Thursday, May 12, 2016

Billie Blues

I play Billie when I miss you.
So, in truth, her voice rings through my room and into the hours that never seem to end.
Maybe it's because they don't.
I blow on the record, but only because I saw them do it in a movie once.
I put the needle on, sometimes I move it too far and it scratches.
But sometimes I get it right and Billie serenades me and the way I still love you.
You see, I thought that it would take me half the amount of time that we were together to get over you.
But it's been years inside my heart.
And here I am; loving you just as much as I did on the day you left.
The record spins, even when it's finished playing tunes of what could only be considered broken hearts.
And for some reason, I am so broken.
I am so broken.
Not just because of you, although that is a lot of it.
But because the world seems to spin despite me begging it to stop.
To retrace my footprints in the sand to the moment where I let you walk away even though I knew you didn't want to.
I'm as much to blame as you.
And it seems that I spend far too much time heartbroken.
And I seek too much attention.
I put out a sign that says, "love me" and am met with silence.
I just want to feel the way you made me feel again somehow.
I want to feel the nights I lay next to you, tracing the patterns on your skin and the outline of your eyes.  To lean over and kiss your shoulder while you slept.  To wake up to your face in the crook of my neck and your arm draped over my chest.  You loved it when I was close.
But now, you are everything and far away.
And I can't have you.
I can't have you.
There is no hope in letting go, because I can't do it.
I can't let you leave my being when you are entirely made up of it.
You are the best pieces of me.
And no matter who you're with or who I cry to; that won't change.
Because I don't love my life as much as I love you.
And I need to.  

Saturday, May 7, 2016

Heartbreak FM

Maybe today, I'll write a poem. 
Because it's two hours passed too late and I'm too tired to write anymore love songs.
You'd never hear them anyways. 
You see, I thought that maybe I could stop feeling sorry for myself and stop trying to make people like me.  I thought that maybe instead of begging for you in my dreams, I could wake up and find someone else in reality.  I guess that explains why I don't want to wake up most days.  
And if the world was made solely for the purpose of finding 'the one', then I wonder why love is tossed around like ammunition.  It blows the heart to bits more than once, that's for damn sure.
And if love is your favorite song, doesn't it grow old after awhile?  To sit on the porch and decay like the wood?  To kiss your cheek and pray that tonight isn't the night where the last breath of forever becomes your body?
I guess I want to know how you found her so quickly.  Because despite all the evidence, my heart isn't convinced that you were the perpetrator.  Can you really love so quickly after the way I loved you?  
It shouldn't matter anymore.  Because despite you being my favorite song, I was still flipping stations, wondering if maybe I'd gotten it wrong.  Even though now, you're the only song I want to hear for the rest of reality and into my dreams.  
So I'll lie to the police for awhile longer.  After all, is denying that you're gone such a crime?

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Sentences I Write On My Phone

-When you've been underwater so long, you didn't even know you were drowning. 

-Why does my heart break only when there is no one to hear? 

-I'll let my hands be cold.  Maybe then no one can tell they are trembling at the thought of you with her.  

-I've never wanted anything other than to forget. 

-God, could you keep your life to yourself and quit inflicting pain on mine? 

-I'd rather struggle through being on my own then find someone right away that could never make me feel the way you did. 

-I wish I could read you everything I write.  Maybe then my words wouldn't become scars that I have to hide.  

-I get no one is perfect.  I just thought that maybe your mistakes wouldn't hurt me so terribly. 

-Only I can find misery in the most beautiful of places and the most perfect of circumstances.  It's like I can't have anything good or else I'll have hope for life again.  So I destroy the good things and pretend the bad is all I will ever get.  

-You can never escape the reality of the realization that you can't feel this way forever.

-Nothing can make you realize how much you hate yourself like others pointing it out.

-Someone once said to never give up anything good. But I don't have a choice on whether or not good could last forever.

-It hurts to leave my heart in a place where I can't feel it beat.

Wednesday, April 6, 2016

Amongst The Rocks

I could’ve died tonight.

The rocks were jagged, and when I had shed my protective shoes to try and brave them without aid; I failed miserably. 

I had run out of our hotel room, angry with Mom, angry with God and the world He created.  There are many things I feel, as a semi-functioning human being, but anger is typically the worst.  Because what follows other than undeniable despair.  It is the kind that feels like a cave has been excavated in your heart and there will never be anything that could possibly fill it.  It is the kind that makes you wish you didn’t exist. 

Now, in the movies, the drama starts and fights ensue.  Girl slams door on way out and grabs a heated ride in the elevator.  Said girl goes to the sea and screams.  Now this girl is flawless.  Long blonde hair and a tall thin body that almost seems too good to be true.  And who else than a handsome boy will appear, thus taking away all her anger and a third of her self-respect.  Cause what guy gives but doesn’t take?

But here is the reality of the situation.  I am an awkward girl.  I burn staring at a lightbulb and I do awkward things like press all the buttons in the elevator when there are people other than myself inside.  I do things to ensue laughter (alongside loathing for myself) and wish that maybe, I could fit easily into the back of a Jeep without looking like an oversized toddler trying to fit into a shoebox.  

And there will be no handsome man to rescue a mess in what looks like a male plaid shirt.   

The reality is this; I leave.  I am so unbelievably livid that I can feel the sunburns on my arms ignite with fire all over again.  And I wish for it to consume me. 

I pace in the elevator, thinking that my mother was right when she said they were slow.  But then I push that thought away because I’m so fucking pissed at her and nothing she has ever done is right. 
I nearly sprint out the door that leads to Turtle Bay’s private beach.  And I thought I was angry.

But the ocean is wailing.  The wind howls and slashes sideways at the palms trees that litter the grounds.  I see one bend and for a split second, I pause.  Maybe this could be a bad idea.  I feel something inside me agree, but I try not to listen to the voices in my heart anymore.  They always give me terrible advice.

I walk, angrily ripping at these thick green leaves that have never felt the complete and unutterable wrath of a human being.  I’m sure if they could, they would hide and wait for the beast to subside.  Ripping of my shoes, I stumble into the sand.  And there it is, in its inconceivable entirety.  The ocean.

And it roars at me.  I stare for a moment into the far depths, where I’m sure we flew over at one point, thinking, and “I thought I was lonely.”  But here is the truth, for anyone who cares to read it; the ocean is far more alone than you will ever be.  How could you love something when it consumes you? 

We love it in the daytime.  Where the sun swoops down to heat the sand, making the cool water much more susceptible to swimmers.  We see the things just below our feet and a few feet down if we are lucky. 

It terrifies us at night.  It is this quaking unknown of sadness.  You can’t see anything, much less your own fear.  But the ocean sees it all and wishes to take it.  Especially on a storm like tonight.  Waves crashed on the beach and rose in terrible heights just beyond a rock I had sat on a day previous.  It was like the world would end if I dare went near.  And I went just the same.

I sat for a moment and wrote on my phone:

“Only I can find misery in the most beautiful of places and the most perfect of circumstances.  It’s like I can’t have anything good or else I’ll have hope for life again.  So I destroy the good things and pretend the bad is all I will ever get.”

I got up, wrapping the plaid shirt tighter around my torso.  I thought that maybe Mom would’ve hit me tonight and when I thought this, I thought, “Good.”  Because maybe then I would have physical evidence that she was a shitty mother and everyone could stop dancing around the edges, pretending that nothing is wrong when everything is broken. 

That was when the tears came.  The ocean sprayed water at my feet and I sobbed. 

I guess I don’t truly know what the tears were for.  Maybe self-pity or loathing.  Maybe hatred and anger.  But I can honestly say that I was tired.  Like my soul and my heart were both so tired of being hung out to dry, that they had fallen to the ground.  And no one would bother to pick them up. 

I walked barefoot in the beast.  The sand curled up around my toes and I looked at the scratches I had there, wondering if sand could heal wounds.  If proved correct, I would pull my heart out and offer it as a sacrifice.  Tears streamed down my face as I hated the ocean.

There were jagged rocks.

And I thought maybe if I hit them too hard, that someone would worry about me.  That maybe she wouldn’t remember her anger, but remember that she’d loved me once.  And maybe that once was now.  So I took off my shoes. 

It was simple at first.  All I wanted was to go sit and let my feet dangle off one of the many shallow cliffs.  I didn’t think of it as anything particularly risky or terrifying.  But it was dark.  I thought I could face Darkness by myself, but I guess I was wrong.

I climbed a bit further out onto the rocks, wincing and balancing terribly on the balls of my feet.  It was so painful that I thought for sure I would be bleeding.  I’d come back into the hotel room, dripping with red and all the anger would be forgotten, replaced with the love of a mother.  The kind of love I find in rare moments when she is happy with her own circumstances first.

I tripped a bit, but balanced out.  I looked at the cliff where I had wished to sit, realizing too late that to sit would be a rough endeavor.  But nonetheless, I sat.  Are you sensing the pattern?

It hurt, oh too much.  I wrenched my shoes back onto my feet, wet and sandy and walked as fast as I could back to the sand.  I didn’t realize until I had gotten back to safety that what I had done could have been fatal.  A tragedy of a sad girl who fell amongst the rocks, only to be washed up on the shore the following morning.  A mangled piece of life that seemed not to think about her own safety when she was in a fight with her mother. 

And I don’t know what I learned.  I walked into the hotel and sat by the elevators, the despair that follows anger slowly settling in.  I made a decision.

Go and apologize one more time, Gentry.  Buy yourself peace for at least the last four days of your trip and grieve angrily when you get home.  Because if you make a living hell for yourself in the most beautiful of heavens, then you truly fell amongst the rocks.

Monday, March 21, 2016

Static Waves

I picture myself on the sidelines. 
People pass, but no one tells me what piece fell apart first.
And here you are, although you glance around.
The lines around your mouth say more than you could.  
It seems that I've stared at your face too long,
I didn't know what to look for when you stopped caring.  
And of course it isn't easy to love you,
to watch you walk away with your eyes. 
But it was my decision to watch you fall out of love with me.  
So, keep posting your poetic tribute to the girl with silver hair.
She seems to be what you wanted, even though I thought I was.
  I almost dyed my hair silver.
But I can't be another delay in the evolutionary process called 'love'. 
Because even though I said I wanted you to be happy with someone else,
I really wanted you to be miserable with me. 
I wanted you to be with me.


Just sleep.
Maybe the pain will be gone in the morning. And maybe you'll be ok without him for 12 more hours until you sleep again.  
You see, I'd rather struggle being on my own, then find someone quickly who could never make me feel the way that you did.  
It wasn't all black and white.  You made me feel gray like the clouds in the night sky.  Beautiful, but heavy.  Ready to release the tears.  Ready to rain my pain upon the world.  If it goes down a drain, is it gone forever?  
Are you gone forever?  
It rains a lot these days.  

For God's sake---SLEEP.  

Friday, March 11, 2016

Just A Little Longer

I guess I don't know how to hold on.
The ledge is slick, like the rain would fall just to watch me do the same.
And God knew it too.
See, let me tell you the truth: I don't want to feel like this.
Like there are so many things that drown me, gasping for air becomes normal.
Like there are rivers in my eyes that flow at the slightest drop of walls.
Like constant battles leading to internal bleeding.  I guess I wasn't stitched up as well as I thought I was.
And who is going to care if I don't?
You see, being sad is like catching a cold.  If others are around you, they feel it in the air.
So they choose the simple solution:
They don't come around anymore.

And an article said that depression comes from too much sadness and not enough coping mechanisms.  Nowhere to run from the never ending waves of pain that come but never recede.  There is no moon that could pull this tide away.
And over what?
When I was in a more suicidal time in my life, someone said, "You'd kill yourself over a boy?  That's pathetic."
But that wasn't the reason.  And there is hardly anything said now-a-days that can't be traced to a deeper meaning.  What I meant when I told this person how I was feeling was, "How come I love to the very marrow of my bone and no one (this boy was a particular figure at the moment) ever seems to feel the same?"
I feel the same now.
And I thought that we only felt new things once, but it hits even harder the second time around.
You see, this is what gets me:
I will love anyone that lets me completely and utterly.  Unconditionally.
And every time, despite knowing that it is rare, I expect the same.
I expect the same.
I expect the same.
Not different.
The Same.
Maybe if I weren't such a fool, then I would save myself from feeling like this.
So I am sorry if you don't want to be around me anymore.  If my lack of faith in this world or in God is dragging down your set feature titled 'happiness' in life.  But.
Sometimes the water rushes over my head.