sand, bricks and funerals

We spend our whole lives building up for one moment

The moment we die

From the moment we are born

Every giggle
Every almost word

Every cheeky childhood action

Every date

Every chemistry partner

Every group project

Every yearbook photo

Every kiss

Every stupid joke

Every moment we have builds up and then disappears

Because people remember what they want to remember

And most of them will be nothing but dust

They will fall through the cracks

Or be swept aside

To make way

for memories that mean something

the memories that stick

become the bricks
bricks that build up the wall

That hides who you really were

Because people don’t talk about

 how she slept with her dog

At funerals

They talk about how

she was so sweet and perfect and friendly

People don’t talk about how antisocial she was

They talk about how she was so kind to everyone she met

They don’t talk about how

she believed the wind would take her away

They talk about how often she climbed trees

I’m not fond of funerals

Because funerals are for the living

But poems are sometimes for the dead

And although I fear my funeral

will be full of crying people who said I was perfect

I hope there will be someone who knows the true story

They would say I was a fighter

That I always hoped to be something more

that I love the feeling of acceleration

and in another life

I would love to be a race car driver

but in this life I lived to be a writer

because I wrote letters to the moon

and cried into the wind

when it didn’t take me with it

that I had so much to loose

but nothing to gain

because poets aren’t worth much

and I
I always wanted to be something spectacular

I hope when they turn the last page of my life

They don’t forget that

That every day I feared all I would ever be was

Mediocre

me·di·o·cre

ˌmēdēˈōkər/

adjective

1.    of only moderate quality; not very good.

"a mediocre actor"

synonyms:

ordinary, average, middling, middle-of-the-road, uninspired,undistinguished, indifferent, unexceptional, unexciting, unremarkable, run-of-the-mill, pedestrian, prosaic, lackluster, forgettable, amateur,amateurish;

Because I don’t want to be forgotten in all the lies

I don’t want to be forgotten in my perfect baby girl

I don’t want to be forgotten

Because I was always a sucker for imperfections

And I would rather that you remember

I slept for way too long

Or that I may or may not

have sucked at cooking in the past

Or that I looked really cute when I woke up

Not a pretty cute

But an adorable bead head sleepy eyes cute

That I was obsessive

That I may or may not

have stopped playing an instrument

And stopped drawing

Because someone told me I was no good.

That I read so often people wondered if I was ok

That I ate chocolate so often

My mother thought

I was giving myself health issues

That my dreams were terrifying

And messed up

and I have always wanted to forget them

But I never could.

And I’m no good at impressions

So likely no one will re member me at my funeral

My first kiss will not be there

None of my project partners will be there

No x boyfriends

Not a lot of friends either

I hope a certain one or two will show up

My family will be there

And most of them will pretend they know me

Never truly Homeless

Wandering these empty streets doesn't feel so lonely
because the pavement in bathed in starlight
and because these streets are littered with you

Because on nights like tonight no one is truly homeless

Because somewhere down these streets
is the park where we said goodbye
but so is the church where we said hello

Because my home hasn't been a place for years

Because home stopped being a place
when my parents stopped being together

Now home is starlight and my own rib cage
because home hasn't left my own rib cage
in at least 6 years

because home

hasn't left my own rib cage

in the last

6

years

Because home is where you feel safe
where nothing can hurt you

Because the monsters under my bed
are now demons
and they tend to rest in my head

but maybe that's a lie
because i think there was a time
when home made it into my finger tips

Because i wanted to share home with you
like you shared home with me

and you hands in mine started to feel
like home

Once upon a time

Once upon a time 

There was a girl 

And once upon a time her heart stopped

But she didn't die

At least not as much as she wished she had

Because it started back up at full speed just moments later

She found herself 

counting her heart beats at night

And hoping the seconds between them would get longer

She would hold her breath

But only for a few seconds 

Because she feared 

one day 

she would forget to breathe

She had told ghost stories 

for as long as she could remember

But now she wishes she were one of them

She writes ghost stories

But is too afraid to share them

Mostly because 

she could never live up 

to her own nightmares 

And although she is still afraid 

to hold her breath.

She has never been scared enough 

to stop writing or telling stories

But she is 

scared enough 

To write in third person