somehow. Gears turning inside your head conjuring all sorts of magical things. Beautiful things, and dark things too. Always moving your hands, or messing up your hair. Creating things. Taking pictures. Scribbling. Doing magic tricks.

This isn't just some stupid post on some stupid blog, today. I'm taking my time on this, and I consider it an expression of what goes on inside my confused head.

I see that you are uneasy, usually when we aren't alone. You always seem like you're watching your back, or counting your words. Your head's somewhere else, but you maintain composure for the sake of appearance. You don't like being questioned, and you don't like your anxiety to be noticed. But I can always tell when something's wrong. Whether you know I know or not. Sometimes I don't bring attention to it, because I feel like you wouldn't want me to. I hope I'm doing the right things.

When we're alone, you're comfortable. You relax, and even sleep sometimes. Your hands drift down my spine, resting on the curve of my side. Something about physical contact between us just conquers any feelings of worry or discomfort and fills the gaps in with relief. I believe this happens because when we are apart, we're like two puzzle pieces in the puzzle box. All broken apart and awkwardly shaped, and you can't really tell what's going on with either on it's own. Put them together and things start to make sense. Things start to feel right.


I guess what this whole collection of thoughts is trying to express is that I believe in you.
I don't want you to think I'm upset, or mad, or anything.
Usually, it's just because I get so overwhelmed.
I always want to help, and when I can't, I get nervous, and anxious, and all other sorts of unpleasant things.

I really do love you.
And I know you know that,
and I know you love me too.
And that's all that matters.

[Para siempre.]

Sweater Song

Cherry Sweater.

Estimated Compliments Received: 6

Estimated Sexual Jokes About It: 10

Times I've Told People to Shut Up Today:
Lost count around 50, or so

For Real.

Today has been a whirlwind.

Utterly confusing, uplifting, inspiring, demanding, and altogether exhausting.
It has been filled with feelings of despair, followed by immense relief.

I went out tonight with a friend of mine who, strangely, I have never hung out with before.
We listened to Paramore. I was proud of him for knowing the words to at least three of the songs. It seems he isn't totally oblivious to music outside the world of FM Radio (We'll see what he does when I let him listen to Fanfarlo.) We went to the mall. We are complete opposites, but in some strange way we understand each other. Odd as it would seem to some outside observer, we had fun. I dragged him into some girly store where the only men there were interested in other men, or worked there- he attracts guys, for some reason. We laughed about the awkwardness of him waiting for me to get my clothes and let him go into the preppy stores. I was more attracted to the more eccentric stores, while he was into all the stores with obvious billboard-esque branding all over every article of clothing, straight down to the socks. Which, admittedly, I sort of liked, in certain forms. And he, admittedly, liked some of the things I was looking at as well. It all worked out, I suppose.
(I made him try on some skinny jeans. That was an experience I'm sure neither of us will EVER forget.)
Today I bought:

• Pop-Rocks (Strawberry)...I ate them in the car on the way to Barnes and Noble, giggling nonstop
• Jones Soda Cola Fizzing Candy... I really like fizzy, popping candy
• A shirt/dress with big colorful stripes that reminds me of nautical flags
• A gray knit sweater with a big picture of a cherry on it 
• Black knock-off Wayfarers (I MISSED HAVING THEM SO MUCH, last ones broke)
• "Just Kids" by Patti Smith, which I cannot wait to read. I read an excerpt from it in Rolling Stone two months ago and I have been anxiously waiting for it to hit the shelves.
• The fourth fleece jacket of it's kind in my friend's closet, bought it for him. This one's blue. He has a red one, a white one, a black one, and now a blue one. I think I may have some of his relatives come after me now. 
• Some type of gag-candy that looks like a big bag of blood, for my friend to give as a gift. It is really quite terrifyingly realistic. Transfusion, anyone? Fruity! *He says he will pay me back on Monday. Which, I don't much mind. But alright sure.*
• Two Starbucks drinks. I got a Green Tea Frappe, he got some Iced Mocha deal. I dunno, I just like how vibrantly green and repulsive looking mine is, because it is so unexpectedly DELICIOUS. No one ever asks for a sip, due to appearance.

There is nothing like shopping to bring out a rambling stream of thought conversation for the ride home- I talked this kid into silence. And that, no offense to him, is not easy to do.
He has good opinions, and good input on things. We talked about college, and about our relationships.

Which brings me to my next topic from today.
Things are going to get better for my boyfriend and I.
This time, I can feel it. It's really going to happen. I trust him much more than I ever have, and love him more every single second. Tonight we both had plans of our own, and I believe we both had a good night. I'm still waiting for the signal from him to call. I can't wait to talk to him.
I know you read this, dear.
I am proud of you, you know. For how far you've come.
I am promising to you, in front of the whole internet-affiliated world, that I am going to make all of those beautiful daydreams about our future come true.
We can do this.

I read the most beautiful book in Barnes and Noble. It was a short little book. It was on the Valentine's Day display shelf, and I was drawn to the cover, because it depicted two cartoon dinosaurs, much like to two I had drawn for Daniel in a children's book for Christmas. So, I read it. It talked about how the dinosaur was in his cage of ice, and how another dinosaur, called the lovely dinosaur, came along and melted the big block of ice with kind words. They fell in love. They realized each other's flaws, but accepted them. Then it told everyone to be more loving, and to act like the two dinosaurs, because the world is warm and full of light.
I nearly cried.

I love you, Daniel.
Let's be dinosaurs.

Darling,

Do you know how much you mean to me?

Sometimes the only way to feel better is to get sick

I guess that's what happened to me today.
Threw up this morning, found out we didn't have school anyway. So I guess that's good.
My throat still feels weird though.
It was terrible and violent. But, I'm alright now. That's all that matters. I was really worried I was going to spend the whole day with my head bent over a toilet bowl. Luckily that didn't happen this time.

On another note...
I keep thinking about how I felt the first time I woke up next to you.
Really, waking up is so much harder to do now that I know how it feels to be sleeping beside you, in your arms. Waking up now, I am alone in my room, in my tiny bed, surrounded by reminders and pictures of you. It's really fucking difficult to wake up like that.

But, I keep thinking about how I might see you this weekend. Or just soon, I hope.
Then maybe waking up won't be so hard. For a few days, at least.

Postal Tape and Shag Rug.

Surprise Two-Hour Early Dismissal.

Guitar time.

(hate you, webcam... reversing stuff.)

playing A-PUNK.

love,

the hipster in the striped sweater.

Financial Forms and the Lying Washing Machine

Sitting here staring at all the blank spaces on this scholarship form is making me dizzy.

It reminds me of the empty space between my fingers that your hand should be filling.

Just like my chicken scratch should be filling out this two page Mad-Lib of bits of my identity and my family's financial information.

Now I know what you meant when you said you should have waited a year until going to college. I honestly don't think I'm ready.

Only part I'm ready for is putting my clothes in your dresser and calling the Sanctuary home. 

It's funny though, I still don't know where I'm going. I mean, I say I don't because I haven't really proclaimed where I'm going to my parents. But I know it in my head. It's our little secret, I guess.

They can talk about Marshall all they want to. I'm not going there. It's too far away from everything I've ever known. It's like another world. I honestly do not even want to take a tour there. But I'll probably do it, just to have a weekend trip and to humor them. 

I wonder how they'll react when I tell them the truth.

My stomach ache is getting worse and all I want to do is curl up beside you and sleep.

You Marched Out of Time

Dear ______,

I write to you sitting on the balcony of my new house, facing the ocean. This cliff is just like the pictures in the brochure.
The white foam is closest, where the waves break on the rocks. Then, as it progresses away from me, the blue gets darker and darker until it stops and meets the sky. Sometimes the line there is on fire with a red sunset.

Yesterday, I talked to a man who has lived here for his whole life. He owns the flower shop downtown.
He told me that all he sees anymore is gray and that the sound of the ocean is an annoying static that "buzzes in your ears like mosquitoes down on the coast of Florida".
He also told me his lungs have a thick lining of salt from breathing all the mist from the sea.
(Maybe that's what makes his words so harsh.)
After a while of melancholy conversation, I decided to purchase a nice bouquet of wildflowers to see if some business would cheer him up.
It didn't.
He's an awfully somber man for someone who owns a flower shop.

In fact, a lot of people here seem awfully somber.

I thought Maine would be filled with happy, rosy-cheeked fishermen and their lighthouse-keeper wives.
Sure, it has the fishermen, but they're all salty dogs with briny beards and cold eyes.
I thought this place would be filled with happy distractions.
I need distractions.

I can't keep pretending I don't miss you.
I know I said we could both go our separate ways and I'd write you a letter at least once a month. I've been doing that. But somehow every single cursive letter progressively leads me into darker places. I feel like one of the ships anchors is tied about my waist.

Do you know why I moved here?

Because I had to get as far away from you as possible. I smiled and shook your hand that last day of moving out. We awkwardly waved goodbye.
I went straight to a friend and started to search for a place to live.
Crossing off states that we went to together, and then narrowing it by how far away and how expensive it would be to live there.
Then I found it.
Maine, I said.
I convinced myself it would be good to get away.

But every mile marker in that moving van seemed to hit me straight in the chest. I had trouble breathing and convinced myself it was due to the change in atmospheric pressure as I moved up the coast.
For a minute, I believed myself.
But I thought about you again, and started to feel carsick.

I still feel carsick, sitting on the balcony in one of the most beautiful, most melancholy places I've ever been.
It's all the motion of loving you, and then stopping completely that's made my stomach into a huge knot.
I've lost so much weight, my bones stick out. I hide in oversized Fair Isle sweaters and listen to Beatles records over and over again.

Every day I hope that by some chance you'll show up at my doorstep and I'll open the door and run into your arms and you'll kiss me like you used to.
I can only imagine who you have your arms around now.
Some model from Manhattan or a highly successful businesswoman. You always attracted the successful types. Which is why I always felt out of place at your friends New Years Eve parties and fancy soirees. I would hunch in my designer gown you bought for me and hold my wine glass in an improper, sloppy manner, and smile shyly at all your million-dollar friends.
But then you'd hold my hand, and kiss me on the cheek secretly, and everything would be okay.
And that's all I want now.
That's all I've ever wanted.

I hope this letter isn't too late.

I love you, I always have...

Sincerely,
________

How am I supposed to save you from drowning when I have an anchor tied to my waist?

my feet feel like cinderblocks, my head feels like a balloon

You sat there cold, ten feet away. Minutes turned into hours. You got your coat.

Sometimes I feel like you really are my brother, and that you're part of my family. Part of some mysterious family I never see.

You talked about her, or music for most of the conversation. I know how much you care about her. I feel like I can relate to you, with distance being both our worst enemies. 

We exchanged stories of nostalgia and humor. 

You talked about her just like I talk about him.

I can't count how many times either of us said "Yeah. I know how that goes."

I'll always be your sister. 

Though no familiar blood runs between us.

The World's So Green, 'Cause You're Holding Hands With Me.

I guess sometimes I feel let down.
But most of the time I feel hopeful.
Because by some strange act of fate,
I have you in my life.

This is not a poem.
This is my mind.

You write songs perfectly.
I don't think I ever told you
How much I love hearing you sing.
Well, I do. I love it, love you.

When you draw you stick
your tongue out and squint
focusing on the story behind it
penning pages with a picture.

"What do you think it means?"
You ask me, and I try
to think of the story in beautiful words
to do justice to the honesty in your work

Would you care to know a secret?
You're the only home I've ever had.
When I was curled up dark sienna light
Under the covers in a bed too small.

It was too early, we had stayed up late
and you kissed my forehead
and told me to go back to sleep
that you'd be back in a little while.

I don't think I've ever slept so peaceful.
I had something to look forward to.

This is not a poem.
This is my love.

I want to take care of you
and make the world brighter for you
with songs and fireflies in a jar
with radios and a warm place to sleep.

This is not a poem.
This is all for you.

Everything I ever do is for you.

sleep.

in a dream i had once
we were taking pictures
with instant film in a room
filled with sunshine stripes
spilling through the blinds

they fell on your skin
making it look like
you had a striped shirt
but your chest was as bare
as the inside of our refrigerator

i dream of days of denim
and old cotton dresses
the fresh smell of linen
and your eyes brightly shining
in the summer morning light

or waking up to rain
pouring from the gray
and your hand holding me
close like we're braced
for some awful storm

but we just laugh
and roll our bodies over
to sleep away our worry
and dream of the day
that this will all be real

Spiraling.

I am losing it.

Staring at the shadows on the walls.

Blurry eyes, absent smile.

I should be happy.

Holding on to your sleeve,

like I'm clutching onto life.

I am not normal.

Feeling sick and fevered,

no words can come out.

I can't do anything.

Los Campesinos!

This is a little mini-monologue type thing interjected within the song "This is How You Spell 'HA HA HA I've Destroyed the Hopes and Dreams of a Generation of Faux-Romantics"
It is one of my favorite songs, and I love this part.

"You walk in from your mother's balcony,
Panda-eyed and freezing cold.
You bury yourself in my chest to warm
I notice the goosebumps on your arms, millions.

And whether it's because of the numbers of hours spent laid facedown on my bed listening to white noise, or, well, obviously it's not, I somehow manage to translate them from braille.

The trails on your skin spoke more to me than the reams and reams of half finished novels you'd leave lying all over the place

And every quotation that'd dribble from your mouth like a final, fatal livejournal entry;
I know.
I am wrong.
I am sorry."

My Mental Record...Starts to Skip

I think something is broken.

I can hardly remember things these days. This whole past week is a blur.
All freeze-frames and blurry faces, and the Charlie Brown teacher's voice is everyone's voice in my mind.
Except you.

With you, it is different.
With you, I remember every single solitary detail. Every word.
Every motion, every sound.
I remember the pace of your heart and when you held my left ring finger and made a silent pinkie promise.

I think I am broken.

I hurt you ceaselessly, and in my mind I know it is wrong, and that I am saying things I don't mean.
We both need help.
But this is something that I am terrified of.
This is something that I have never experienced.
This thing has got to stop.
I don't know if it's from the pills.
Maybe I've always been this way.
But it needs to go away.

Truth:
I hate saying goodbye to you.
I hate watching you leave my driveway.
I hate being without you.
I hate when I hurt you.
I hate me.

I am the sole reason nothing works right.
But please. Please. Please believe me when I tell you that I am trying to change it.

haircut.

I am going out to dinner tonight with some friends, so I decided to get a haircut. In the chair, I was thinking about how I have changed so much.

It really is strange thinking about how long ago it was that I was an awkward overweight pre-teen. I can't believe I used to wear those stupid wildlife t-shirts two sizes too big, and all those baseball caps.

Then, into middle school, when I discovered punk music and the glories of black nail polish. Back then, I was afraid and angry. I used to hate and envy every single person I saw in the hallways. Girls with pretty blonde hair and the latest new trends and colorful notebooks. All those boys gawking and drooling over them. It made me hate them. I got over it. Then, I started to make friends. Slowly.

My freshman and sophomore years I had a small group of close friends and I was still trying to define myself as a person. I had gained the attention of a certain boy and we ended up dating for almost two years. That was a mistake. But, I had gained a lot of friends through the first two years or so. I was dressing in bright neon, and skinny jeans. I cut my hair short, and dyed it a lot. Blonde, dark brown. That died out pretty quick though.

Then, junior year came around. Mistakes mistakes mistakes. It is all a blur for me, I try to block it out. But then I met this person who now means more to me than anything else in the whole world. He loves me for who I am, and he has helped me to become a better person. I don't know what I'd do without him.

Senior year is now. This has been the most emotionally trying year of my life, but probably one of the best so far. I've figured out who my real friends are. They are few. But I love them.

Beluga Whales and Crow Birds

Snowy white.
Slick skin.
Water rolling over
ivory fins.

We laughable
mammal things!
Beluga whale
laughs with me.

Smoky black.
Never sings.
Cawing beak.
Feathered wings.

We laughable
mammal things!
Crow bird
Laughs with me.

Laugh at arms;
Featherless wings.
Snicker at legs,
tripping over things.

Cackle at clothes;
Pants with pleats.
Chuckle at toes;
Stubby on our feet.

We laughable
mammal things
do not have
fins or wings.

We try hard
to mimic them-
Crows and whales-
But we are men!
                                                  

   -Original poem by M.E.E.

I had no idea this picture even existed.

My father and I, and my grandmother's shi-tzu, Snuffy.

Today was a good day.

Didn't have any bad thoughts today. Just good ones, which hasn't happened in a while.
Started off kind of odd, and my jacket smelled of cigarette smoke, but as the day went on it became clear to me that I would rather have something to do (even if it isn't my favorite thing-*school*) than have nothing to do at all and go into a frantic state of mind searching for something to occupy my buzzing head with.

Things that happened today:

I got an A on my Government project, which means I can graduate. That's a plus.
I reconnected with some friends I really missed over the break.
I found out my Journalism teacher may become a published author.
I saw my Composition teacher's engagement ring. As sparkling as her excited smile!
I saw that someone else has a fondness for Dr. Martens as a fashion staple. Worn with a dress. Love.
I ate (some) lunch and scored a free chocolate milk from a friend. I was thirsty, good timing.
I had cheery conversations, and lovely songs stuck in my head all day.

Also, looking forward to tonight. Comfy pajamas, hopefully some ice cream, and a movie with my love.
All-in-all, quite satisfactory.

"I'll be your winter coat, buttoned and zipped straight to the throat with the collar up so you won't catch cold."

M.

Murdermurdermurdermurder.

This is the face of your killer.

Oh how I wish, but...

Nevernevernever.