Saturday, April 12, 2014

This is why we can't have nice things

The Problem? I'm laying in your bed right now.

The Solution? I should probably go, it is getting late.

The Problem? I don't want to go.

The Solution? I'm so glad you love her so much.

The Problem? The solution should have been that I love him so much.

Thursday, March 6, 2014

My braces lasted longer than my remission


Every night I climb into bed only to remember what I forgot and it gets harder to get back up every time because somewhere along the way a ladder became more frightening than the jump.

My mom was never good at family math. One perfect child plus one broken mind equals good parenting but once it was one who was strong enough not to go there and once who was strong enough to come back it equaled her failure. And I remember in fifth grade they said a remainder wasn't how to do things, go all the way and use your fractions, but she is stuck with a remainder two she forgot about a long time ago.

I'll finish this cup of tea in a few hours. It will be cold and stale by then but that is kind of how reading those emails feels in my stomach and I'm trying to get used to it. I know it would be easy enough to go down stairs and warm it up but the microwave can't fix everything.


I always loved the feeling of 
 f              s                  f
   a                p                l
      l                   i               y
         l                    r              i
             i                      l            n
                n                      i            g
                   g                      n   

five. in ninth grade english they taught me about full circle endings. and i loved them. my braces went on the day I first saw that scale say 99. maybe i'll get them off at the same weight.



Every morning I wake up and make enough cookies for everyone who needs them that day. I make dinner for six. I feed the baby at least 15 ounces. Cinnamon rolls are always my solution. I never saw the connection between my pork chops and the starving children in Africa,they couldn't have them if I ate them.

I some times feel like a my grandmother's chandelier. Something beautiful and sparkly and wanted. Like only the best would have me because I was worth everything. But also, more that I am just something beautiful to be looked at. I am the result of work and measuring and precise arranging, something that was put together just right, so that dust could collect on my bones.

Thursday, January 9, 2014

This is me

Like it or not this is who I am.

This is my body. It has been broken down for someone else's definition of beauty and I never did get it back together quite right but even my elbows are soft and my hands know how to work.

This is my hair. It has been damaged and dyed so many times that only God knows how it started and even he forgot what it has been between then and no. If you asked him though, I am sure he would tell you that it has been one hundred shades of e.

This is my greatest hight and at 5' 4" being average was always something I resented, until I was the perfect size to fit him.

These are my eyes. They change color with the winds and are just good enough to brag about but they wish on every single star just to turn around and pray most those wishes don't come true.

And these feet? They are different sizes and their toes are too long to look normal but I they walk where I point them so I won't complain.

This is me.
Like it or not.
Take it or leave it.

Sunday, January 5, 2014

Even the best drugs are bad for you.

Running away had always been my favorite escape. It is simple enough. Grab a change of clothes and your computer and get out of dodge.

Break your mother's heart if she bothers to notice and make sure your sisters have just enough spaghetti in the fridge that they won't care either way for at least a week. And don't do the laundry before hand.

Just get in the car and go. Start going south because the I-15 goes father that way but don't stop in St. George or Vegas because those are both too close to home.

 Follow the interstate divider for as long as it takes to decide if it is there as a temptress or as a compassionate friend, if you should run into it's embrace at full speed or go along next to it as long as you can.

Keep going until you are sure if those lines are really just a reminder of where to go or if they look like those pills for a reason.

Continue through the desert until you can decide if it is empty because you are the only one who understands it and it is saving itself for you or if it is just a wasteland like your father said.

Keep going until you run out of road. Then and only then is it safe to stop.

Drive to the very edge of the land, where the water is there reaching out to wash everything away, and park there.

Breath in the salt and rest assured that this is the one case where breathing something in and getting high off the feel of it in your lungs is good for you. Drink the sea until you are drunk and use that buzz to get you home safely.

You won't know what is up or down but it will all feel good. The ocean is your drug and it will keep you on top of the world.

At least until you've followed a path of pills back home, through the cold desert and past that long sturdy wall, and you remember that real life doesn't go away when you do and you can never remember what being high feels like once you come down.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Note to self: A letter to my rebelious stage

Dear Me,

Do you remember that rule? The one that said to never date anyone with hair longer than yours? Let me tell you now it is a good rule to follow, and the boy you break it for isn't worth your broken heart. The boy before him isn't either and don't get me started on the boy before them. And let me tell you, anyone who cheats on you isn't worth your tears. But when he makes out with your best friend it is worth being angry.

Be angry with him, and be angry with her, but forgive. Forgive them for your love, and forgive them for your hate, and forgive them for not noticing either. And forgive your mother.

I know you think that hating her is justified, think she doesn't care because she got sick and left you, but she didn't. She got sick and you left her. And you broke her heart just like she broke yours. So forgive her when she says those things and forgive her when she can't. Forgive her, and forgive the doctors and please, for both our sakes, forgive yourself.

You may not think that matters either but trust me. It is going to break you and you are never going to be the same, so don't go down that road. Forgive yourslef and move on.


P.S. Go eat something. You look the same when you weigh 90 pounds as you do when you weigh 130 and that will just make you bitter when you finally get healthy so stop being stupid and eat your lunch.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Things I am Missing: A List of 10 Things I Wish I Still Had

  1. The spray painted walls of my old bedroom.
  2. The friendship of someone whose birthday I forgot last week.
  3. A first period to skip.
  4. The bottom half of my right lung.
  5. My gaul bladder.
  6. The chance to tell the good sir how important his feedback was.
  7. Being able to see the ocean for the first time.
  8. A car that could drive to the ocean at any minute.
  9. My favorite atheist.
  10. The innocence of not knowing what it feels like to miss a part of yourself.

 “Anyway, it doesn't matter how much, how often, or how closely you keep an eye on things because you can't control it. Sometimes things and people just go. Just like that.”  - Cecelia Ahern

Tuesday, September 10, 2013

I want to be what you want

I didn't expect him to be what he was. He showed up as quickly as a summer rain storm and soaked every inch of my life in his love. And now trying to forget that I love him seems as pointless as trying to pour the rain back into the clouds once it starts falling down. My kisses are pulled towards him like lightning, attracted to him as he stands there, tall and alone in the middle of his world and every time we touch it is thunder in my ears.

But I have spent so much time writing about him that I think I forgot, he isn't a metaphor.

He isn't a metaphor or a simile, a hyperbole or a cliche. He isn't a diagram or a chart or an outline. And he sure as hell isn't a pretty poem that I can write and be done with.

He isn't the thunder or the rain, he is a boy who, despite everything, I love.

He is a boy who says I know him better than anyone alive, who is my longest standing friendship (if you discount the girl who barely knows me any more), and I can't ever see him again.

A few months ago, I said I couldn't imagine life with out him and now here I am, having broken more hearts than I thought I would when I started. I didn't think he would break my heart, but every word he said about long term, and more, and love, broke my hear into smaller and smaller pieces because I knew I couldn't give that to him no matter how badly I wanted.

I couldn't be the girl he needs me to be for him, and so I wanted him to not want me. I tried telling him how all I wanted was for him to give me what I wanted for six months and then pretend it never happened and let me marry someone else.I told him he should just be okay with me using him, because I was selfish and that was all I could give him. I said over and over,

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I can't be what you want.

I told him and told him, not sure if I wanted him to be what I wanted or if I just wanted him to hate me as much as I hated myself for it. It would make it so much easier to leave, knowing I wasn't coming back if I could just make him hate me.

It wasn't working though, he was so damn determined to keep loving me, until he wasn't. 

I won't be what you want.

And he finally believed me, finally gave up and accepted that I was no good for him. And I realized no matter how bad I was for him, I wanted to be everything he wanted me to be.  It was too late though, he realized I was right and pulled his hand out of mine and I think he knew when we said goodbye we weren't going to see each other again. And I don't think I have ever felt lonelier than I did in the second he pulled his hand away.

He pulled away and took the boy I love and he took all the rain, thunder, lightning, all the cliche and metaphor, all the cute rhymes and half finished lyrics, and left me to realized that he was all of that and more that I never even realized. And I am just a silly girl who can only write after midnight when I realize that him leaving was why I have those stupid nightmares and I can't ever be what he wanted.