I wanted to give you the love I thought you deserved, and everything else…I figured that was the price I had to pay… for thinking I also deserved my love…

We thought we were floating

Amongst the clouds,

But when our fingers

Began to sink into

Their white underbellies,

We understood.

 

The air was smoke,

Born from a warmth

We mistook as the sun.

It was just another fire,

Another wasted

Spark of romance.

 

It turns out love

Can feel an awful lot

Like burning alive.

“Doing nothing is something; it means accepting that falling apart is as normal for us as breathing.”

I built you a home in my chest by clearing out everything that was useless. My skin was paper, so I cut it away into tiny shapes of cranes, and you smiled as my flightless birds floated on top of the bathwater. You watched them only long enough to see as they made their way from one end to the other, so I won’t blame you for not knowing that water and paper birds don’t exactly mix. My ribs were bleached chalk, so I turned them into the seasons. During the summer they became the white letters littering sidewalks and flat driveways. As Autumn soaked the leaves that shimmering amber of hard liquor, my ribs found root in your gardens and became your second bloom of pristine Candytuft. When winter gave you nothing but a bitterly bright tundra, my bones turned into powder, as soft as moonlight, to gently kiss your rosy cheeks. And when Spring finally came, I flattened what remained of my ribs into cherry blossoms. They were tinged the palest pink at the stem, but you didn’t seem to mind, so I ignored the color. Even as that pink began to run red, I didn’t stop. You were still smiling, with every petal that filled the air you were smiling so wide… so of course I couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down….how could I, when I was making you smile?

“I wanted to feel your warmth, so I let you set me on fire. Now I am ash, and you don’t think you did anything wrong.”

I was a kid, and you weren’t the adult I thought you were. I wanted to be cool, to be something more than what I was. You said you saw potential in me, and I wanted you to be right. You said you saw someone special, somebody who could be somebody. So, I let you take that body, MY body, piece by piece.

You started small, trimming my branches, taking those low hanging twigs to stoke your fire. I was more than happy to give you those things you wanted, to keep that fire going. I gave you everything, and when that wasn’t enough, you started to take things, things I didn’t say you could have. I know you saw me burning away, but you didn’t stop…It didn’t end until all my bark had been stripped away, and every one of my branches turned to cinders.

But maybe I’m being too harsh. Maybe I’m projecting some of my current anger and fears into what we had. I know our past must not have been as bad as I remember it, that you can’t have been as bad as I’m remembering you now.

 

Or maybe I’m just trying to protect you, to protect me.

 

I can admit I didn’t like everything we did. I didn’t like how fast things seemed to progress, but I don’t recall every telling you to slow down. I didn’t enjoy being laughed at for wanting to go to my friend’s roller skating birthday bash, but I can recall ditching them to go looking for an “adult” party with you.

I didn’t enjoy the taste of alcohol. Every drink, even a sip, would make me gag. I thought I would throw up every time, and I know on many occasions I did, but that was just another part of the fun, the cost of a good time, right? The memories are fussy, but I can still remember you offering me drink after drink, never telling me I had to, just saying how happy it would make you if I would just relax, chill out, have one more drink, because it would be the next drink that would really loosen me up, and then I’d be having the time of my life.

I didn’t enjoy the smell of cigarettes. I hated the smoke, hated that little dot of heat so close to my mouth, but most of all I hated the taste. It felt thick, like I was swallowing honey. Only that honey was a bonfire. And the bonfire was missing all the elements that make them so great, like slow burning wood, clear summer nights, and friends who never shoved the bits of smoldering bark down your throat. A fire like that is no bonfire. If left alone it’s a wildfire, but when it’s set with clear intent, with a target in mind, I believe that is called arson.  

But you didn’t technically shove those cigarettes down my throat. No, you just calmly pulled out your pack of Marlboro Reds, stuck one in your mouth, then dangled another in my face, like it was some sort of treat. And you wouldn’t just place it between my lips. You made me beg for it, like a fucking dog. You would put it close and pull it back, blow some smoke in my face and let out a little laugh. You could tell, your friends could tell, anybody with eyes or ears or an IQ above 1 could tell that I didn’t like this game.

 

Because it wasn’t a game.

 

I know my mistake, and I hate myself for that mistake. But I’m also able to admit that it wasn’t just me. I was naive. I wanted my old life and you. I never thought they’d be mutually exclusive. Even when I felt the tugging, I just convinced myself it would all work out. I’d smoke a few cigarettes, to look cool, but then I’d stop. I would drink some when you took me to parties so that I would fit in, but then I’d stop. I would kiss you, and let you get to second base in your car because I didn’t want to be a prude, but then you’d stop. I would let you talk me into staying the night in a hotel over a holiday weekend, and I would let you join me in the shower, and I would let the hot water wash away my arguments, because after a few minutes you’d stop. And when I decided to stop drinking at your birthday party, so you said you’d drink enough for the both of us…and I fell asleep on your couch…and I somehow woke up in your bed…and it was dark, but I could feel you trying to position yourself on top of me…and I was still buzzed…and I wanted you to have a good birthday…I wanted to be a good lover…I didn’t want to think about not wanting it…because I was so sure you’d stop…

I didn’t say no. I didn’t cry or scream, punch or kick. I didn’t do a damn thing. I might as well have been a fucking baked potato, for all the difference it would have made to the situation. So it was my fault. It had to be my fault. I was wrong to feel betrayed, because it was my choice, my lack of action, my inability to tell you to fuck off.

But I was a kid, and now I’m not. I might still blame myself and hate myself for everything, but I’m grown up now. In fact, I’m still growing up. I learn more every day, and accept more of myself every day. I’m far from being wise, but I’ve gained just enough knowledge to see the past for what it was.

 

It wasn’t all a waste. There were some good days, mixed in with a lot of ‘meh’ sort of days.

I know it wasn’t all bad.

But you…are just as terrible as I’m remembering you, and probably even worse.

I’ll still blame myself, because that’s part of who I am, but I am done making excuses for my memories.

And I’m sure as hell done making excuses for you.

“I’m awkward, but only when it comes to the things that matter most, like not hurting myself, or laughing at the new scars I don’t remember making.”

I love the sound of a car door opening, and the taste of orange juice after I brush my teeth. I’m a big fan of Indie YouTube musicians, and I can sing along with any Disney movie. I chug entire cans of Coke because I enjoy the tingling sensation it creates in the back of my throat. I can’t help but smile whenever I look at a clock at the exact moment when one minute ends and the next begins. Holding my baby nephew makes me nervous, but when he reaches out for me to pick him up, I’m overcome with happiness that this perfect little butterball wants me to hold him (even if it’s only so he can be close enough to my head to pull on my hair). I always laugh when my Mom and I go see a movie, and she packs all this candy into her purse, and amongst those candies are pickles in ziploc bags and her own salt grinder for the popcorn.

 

I love some strange things.

I like some weird things.

I laugh at some odd things.

I smile at most cute things.

 

When you left you slammed my car door so hard it broke part of the frame, leaving tiny plastic pieces that will be pricking at my skin for the rest of eternity. I started eating away my health while ignoring basic hygiene, instead filling my mornings with multiple energy drinks and a tin of wintergreen altoids. I sip away at my Coke through a straw, and every swallow helps wash down another pill or 2. My apartment lost power about 2 months ago, and my alarm clock is still blinking 8’s, and since we just passed the summer solstice, the clock hanging in my bathroom is now an hour to slow. My sister sent me a video of my nephew finally taking his first steps without any help, and she captioned the video saying “Now he can walk over to you and grab your hair without enlisting any aid!”. Seeing that picture and reading that caption made me cry, because I realized nobody in my family knows how short I cut my hair, and that was at the beginning of the summer, and it’s closer to Thanksgiving than the 4th of July. My Mom texted me the other day, asking when we would go see the new Marvel movie, because that’s been our thing for the past few years. Well, the past few years before these past few years. I’ve used the last few years to really hone my hermit skills, so brushing off her question is done out of reflex, before I even entertain the idea of doing something as normal as seeing a movie with my mom.

 

I’ve broken some expensive things.

I’ve ignored some important things.

I’ve cried over some tiny things.

And I’ve let down myself and everybody around me…because failure is my thing.   

I started this blog 1 year ago. At that time I hadn’t planned on still being around after 1 year, but the fact is I’m still alive, and that has to count for something.

WordPress reminded me today that I have been blogging for exactly 1 year. I didn’t think this blog would do that much. I didn’t have any social media profiles back then, and I was alone. I figured my blog would get 0 followers and nobody would ever read a word I wrote. But as time passed, I found out that some people did want to read the things I wrote. Some of those people were even kind enough to give me feedback on my writing. I hit 50 followers and was really shocked. I mean really, I wasn’t sharing my work on Facebook or Twitter, nor was I becoming an Instagram poet, but I was finding people who read what I wrote anyway. 50 turned into 100, and just today I hit 232.

232 people I have never met, but people I now know. I love coming here to post my work, but even more than that I love coming to this space to read what others have posted. It’s so varied, so many different voices from every corner of the globe. It’s every human emotion, sprawled out onto my computer screen, and I have the pleasure of reading through it all at my own pace.

I wanted to say thank you to everyone who follows my blog, and to all the blogs I follow, because they are willing to share their hearts and souls with the world, and I find that beautiful. If you would, please consider sharing my blog with those whom you think might enjoy some of my writing. I know I’m not a real writer, but I love writing, and I have enjoyed sharing it, and would really like to keep going, to keep growing, and to see where this path might lead me.

Again, thank you to everyone who follows my blog, I am forever grateful!

“Nothing can compare to the feeling of your kiss, the friction of our lips slowly burning the red out of my blood, leaving me drunk on your love.”

I like shy, cherry boys,

Who act sour, but really they’re sweet.

They slowly creep around the corner

And go speeding down the street

 

I like those shy, cherry guys

Who’s faces all turn red

The second that they see a naked lady

And never try to rush them to bed

 

I’m a sucker for those cherry dudes,

Because I really like the spring

They blossom into beautiful petals

And aren’t ashamed of being pretty things

 

I’m a fan of any cherry man

Who at his core isn’t a bad seed

Yes, he comes off self-centered

But he’s not afraid to admit his needs

 

I like shy, cherry boys,

Because they are prettier than me

They taste good, and look so tasty

I want to teach them about the birds and the bees.

 

I like those shy, cherry guys,

Even though they act like they can’t see

So I keep away and hope that someday

Those cherry boys will come to also like me.

“I miss you, but that doesn’t mean I need you. I’m still worth something, even without you.”

You did not take anything

That I did not willingly give,

So I cannot, will not,

Place the blame on you.

I thought I was empty,

That nothing remained

Outside of tattered love

Where my heart used to be.

 

But I was wrong.

 

When nothing remains,

When all I can claim

Is the rocky sediment

Along the riverbeds

And sandy shores

We once called home,

I want you to know

That I walked away

Out of my own desires,

On my own two feet.