I Got You

Tonight I listened to "I Got You" by Jack Johnson for the first time since November without skipping to the next song. 

My ears were filled with last year's nostalgia. 

"I do not have writers block

 my writer just hates the clock."

1,2,3 Breathe

I'm in pain. 

There is a war being fought inside of me that I never asked for. 

The pain is always there, 

but intervals of excruciating and almost unbearable pain come and never seem like they will go 

(even though they always do (but they also always come back.).) 

And when these intervals come, I almost always find myself forgetting to breathe. 

I'm not sure why. 

But maybe, just maybe, i do it because cutting off the oxygen supply to the enemy inside me might  stop the war. 

Stop the pain. 

And I don't want to live with this pain anymore.

Sleeping Just's

I've been sleeping a lot lately.
Not so much as an effort to catch up on sleep,
but more as an effort to mend my brokenness.
Because my brain took a sick day when Hunter did.
And my heart took a sick day even before that.
And the only time that they don't ache is when I shut my eyes.
Shutting my eyes makes everything stop moving.
Things stop changing.
Good things stay, and bad things float away.
Memories aren't just memories,
dreams aren't just dreams,
poems aren't just poems,
promises aren't just words,
moments aren't just moments,
and smiles aren't just smiles.

But when my eyes aren't shut, that's all they are: Just's.

I'm going to have to wake up someday,
because sleeping doesn't last forever.

Red

My head is beating to a drum I've never heard of.

My brain is crammed with too many equations. Too many emotions. Too many of your I love you's that I haven't been able to feel lately. But now they've sunk to my heart. And to my surprise it's now throbbing worse than my head. 

Thump Thump

It's bruised. 

Thump Thump

It's leaking.

Thump Thump

But above all: 

It's. 

Still. 

Red. 

Red: the color of hatred, 

the color of rage,

But, it's more Red: 

the color of desire, 

The color of happiness, 

the color of love, 

the color of blood.

My veins are full of the deepest of reds.

1.3 gallons of red pump through my body every minute.

Most of it isn't for me. 

It's for you. 

I'm giving it to you, but nothing is coming to replace it.

And I always knew that without enough red, I'd start growing pale. 

My red might actually be turning blue.

Blue: 

The color of winter,

The color of cold,

The color of sadness.

My fingers and toes are going blue.

Numb.

Not enough red is flowing in. 

I need more red.

Shadow Man

There's this picture nailed into the back of my mind. It's a picture without him in it.
Everything seems so much brighter now that she has her smile back.

You see, he stole that smile, and hid it in the stars.

And without that smile, she wandered around with no true sense of direction or happiness.
Lost.
No one could seem to find her.
Even on the brightest of days.

But now that his shadow has been lifted from that great big fiery ball in the sky, she has found her way back home.

And the stars returned her smile. Not for the lack of luster, but only for the reason that the sky isn't ready to hold such beauty yet.

And now that her smile has been reinstated, so has mine.
Because now, the feeling of being close to her isn't just a memory anymore.
The shadow man isn't keeping her locked up anymore.
She doesn't have to plead with him anymore.
She doesn't have to beg to be loved the way she wants to anymore.
Because she found her voice again.
The one that cried out to him in the dead of night.
The one that he heard, but never listened to.
That one that he tied a rock to, and sank in the deepest part of the ocean.
And she had to fight off sharks just to get it back.
She may have come back with cuts and bruises, but she got it back.
And once she removed the shadow man from her life,

she sewed her smile back on,

and she gargled with her voice until it stuck inside her throat.


The shadow man is still a shadow.

But now, a shadow, she is not.

A not-so-poetic letter to a not-so-present step mom

Last night, I had a dream.

Most of the time, it wasn't very pleasant. And most of the time, it didn't make sense.

But when it was pleasant, and when it did make sense,
You were there.
Sitting with me.
Side by side.
I was surprised you could tolerate touching me for that long.

You were there.
Talking to me.
I was surprised. I had forgotten what your voice sounds like.

Most of the time, it's all me. I sit here carrying on a conversation that only one of us will contribute to. And that one of us, isn't you.

Most of the time, I sit here sending out apologies in the dark. Apologies that have no meaning to me. Because I have no idea what I did to make you hate me. Apologies that haven't been accepted over the last two and a half years. I hope there's a good reason, because that's a hell of a long time to hold a grudge against someone who's brain isn't fully developed yet.

Most of the time, I get scolded for not reaching out to you. But this isn't a one way street.

But all of the time, I wish you would talk to me.
All of the time, I wish I could find a way to make you happy.
All of the time, I try to convince myself that your happiness shouldn't affect mine.
But all of the time, I fail.

Last night, I had a dream.

Most of the time, it wasn't very pleasant. And most of the time, it didn't make sense.
But I don't mind.

A dream is just a wish your heart makes.

And in my dream, you hugged me back.