Gone

Lying on her trampoline staring up at a once starry sky while we strive to be understood. I may never be here again.

Listening to my teacher explain the various characters in the hero's journey before we watch Lord of the Rings. I will never be here again.

Walking down crowded hallways full of too many happy, depressed, immature, grown-up, purposeful, confused teenage souls. I hope I am never there again.

Finding friends in unexpected places, but making the most of it. It would be nice to be there again.

Crying endlessly about things that don't mean much to anyone else, but are deeply important to me. It would surprise me if I wasn't here again.

Taking a bow on the last night of a show. I might be there again, but it's more likely that I won't.

Laughing in her car until she has to put it into park so we can stop to breathe, because we're giggly around each other. I had better be here again.

Deciding things that will probably affect the rest of my life and then regretting them. It would be nice if I wasn't there again.

Sitting in her kitchen talking about literature and music until the fear of my curfew forces me to go home. I am certain I will be here again.

Saying goodbye to the people who have changed my life in ways I can never explain. I don't want to be there again.

Sitting in his truck late at night watching the lights in the distance and learning to trust. It wouldn't hurt to be there again.

Letting him play me a song on the piano that I know I've heard before, but I don't know where. I desperately hope I am here again.

Falling in love with someone who doesn't feel the same way. I will probably be there again.

Making any difference in somebody's life. I will be here again.


So much is changing. So much will never be the same. So much is gone. But what's important to me is still there. Maybe changed, but not gone. Never gone.

This Is Not A Love Poem

I thought we'd have more time. I thought if I just played the music it would become real. I thought if I ignored the pain it would go away. I thought so many things but I was wrong and now I can't sleep because of the words flashing through my head.

I hope I didn't annoy you and that you didn't think me too forward. Sometimes I think about the things I said to you and I wish I could disappear. You were always the one around to catch me talking to myself, and at first I didn't mind but now I do. I guess I was never meant for you anyway. 

Really I'm just confused. People told me white looked good on me, so I wore white. And the world said I should wear my heart on my sleeve, because after all, everyone else is doing it and I want to fit in... right? So I wore my heart on my sleeve, but it started bleeding where everyone could see it. That's the problem with these white shirts, I can't hide the bloodstains. That's why we wear black at funerals, you know. So you can't see our hearts bleeding as they break...

But I'm not talking about funerals, I'm talking about you, and halfway through this poem I realized I'm not writing about who I thought I was. Who am I kidding, this isn't even poetry. It's just words. Coming from a girl who drives home at 10:30 at night with the windows rolled down and her hands outstretched because she once thought she held the stars on her fingertips. A girl who keeps replaying those three songs because she can't forget and she can't let go. A girl with dirty, blistered feet because she danced like the devil was the judge. 

My emotions are running too high for me to think clearly anymore. My joints are stiff, my body painfully aware of its tired bones rubbing against each other, grinding themselves down to dust. I think I might fall apart if I'm not careful. But shouldn't I be too young to feel so old?

I'm just trying to find where I belong because I don't really know. But when I'm with you I feel like I belong somewhere. I know I'm an ugly crier but you looked past that and let me soak your shirt with my tears. 

It helped, but it still wasn't enough. I thought the church foyer would be empty. It wasn't. And still the tears find ways to slip out of my eyes late at night when I can't blame them on my contacts. But you still help me, except soon we'll both go our separate ways, and then where will I belong?

Ten more days, but I miss you already. 

Unforgotten

"And then they leave you and you have nothing, but you just keep going."

"Just keep going. There's nothing else you can do, is there?"

-

"We're just old ladies."

"But you're still beautiful."

-

"They took it away. He was pretty mad about that."

"I'm sorry."

-

"Please listen to the music."

"I'm listening."

-

"I have people coming."

"Okay."

-
"I'm the worst person here. If you don't believe me, ask them."
"Oh, don't say that. It's not true."
-
"What did you do today?"
"I can't remember."
-
"I won't give up. I won't."
"Good, don't ever give up."
-
"I think there's something wrong with me."
"No, you're perfect."
-
"Please let me try again. This is hard."
"You can always try again."
-
"Take me home. Please, take me home."
"Just relax. You're going to be okay."

It breaks my heart, the wrinkles around the vacant eyes and blank smiles. The off-key humming and confusing conversation. The memories that will never be remembered, or that only make sense inside their minds.

I keep going back anyway. 

I wonder if I lied when I told her she'd be okay.

To My Mirages,

I keep wanting to say you're wrong, but I know you're right. Eventually we'll have to let each other go. And I'm trying, but in my heart I don't really want to. I can't let go of you yet, just like I can't let go of him or her or them. I know that everyone has to let go of something, but I guess I hoped God would make an exception in my case. He didn't. I didn't really expect him to.

Have I told you why I'm so scared of the real world? Of letting you go and facing the future? Maybe you already know. Probably. I'm afraid that my future home is going to look like the one I have now and I don't want that. I rarely ever want to go home, but I no longer have an excuse to stay away. 

So now I tend to get away a lot without my parents ever knowing that's what I'm doing. The only way to describe it, really, is that I'm getting away without running away. Last week I had a little talk with God. The window was open and I just closed my eyes and felt the wind blow my hair against my face. For the first time in a long time I felt at peace because I knew everything was going to be okay. I'm going to be okay, too. I am. Everything's okay. 

There was one of the many times I drove to work. I opened the sunroof and rolled down the windows and turned the music up loud. The faster I went, the more the wind whipped my hair around, sticking it to my face, and the more I forgot. I was perfectly aware of the annoyed drivers who probably thought I was high, but I didn't care. 

Once I went to the park with my friends instead of going home. Once I went to the park with my little sister and her friends. I drove them there and then chased them around until it was time to get one of the girls home for dinner. Another time I spent three hours on the driveway painting while my sister's friend watched. She's six.

Not long ago I spent a few minutes being taught by my friend how to play Falling Slowly on the piano. I won't deny myself the small moments I can steal with the people I love, because it's not the weeks or the days or even the hours we remember. It's the moments. The moment of silence that doesn't need to be filled. The hello after years of goodbyes. The phone ringing after midnight. The look in his eyes that I can't describe, but that makes me feel connected. The soft smiles edged with sorrow. The 'I love yous' whispered when the laughter dies down. The slow pace of his breathing after he falls asleep. The stillness in the faces of the dead. The moment when I'm falling and they catch me. 

I'm desperately trying to remember that everything's okay even as the terror and the stress and the hopelessness bury themselves inside me. I'm too tired to fight back right now. I'm terrified to graduate and move on with life, and I know that all too soon real life is going to start. I'm afraid it's going to hit me like a slap in the face.

I don't want to face reality, but I know the longer I wait, the more I grow to love you, the harder it will be to enter the real world. But I don't want to let go of you just yet. I'll always love you, too.

All my love,


Midnight

Conformity

They're extinguishing the sun, shutting it out, blocking it from the places it can do the most good.

Don't let it touch you.

They're killing my creativity. They took away the crayons and gave me gray pencils instead.

Don't let it touch me.  

They turned off the music and replaced it with broken glass and chemistry. 

I won't let it touch you. 

They want me to conform. They're trying to turn me into the perfect woman, a mother with well-behaved children, a spotless house, and a flawless appearance. 

I won't let it touch me. 

I won't let it touch me.

I won't let it touch me.

Melody

My body screams at me with everything it has. It keeps telling me not to move anymore, to just stop, lay down, and go back to sleep. I am about to give in when I hear it. The softest strains of music floating on the breeze into my ears, into my mind, into my soul...

My feet are scarred because my shoes are too small, and my muscles still burn, but I don't care because the music is getting louder now, and I can ignore the discomfort that is everywhere because the music is there and it is my escape...

Boiling water hits my stiff, cold, aching hands and I recoil, but I dismiss the throbbing because I hear the music. I begin to hum along as the melody offers relief from the agony I am in, and I suddenly I no longer have to ignore it, I just forget as the music takes over...

My throat cries out as it closes up and I struggle to draw a breath, the oxygen unable to get into my lungs. My choking gasps are loud to my ears, but no one seems to notice them. I can't hum or sing along anymore, I can hardly breathe, but the music is louder than it's ever been, and I know I can keep going...

There is music in my ears and I don't care about the rest of it, about the aches and the pains and the misery I thought I was in. I'll keep fighting to draw another breath just so I can continue to hear the music...

No, no, the music is getting softer now, and the pain is coming back. I try to push it away, to forget about it again, but now I am struggling to hear the melody and I have nothing to help me fight back anymore...

Pain and exhaustion demand my attention again, and this time I give in. I sink to my knees and let my tired soul rest. Despair takes over and I close my eyes...



The music is gone...

...and it's not coming back.