Unrequited

The lightening cracks in the distance, and I see it as a promise.

If I had to describe myself with one word, I would use unrequited, and I would offer a sad smile to accompany the even sadder meaning.

I smell rain, and the waft reminds me of the saltiness of too many tears.

Unwittingly and painstakingly, I lift my arms to the sky, crying out in a mangled whisper as the thunder rattles every cell in my already shattered body.

The rain comes in sprinkles, a fine mist that serves as the tears that I will not – cannot – cry.

If my life were a concert, you would walk out before I finished the opening act because I am just that incredibly easy to leave.

The lightening lights the sky in a brilliant metaphor of my brief happiness – bright, electric, quickly fading.

If my life were a movie, it would be categorized as a drama, or perhaps a tragedy, and I have only myself to blame.

I lift my head, call to the sky, to the thunder, the electricity, the violence in the storm.  People walking by will smile at the girl enjoying the rain.  If they only knew.

My words come in gasps, my heart thuds in my ears in tune with the thunder, my entire body shivers at my implications.

Take me with you.  Take me home.  I do not belong here.  They do not want me. 

My one word that can be carved on my marble slab should be unrequited.  That’s all I will ever be.

Please, save me.

Dark Shadows

I feel like an outcast in my own life.  An outsider.  A wallflower.  Always watching, smiling, listening, but not really participating.

I see the world around me in shades of gray and varying hues, and sometimes I see my shadow cast in the corner, dark against the varying shades, and think that I somehow don’t belong.  That my shadow is out of place.

And I wonder if my presence is felt like a soft, quiet whisper, or a steel barrier separating life from what it could be.  What it should be.

And I think of my shadow, a stark contrast against the dimly lit wall, and think that’s about right.  I am a shadow.  I do not belong.  And I bring only darkness.

Strength

If I were stronger, maybe you would love me.

Sadness is not just an emotion I feel; it is a living inhabitant of my body.  Every breath feeds it, every word quenches its parched mouth, every careless attempt at showing some sort of interest in me increases its size, its strength, its sting.  I cannot remember a day he did not sit in the depths of my heart or the pit of my belly laughing at me.  I cannot remember a single second when he didn’t stomp around on my already too-broken insides in an attempt to crumble what is already confetti.  I cannot remember life without him.

If I were stronger, you wouldn’t have to worry about him.  He could be my pet.  I could tame him, master the art of dominance.  These tears wouldn’t always be lodged in the back of my eyes, stinging and ready to fall.  My breath wouldn’t feel like fragile gasps – these four walls wouldn’t continue to close in every night when I’m alone realizing that no one could possibly love me enough until I can love him for the gigantic part of me he has become.

If I were stronger, I wouldn’t need reassurance.  I wouldn’t need care or attention.  I could smile and the brilliance would mesmerize you. I could lie in bed and hope for a tomorrow that wouldn’t serve as a reminder of every past hurt.  I could believe in love.  I could believe in hope.  I could believe in you.

If I were stronger, these scars would be shameful.  These white lines, pink tears – they would mean weakness, not overcoming.  I could bear the pain.  I wouldn’t need the gentle slice of control oozing blood to overcome the silence.  I wouldn’t need the mixture of metallic red and salty translucence to feed this insatiable ache inside me.

If I were stronger, I could listen to music without feeling at a loss.  I could watch a sunset without the steady stream of unwelcome tears.  I could live without this imaginary rag doll of hope I keep locked away in the back of my mind.  I wouldn’t need these words spilling from my fingers.  Every word I would say would be magic. I’m sure of it.

But I am not strong.

This sadness lives within me, and he is growling and purring all at once to tell me that he is here.  He is full, but he is not satisfied.  He is not what he could be.  He has not overcome everything just yet.

He tells me that I will never be strong enough for you.  I will never be enough to fulfill what you want or need.  It doesn’t matter how many well-thought words I write, how many gifts I give – you will not find me good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, distant enough, manageable enough for your liking.  Only he loves me.  If only I would give into him, only he could give me what I desperately need.

If I were strong enough to slay him, he would be on the floor in a puddle of needless words and broken popsicle sticks of hatred.

But I am not.  And he looks more beautiful, more inviting by the day as he manifests himself into every fiber of my being.  I cannot walk away.  I cannot leave him alone.  I cannot walk back into the light and leave him into the darkness, because he is the only sure thing I know.

So, come, sadness.

Let us walk into the depths of darkness together.

Unspoken Words

I trusted you.  I guess that’s where the problem starts.  I trusted you, even when I told myself I shouldn’t.  Even when I told myself I wouldn’t.  Even when I told you that I couldn’t. I trusted you.  I loved you and I trusted you and you were supposed to know that.  It isn’t that hard.

You are a spider crawling up my arm and I am too afraid to swat you away, too overtaken with goose bumps, too weak to send you flailing about on your own business.  How I wish this weren’t the case.

When you love, it is like a star’s supernova, and it burns so brightly until it just becomes a black hole, and then you suck all your love back and I am empty and alone, wondering what happened to this utter miracle I had just witnessed.

I know I am not amazing. I am not great.  I am not beautiful or perfect or even good.  I am nothing to love.  I am no one to admire or pride yourself for knowing. 

I am not him.  I am not her.  I am not busy or unrequited.  I will not push you down. I will not make it hard for you to reach me.  I will not blow you off for someone else. I will not gossip about you, or spread lies – or, apparently, the truth.  I will not mistreat you.  I will not be that person for you.

But I am me.  I am the one who loves you. I am the friend you could have.  I am the cheerleader you turned your back on.  I am the absolute closest thing to unconditional you will ever know.

How I wish for once in this miserable existence that could be enough.

Cancer

I stood imperturbably with my grandparents leaning on me for strength.  “Are you ready?” the dark haired funeral director asked in the kindest voice she could muster; I knew the truth – we were ten minutes behind schedule and she needed us to move along.  My grandpa merely nodded, and the blue lid to the casket started to slowly close.

My grandpa’s grip on my shoulder tightened and a shallow, throaty cry escaped his lips.  I patted his back as I stoically watched the director screw the casket closed.  My grandma chimed in with her own loud cries and I placed my other arm around her.  The dark haired lady met my eyes before looking away from my empty gaze.  “Well, let’s get going then,” she finally said, her sympathetic pity slicing through the pain-filled cries.

After my uncle’s casket was loaded into the hearse my cousin turned and walked toward me.  I remembered all the years we had spent growing up together playing tag, reenacting light saber battles, and riding our bikes up and down the street as fast as we could.  Without saying a word he leaned down so that his forehead rested on my shoulder and silently began to sob.  “What happened to you?” I wanted to ask.  I wanted to shake him and shout, “You aren’t supposed to cry, you’re supposed to say something stupid and listen to obscene, loud music and call yourself a skateboarder and pretend like everything is okay!”  Instead, I patted his back and quietly murmured, “I know.”

After the small mass at the church and my final eulogy we finally rode to the cemetery.  Staring out the window at the sympathetic eyes of passing drivers I grew angry at their pity.  I knew they were thinking, “How sad, a funeral.”  But they didn’t know a single thing about my uncle’s death, or how we had to watch him turn yellow and lose his mind, or how I barely got to know him since he just moved back to town, or how, when I thought about that last night he was alive, I had to hit something to stop from crying.  In that moment I hated cancer, hated the fact that it started a single tiny mutation, hated that it could grow so large so fast, hated that it was silent.

In the days and months that followed, my hate grew with each passing day.  I know I shouldn’t, but I get angry whenever I hear about supporting breast cancer or about Steve Jobs’ untimely death.  I hate the indifference to the disease, hate the distant sympathy, hate the sad shake of the head whenever someone learns I lost someone to cancer.

I shouldn’t care, but I do, and I can’t get over it.  I can’t get over his death.  I can’t stop remembering it every single day with every bird I hear singing, every person I see still breathing, with the beating of my too-alive heart. I am lost.

Pennies and Dimes

Once cared –

Now, despair.

Hope squeezed, battered,

Beaten out,

Oozing through cracks.

Cracks the size of pennies, nickels, maybe dimes.

Cracks growing, splitting

Wider by the second.

Reasons

Author’s Note:  Sometimes I wish the ending were true.  Sadly, it’s not.  

 

Mom said, don’t change the world, change yourself.

Dad said, if they make you question yourself, they’re not worth it.

Grandma said, don’t let anyone tell you differently.

Brother said, you don’t care about anything. Anything.

Friend said, you don’t listen to what I tell you.

 

Mom said, let me help you.

Dad said, why do you look so sad.

Grandma said, I never meant to screw you up, honest.

Brother said, you don’t care about anything. Anything.

Friend said, you don’t listen to what I tell you.

 

Mom said, you’re the problem, not me.

Dad said, I can’t even look at you.

Grandma said, I hope you know what it feels like to feel this pain.

Brother said, you don’t care about anything. Anything.

Friend said, you don’t listen to what I tell you.

 

Mom said, I’m glad you’re better.

Dad said, you seem like you’re doing well.

Grandma said, your personality is so much more beautiful than then.

Brother said, you don’t care about anything. Anything.

Friend said, you don’t listen to what I tell you.

 

If they only knew how

My heart said, I’m too broken to keep beating.

Eyes said, I’m too scarred by the world to want to stay open.

Mouth said, what’s the point of talking when no one cares enough to hear.

Fingers said, this writing will never be enough.

Ears said, this silence is just too loud.

 

Mom said, going fishing, love you.

Dad said, going to find your grandpa, see you later.

Grandma said, I bought you new stuff. No silverware.

Brother said, you don’t care about anything. Anything.

Friend said, …. Nothing.

 

So I said, goodbye.

My Bucket List

Subject to change, but as of today this is what I would like to do before I die:

• Reach 100 followers on my blog
• Write at least 15 minutes every single day for a year
• Finish writing my novel
• Get published in a magazine
• Publish a novel
• Write something that affects someone deeply
• Be quoted by an absolute stranger
• Finish writing my fanfiction stories
• Work at some sort of suicide hotline center
•  Walk through Central Park with someone I deeply love
• Go on a road trip across the U.S. and Canada
• Visit New Zealand
• Travel through Western Europe
•  Win 10 writing contests
• Stay up all night just staring at the stars
• Deeply talk to someone all night long
•  Mean something
• Be a role model
• Teach someone something they will never forget
• Impact someone’s heart so valuably that they can’t ever leave
• Love freely without restraint, fear, or restrictions
• Photograph my life for a year
• Grow a garden
• Fall asleep under a tree
• Build a sand sculpture of something
• Paint my happy place so I can share it with the world
• Keep a journal of all the dreams I have, no matter how strange or incomplete
• Write a song that means something
• Paint a mural
• Learn all the words to “Lose Yourself” by Eminem
• Be remembered
• Make someone’s life truly better
• Actually watch all the movies on my Netflix instant queue
•  Be able to read and understand any Shakespeare piece without notes
• Read the entire Bible from cover to cover
• Provide the insight needed to impact something
• Become someone’s number one
• Lay in a boat over a lake
• Witness something truly remarkable
• Amaze someone
• Be able to finally recite “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” by Dr. Seuss
• Finally own a Siberian Husky
• Visit Alaska
• Every 16 minutes someone commits suicide. Just once, make 32 minutes pass without suicide because I convinced someone to live.
• Learn how to barbecue
• Return to Maine and watch the ocean
• Get interviewed by a legit newspaper
• Write an essay or blog post or something that becomes well-known
• Learn how to speak and understand French
• Make someone reconsider something they thought they knew
• Inspire people to think
• Take a walk in the park while it snows
• Don’t become “known” or “popular”, but rather admired and respected
• Revisit the Grand Canyon and write about the experience
• Find a way to convince someone special that they are worth the entire world
• Become appreciated, not used
• Perform a poem in front of an audience
• Attend a poetry slam
• Dance outside in the rain
• Learn how to Tango
• Become good at playing guitar
• Master the piano
• Own a German Shepherd
• Create my own library in my house
• Learn how to knit
• Learn the constellations in the sky
• Build something from nothing
• See the Northern Lights
• Learn to speak Spanish
• Create a connection with someone “famous”
• Do something “incredible”
• Learn how to sail
• Volunteer at a nursing home
• Sit with veterans and listen to their stories
• Spend a day on a street corner speaking whatever comes to mind
• Win some sort of national contest
• Ride a mechanical bull
• Learn the names of every Nobel Prize winner for poetry
• Witness a miracle
• Create a quilt

Road trip

No words
can express this moment
tanned, dry skin
lips smacking, licking your fingers
of the oozing lemon cream from your glazed donut,
desert surrounding,
dry underbrush, rolling tired mountains,
laughter passed back and forth, back and forth
like a tennis ball.
There are no words
for the Absoluteness, the Finite moment,
the whisper of this memory
against the curve of my neck.

The Saddest Goodbye

Here is the puddle of tears you left when you told me you were unsure of our future.

Here are the sweet hellos you gave me early in the morning when we would talk on the phone in hushed whispers so that no one knew we were awake.

Here is the metaphor you gave me of the sky because you obviously did not love me more than the number of stars; I do not want to think of you when I glance into the beauty of the sparkling past every night outside my window.

Here are the carefully handled “I love you”s that I let curl around my heart and warm me on the coldest nights; I have no need for them now that I know the truth.

Here is the sound of my heart beating furiously against my chest every time you answered the phone.

Here are the nights we stayed up until five talking about the future; I will miss the ghosts of our unborn children, the rustle of the trees in the house we never inhabited, the warmth of your body holding mine.

Here are the dreams you shared with me in the depth of the nights you actually allowed yourself to imagine something better.

Here is the sweet sound of your name on my tongue, the gentle way my voice dropped when I would say hello, the candy of saying I love you over and over again.

Here are the unshared memories you abandoned when you decided to help rather than to feel.

Here are your promises of saving me from this sadness that I battle every single day.

Here is your heart that I have loved and held and guarded as if it were my very own. I hope you can open yourself up to love again. I hope she is a girl that will make you feel as if you are free, even though both of us know you will always be chained.

In return, I only ask for the fragments of my heart I handed you unwillingly, because we both know you stole it from me first. The tattered bag of dreams I left in your possession on a night when lightening lit up the sky. The tired aspirations of a girl too young to feel this incredibly old.

I want you to keep the hope I left on the doorstep of your heart, the fire of a love so passionate that it burned within both of us, the gentle comfort that friendship and companionship can offer.

I want you to hold it with you, stuff it in your backpack, store it in your glove compartment in your battered truck. And when you feel as if you are all alone, as if you cannot live another day or breathe another second, I want you to take all these possessions and remember that I loved you. I will always love you.

And finally, please take this goodbye. Have an incredible life.