Monthly Archives: August 2015

Some months

April

  • Almost mid-quarter, midterm season, stress from studying and exams, and classes were harder than expected, but it should be okay, it’ll be okay
  • Promises, promises. Tears and late nights, close contact and human warmth, it had been too long, I had almost forgotten, I love you’s and things will change and it will be okay and we will make it through this I promise, promise promise promise, I will be there in the end.
  • Betrayal #2 or #3, I don’t know, I lost count, it is too many, more than I expected, more than I had ever wanted, more than I am equipped to handle, because I didn’t handle the first one or the real first one or the second one, and I never learned how to handle betrayal, because as soon as I had gathered the pieces and started gluing them back together, I was shattered again, and I don’t know how to keep going.
  • Promises were empty empty empty, you lied, you lied but you said you wouldn’t, they always say they won’t lie, they always say promises won’t be broken, but promises are always broken, why make them if you won’t keep them, gone gone gone, frantic texts and more frantic phone call, bright cellphone light under thick blanket, trembling hands and shaking legs, tears streaming down face onto pillow
  • No one to stop, no one to say no, nothing can be done, jacket on and shoes on and glasses on even fogged with tears and walking walking walking, cars are loud and fast and they are giant hunks of metal, and freeways have many cars, and brakes are only so good, and human reaction time is only so good, so close so close so close
  • But I don’t do it.

May

  • Mid-quarter, midterms, didn’t study enough but somehow pulled through, always pull through, thank you great memory, it’ll be okay
  • Let’s catch up, lunch is good, hanging out with friends is good, hi how are you how have you been, how are classes how are midterms how is the boyfriend, i miss you i missed you so much, are you still talking to them? OH you are, I hope they are doing well, not that I would know, and no, I never found out, why – did you want to tell me?
  • No no no, they don’t get to decide. Betrayal #1 or #2, I don’t know, I’m not sure how to count, they don’t get to decide what is good for me, that is not fair, I am old enough to make my own decisions, you do not get to take away my self efficacy and my self worth and my self confidence and my ability and my strength months after you broke all of those down in the first place, you do not get to break me down again and again, it is not fair, and now I will never know what I can do
  • You do not get to walk out of my life and stay in it because everyone else but everyone else went with you anyway, you do not get to do this, this is not fair, I was over it, I was done, how dare you break me again
  • Crying crying crying in restaurant in public, crying under stairwell as friend holds and shakes and begs and pleads, please do not go down that road again, but how can I not? I never left it in the first place, I was steered off, why cannot I go back down, why must I stay away from points and edges when I did it out of spite in the first place, why do I have to do anything, let life liquid run free, I don’t want it anyway because not even promises promises promises meant they wanted me, I did it yesterday because I couldn’t hold it, but friend says no more no more no more, but I want no need need need
  • But I don’t do it

June

  • School ends
  • What will summer be?
  • I cannot wait to be home

July

  • Birthday, twenty now
  • Summer still going
  • Crazy crazy crazy, stuck in this house but moving to another house
  • At least I have my dog

August

  • Just starting. Why do I remember so much and so little?
  • Summer has come and gone and is going going going gone, what have I done with time, nothing, there is so much to be done and so much time to do it, but so little is accomplished.
  • But moving and staying still and not moving at all
  • And most nights mind does not rush and race, and mind does not go deep and dark and there
  • I don’t do April or May again.
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Darling, do not wish to be small

Darling, when you told me of your desire to be small and skinny and petite and beautiful, my heart skipped a beat and my lungs missed a breath and every alarm went off in my head and a chill filled my veins, and I clenched my hands into fists so that you couldn’t see them tremble. When you told me how you ate so little and moved so much, my mouth went dry and all the words I wanted to say to you got caught in my throat and I was choking on my fear and love for you. When you told me how much you weighed and how much you had lost and how much you wanted to lose still and how little you wanted to be, my gut reaction was to take you into my arms and hold you and never let you go and make all of those thoughts disappear forever.

Darling, you are beautiful and gorgeous and pretty and stunning and radiant inside and out, and I pray to every god and goddess I don’t believe in that you will one day believe that and see what I see in the mirror, because your beauty should first and foremost be for you to see. I could describe to you your physical appearance, but I don’t think any description of soft wavy brown hair and big hazel eyes and high cheekbones and thin nose and shapely lips and symmetrical collarbones and strong arms and chiseled core and long legs would get through to you right now, and god I wish they would. Because the physical appearance that you see in the mirror is not what the world sees.

But darling, beyond your physical appearance, there is the inside that is radiant and shines out from within your being, and I don’t understand how you can’t see it because it’s blindingly bright. You are not the small flame that you think you are, trembling in the wind and flickering and dimming and chilling. You are kind and caring and gentle and sweet, all of these things that mean soft touch and gentle voice and little smile and bright eyes. But you are also strong and unbending and no storm can knock you over, and you are mother and family and you take all of your loved ones into your arms and you protect them and keep them safe and happy, and you are fighter and sharp wit and clever words and you take no shit from anyone because you know you are on a plane above them, and you are the raging inferno that burns through the wind and blazes bright and hot, reds and blues, too fiery to look at directly, even as you break down all that is old and dying to bring new life from the ashen ground.

Darling, do not wish to be small. You are already petite (and no matter what size, you are always pretty inside and out), and I worry that if you try to be any smaller, your outside would become too fragile to hold your inside, and I worry that I cannot keep you as you are, a healthy weight and size, because you still wish to be small. You are petite and pretty, but I worry that if I say those things you will wish to be more petite so that you can be prettier, but that’s not how that works, and all I want for you is to be healthy and happy. So please do not wish to be small. Be as big as you want to be. Let the inferno that is your soul burn out that wish and fill you up and spill over, and take all the space that you want. Because you are deserving of space and happiness and everything else that will keep your outside even a fraction as strong as your inside.

Darling, let your soul burn away the wish to be small, and break out from the cage within which you have placed yourself. Own all of the space around you and light up the world with all that you are. Break every mirror that says you are small because you are bigger than life, and your brain chemistry cannot contain you.


Poolside

Coconut tanning lotion filled my nose

As I laid on towel on hot lounge chair

Sun rays came down hot (too hot) on my skin

And I flipped over and over

Too bright to read Lolita on my back

Too uncomfortable to read on my stomach

But all to even out burning touch

From poolside to pool instead

Hot cement burning the soles of my feet

Dancer callouses do nothing to prevent burns

Cool water was savior

So I sat and floated and swam

And I stared at gentle waves and refracted light

Dead fly and dead leaves floating on its surface

Look down to clear blurry images of hands and feet

I held my breath and dipped under

Chlorine hurts the eyes less than salt

I breathed out precious oxygen bubbles

I sank further and further

Until I could look up and see burning sun

Rays could not touch me here

But escape from burn could not last forever

I surfaced

Dripping wet pulling self up onto hot cement

Cool water barely a shield

Wet towel on hot lounge chair

Damp hands holding Lolita

Burning rays drying back and hair

It’s too dark to read the French


Death was my “friend”

If you are reading this, then I hope Death was never your friend. That was one persuasive, enabling son of a bitch.

But damn, he used to be a “friend.” He was the bad influence “friend.” He was the one who always urged me to drive a little faster down winding canyons roads and a little closer to freeway dividers, to walk on the street-side of the sidewalk, to cross at the very last second, to jay-walk, to hold my breath just a little longer underwater, to swim a little farther out into the ocean, to run down steep stairs a little too quickly, to leave my inhaler at home, to drink just a little more.

He was always there in those moments, skeletal face in the barest of glimpses of my peripheral vision, ghostly whisper in my ear. And when I listened, he was there with a bony hand on my shoulder and frosty air on my neck. And if I obeyed even further, if I grasped sharp edges and pressed them to soft skin, then his cloak of shadows would threaten to envelop me oh so softly.

Death is dangerous. He was there when I wanted him most, and he was there when I didn’t want him at all. His presence was invasive, his whispers infiltrated every nook and cranny of my mind, and I was stuck in his grasp, and his shadows hid any escape route, and all I could see was Death and every single path leading towards him. At the time, it made sense to follow those dark roads.

But once I escaped his hold, I realized how close I was to falling into his realm, how near I was to saying goodbye to Life forever. And I hadn’t even met her yet.

So I turned around and walked away, even now I can’t help but glance back and see his inviting arms, but I push onwards in search of Life and her musical laughter and bright face and shining smile and scarf made of knitted flowers and leaves.

I am always one step behind her, and Death is always one step behind me. But like you should with any toxic “friend,” I cut him out of my life and do my best not to look back.

I cannot deny that he was there in my darkest of times, but for reasons far more sinister than solace and comfort (which is what it seemed like at the time). But Death is no longer a “friend” of mine, not that he ever really was.

I said goodbye to Death, and I hope not to say hello to that bastard for a long, long time.


Burnt

He said: “It’s not you, it’s me.”

Damn right, it’s you. It was always you.

You were the first and I thought you would be the last, and it certainly felt like I was your only. But you weren’t and I wasn’t and we weren’t and we won’t be again.

I can burn every single one of your pictures and all of your presents to me and even the jackets that I stole from you, but I cannot burn the memories you have left behind or the feel of your hands on my skin or the taste of your lips in my mouth. I cannot burn away the fingerprints that you have left on the book that is my story. I cannot burn away your smell from my pillow or the sound of your laughter in my ears. I cannot burn off the phantom kisses left on my neck and shoulders. I cannot burn every article of clothing that you ever touched. I cannot burn the look of your face from the inside of my eyelids. I cannot burn your presence from my past. I can write your name down on slips of paper and burn them all and feed the ashes to the wind, but I cannot burn your name from the folds and wrinkles of my brain.

I can burn your letters into a bonfire and let the flames burn my skin and let the heat burn even my heart but all of it is too much and not enough, and you left me there to burn in the unforgiving sun, under the stares of countless strangers, as the tears made train tracks on my cheeks, and you walked away.

Once burned, twice shy.

Twice burned, and forever burnt.


Your name is poison

Your name is the assassin and the poison both, like Claudius to Hamlet Senior, you have poured liquid death into my ears and taken away my hearing and my happiness and every aspect of life, and I am left haunted, haunting, nothing but a specter of myself, and all I can do is scream into silence because no one will hear that it was you and your name.

Your name is like Taboo, the card game that I played with my cousins when I was a child, I can describe you and I can say everything about you, I can say teal and ocean and sky and almost green but not quite but I can’t say blue, I cannot say it in another language or say what it rhymes with, I cannot act it out, I cannot say it because if I do then it is game over and I am out.

Your name is like a dog whistle. I cannot help but attune to it, my ears cannot help but listen to it, it is at a frequency that I cannot ignore, all of my senses will turn my body towards the direction of its source, and I will stand at attention in case I hear it again, and it will unsettle me even in my dreams, even as I fill the night with sound of my howls, I cannot escape it.

Your name is the siren and her song. You call to me, the helpless sailor that I am. Your beauty draws in my eyes as your voice draws in my ears, and your name, your song slips into every nook and cranny of my being and takes control of my body as it pulls me to you, your name has taken over my willpower and pulls me into the unforgiving sea and pulls me under the waves, and I am drowning, I am drowning deeper and deeper to places where the sunlight cannot reach, but I am under your thrall and even though I am suffocating for breath, I cannot escape your name.

Do you get it yet? Do you understand that your name is impossible for me? Impossible to listen to, impossible to ignore, impossible for me to even say.

Your name will never again be spoken by me while my body lives, the consonants will not roll off my tongue, the vowels will not be shaped by my lips, I will never again have the taste of you in my mouth, I will never name my children any deviation of your name, it is lost to me, it is ruined for me.

But I will always remember the times when your name was the sweetest sound, the most beautiful word, the perfect complement to mine in tree trunks and notebook margins, and I would drink in your name as if it were the sweetest ambrosia.

But now it is nothing but poison.