26 July 2015

On The Surface

I feel like I'm in middle school again.  That should scare people, not make them swoon.  Middle school is the worst; you always run into the "does he like me?" bit.  I hate that bit.  I want that bit to die a most painful death.  I have no problem saying what I'm thinking; it's how you will react that scares me.  Shocker.  I'm seriously blowing minds right now with this behavior.  The problem is, I've not cared about someone this much since...  But he destroyed me and that's why I still think of him.  

The first guy I ever fell for, I was 6.  He would give me hugs everyday.  Does this sound ridiculous yet?  In forth grade, we started the trend of talking to each other everyday for extended periods of time.  Luckily, by the time I was in sixth grade, MySpace was a thing; so the conversations could transfer into the late hours.  It wasn't long before I discovered the wonders of the telephone, and how many hours I could spend on it before my parents realized they should invest in something called "line two".  But we talked about everything.  Obviously, there was no choice in the matter.  I remember sometimes being completely silent while listening to you play guitar.  Or watching movies at the same time and yelling about how we hate when people talk during movies; but we were still on the phone.  I remember countless hours of tears, mostly happy but also sad, that I shared with you.  When AIM became popular, we were on the phone while AIMing in groups with our friends.  Tight pants, Green Day, and long blond hair.  And I loved you.  High school came along and by then, things had already changed.  AIM wasn't a thing.  Texting was.  MySpace was replaced by a face of books.  You no longer called, neither did I.  We'd just stare.  Until the day I stared too long, on purpose.  I wanted you to stop and that did it.  I didn't want to love you anymore.  I didn't want a small hope.  I didn't want you.  So from then on, we didn't associate with each other.  I went though high school, alone.  It was better that way; things in my life started to get really messy.  If you would've walked away then, it would've made me worse.  Graduation came and I remember the last look we shared.  You were giving your speech.  Because my name couldn't get more generic, I was dead center.  You couldn't miss me and you didn't.  And that's when it happened, when we officially parted ways.  It wasn't painful.  But I think about those talks and I miss them.  I miss my best friend that I was madly in love with.

Now I'm 22.  The names the same and unfortunately so is the game.  We talk and text all of the time.  What are you?  I really like talking to you, but I can't afford another nick.

25 July 2015

Go Up In Smoke

Good morning, good afternoon, goodnight.
It's almost over. 
I can feel it.
I don't want you to go.
I don't want to walk away.
But it'll happen.
We drove in opposite directions late last night.
That was the signal.
Immediately got the feeling that you would disappear.
At home, you didn't text me.
You didn't call.
I reached and you didn't grab.
This morning I was in knots.
I try again.
You see, but say nothing.
Do you feel it too?

15 July 2015


So I didn't clean like I said I would.  This one felt different.  I hadn't talked to someone this much since I was in middle school and discovered the wonders of the home phone or better yet AIM.  I talk to you so often it feels like an extra limb I've gained.  The third hemisphere of my brain I need to consult.  I really liked that about us.  

But you hurt me yesterday.  You made me feel like this whole time everything was one sided.  But how can that be when you texted me the second I got home?  Believe it or not, I'm proud of myself.  I haven't told you anything too serious, or too personal.  Then again, I don't know if you asked.  You just talk about yourself.

That extra limb and hemisphere I really liked having around, seem to prefer to do things on their own.  They prefer not to listen.  They do what they want.  But if you want to be connected to me, you have to hear.

06 July 2015

Clean House


We both know what those initials mean and what they represent.  Let's be honest with each other.  I really like you.  Like a lot.  People are noticing.  I have an itch to talk to you constantly.  It bothers me when I don't hear from you in a day.  I feel like you were trying to do that today.  Do you realize that would be the first time we haven't talked in an entire twenty-four hour span since the beginning?  I don't know, maybe you are just playing head games with me.  Is it fun?  Well if you are curious, I'm cleaning my room right now.  I have this weird habit of letting my room get messy when I start liking a boy, and cleaning it when I've changed my opinion of them.  So here I am cleaning.  I'm done being the one to start everything; it has to be you sometimes.  It's just getting harder for me to remember that mentality when I really want to talk to you.  But, I will fight it.  And you will have your fun with the chase, or lack there of.

Whatever you choose, 

22 June 2015

It's All Just Words

Your words are all you have.
When you flip and twist and turn them,
they are no longer yours.
It's just becomes syllables that you probably said together.

Your words are all you have.
When you repeat me, 
you're not you.
They say we are the same but in this matter we disagree.

Your words are all you have.
When you find yourself questioning your process,
remember where you started.
The facts can help change what you once believed.

Your words are all you have.
So why are you rearranging yours?

It is better to be hated for what one is, than loved for what one is not.​ — AndrĂ© Gide

21 June 2015


This massive weight is festering were my lungs are suppose to hang.
I feel myself wanting to cry but unable to think.
Unable to see.  
Unable to hear.
My limbs feel useless and my head feels heavy.
I'm suppose to believe that you are on my side.
But I forget how business works.
That's my own flaw.
I'm gone.
I can't believe that this is the life I'm living.
I can't believe that this is the way you want things.
I can't believe I let myself trust again.
The pain of knives going through my torso is real.
They're there.

18 June 2015

Carry On

If I had a secret to give, I'd give it to you.  I feel like you'd keep it close, put it in your carry on.  Let it take that little pocket in the front that nobody uses.  But you'll use it, for my secret.  There it will stay all snug next to your most prized possessions, so close to them it's like my secret is one too.  In the beginning, you remember it's existence constantly, pulling it out and admiring.  It's not long before you get a little busier however, losing precious time you use to fill with it.  But there are shinier and more interesting secrets in the world, you even admit it.  My secret still keeps its spot on your carry on.  Time passes even more.  Oh the adventures your carry on has followed you on; you notice its increase in weight and even size due to your newest collector's items.  You have to travel lighter you say.  Pawing through, you come across a secret you have kept oh-so-close on every adventure.  It's tired looking, worn from it's travels with you.  But it's still there.  You feel sad seeing it.  You feel flashbacks making their way through like an old fashioned slide show.  One you can stop from time to time to not only admire whose in the photo, but the story behind it.  You hold my secret to your chest.  And put it back where it belongs, in the front pocket of your carry on.