Being open

We talked the other day 

and you said we have to be 

open with each other

But I couldn't help but think 

About how I've never 

been open with anyone

The closest I've been to being open

Was writing in a notebook 

It wasn't like I didn't want to talk

But it was like 

every time I found the words

They got caught in my throat 

And never found their way to my tung

Like there was a dream catcher 

in my throat 

Like there was a filter on my voice

Like my brain 

stopped my heart and mouth

From communicating 

Because we dated for a year

And I know 

I did not say I love you enough

Because I told you I loved my dad

But not that every girl he dated weighed on my heart

That every one was a migraine 

That every kiss was another tear

That would make its way down my cheek the next night

Because I told you 

My mom can be frustrating 

But I never told you

That she never thought anything I did 

was adequate 

That I was never good enough

Never pretty enough

My skin was never clear enough

My hair never strait enough

My appearance never tidy enough

An my sense of style

Never pretty enough.

But I was her perfect daughter 

And each time she said it

I felt the wall around my heart grow

A string added 

to the dream catcher in my throat

The memory of what it sounds like

To lie to yourself reinforced 

Because the look in her eyes 

Was always so genuine 

Because I told you

I lost my dog

But I never told you

That it was my fault

That I said it was ok

That she was old

That she was in pain

That she was blind 

That it was for the best

And I never told you

How her final breaths sounded

How they sounded like freedom

Like they were merely her soul

Leaving that broken body

That her body was warm

And how I knew so firmly 

it was still her

But that I knew she was not inside it

That her satin soft ears 

still felt the same

As the day my dad and I 

picked her out.

I never told you I named her

I never told you 

She was the one I talked to

Because the dream catcher 

in my throat 

never caught her on the radar 

I never told you for two months 

I pretended I was ok

But didn't eat or sleep

Never left my room 

for anything more

Than school

I didn't tell you

The smiles hurt my cheek muscles 

And my heart was constantly aching 

And every word 

tasted like a lie on my tung

And I viciously caught you with

Jinks you owe me a soda

Because it distracted me 

From real feelings

In fact I did it twice 

But you must have seen something 

Because 

The next day 

you showed up at my door

With two sodas 

With two of my favorite sodas 

You didn't stick around 

for the aftermath 

And I'm glad

Because I cried 

I cried for the first time in weeks 

Not about my dog

Not about my own despair 

Not from the gaping hole in my chest

And stomach 

And numbness in my limbs

Because I sobbed twenty four seven

I slept with a dog collar clutched to the holes by long lost limbs

My body curled around itself 

like a cinnamon roll

Flipping over the pillow ever few hours in hopes it wouldn't stay soggy

Tissues were of no help

But they seemed to litter my room anyways

Most nights I just wandered 

down to the kitchen 

So I could sit at the table 

And look out the window and door 

Where I would have seen her

I would cry some more

And then move myself to the couch just in time to pass out 

at 5 in the morning 

7:30 alarm goes off

Quick throw away the tissues

Wash your face 

Put on make up

Make sure no one can tell

Practice smiling in the mirror 

Cry a little more

I told you

That my life was not all 

sunshine and rainbows 

I told you divorce was hard

But I don't tell you

They way my dad looked 

The way his hands trembled

the way His lip curled 

The way the tears 

found their way to his cheeks 

Like water rising from the ground

Like gravity lost its hold on rain

Like everything had been flipped upside down 

As he said

I'm leaving 

I told you the divorce was harder 

on my older brother

But I never told you

The way he cried at night 

Like his head was about to burst

With the sound

of his world shattering around him

When he thought 

no one could hear him

I never told you

The way I constantly 

worried about him

The way I still worry about him

The way

His heart broke

And the sound it made 

And the way it never truly healed

Because 

if anyone deserves happiness 

He does

Because divorce was his disease 

And now it's his shadow

I told you mark was a good guy

But I never told you

He was also hypocritical

And condescending 

And how his motivational speeches 

Felt more like sandpaper 

wearing me down 

Than a river forming me 

How I don't think he respects anyone 

Or at least not as much as he should

And he never trusted me

And how that was the worst feeling

And it took everything 

To keep myself from crying 

Because 

That shouldn't be a big deal

I told you I love my step brothers

But I never told you 

I would do anything for them

That I know they will always be family

And that I would help them 

bury a body

If I needed to

I told you family is everything 

And I meant it

But I never told you

I wanted you to be family too

I wanted you to be more than family 

I wanted you to be the one 

I told you I wasn't that good at talking 

And you found my blog

So thank you. 

when people ask...

When people ask what I am

I like to say I am a writer

Not because I understand plot

Or because I make the most realistic characters

Because I don’t

When people ask

I like to say I am a writer

Because poets breathe air back and forth

between earth and the heavens

inspiration filling their lungs

and making its way through their veins

and sometimes it feels like my breath

doesn’t even reach the stratosphere

like its left somewhere in the clouds

wondering where it all went wrong

when people ask

I say I am a writer

Because poets break spines with words

And I

I tug at heart strings

When people ask

I say I am a ghost

Because popularity never looked my way

Because I was never talented enough

to draw a crowd

Because I was never more

Because I was never a poet

When people ask

I like to say

That writing was etched into my every cell

That writing flows through my veins

like ink mixing with blood

When people ask

I say

That maybe it’s not poetry

Because maybe

it’s just my heart

When people ask

I say it’s ok

I always liked the view from the clouds anyways

When people ask what I am

I like to say I am a writer

Because I can’t imagine anything nobler

Because even if

 the angels and I never shared oxygen

I was born to be a writer

Born to be irrational

Born to be a spectator

But sometimes I swear

My voice makes it to the stratosphere

And that is something worth mention

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

guide to being an introvert

a simple guide to being introverted for extroverts and ambiverts

you know the feeling of 

i can wait to go out this weekend

I'm so excited to go to this place

i cant wait i'm going to call my bff

i'm going to stay out all night

its going to be crazy

well I don't

when the clock hits 11:30 am on a Friday my first thoughts are 

"i cant wait to curl up on my couch 

in my bed 

and most certainly alone with a book or netflix near by."

you know how you love shopping with a good friend.

how its fun to window shop

how you were never really interested in buying something 

but you were just glad to be there.

I don't

i will go shopping if there is something specific i want 

i go shopping alone

because more often than not

people talk me into buying things i don't need

you know that one time 

you struck up a conversation about the weather

or with a stranger on a bus

remember when you had that lab partner 

and you ended up having more to talk about than you thought.

I don't 

i get confused and offended 

when a lab partner strays from the task at hand to be social.

and talking just because you are near someone 

doesn't make sense

and as far as talking about the weather goes

you both can feel the weather.

how is it not considered stating the obvious

you know parties

how do you stand them

the food bought to cater to everyone's tastes 

and never really fitting any one person

the forced contact with strangers

that may or may not know the people you know

and the knowledge that falling asleep on the couch 

would be social suicide at best

and maybe all i wanted was a cup of hot cocoa 

and maybe i can only handle groups of people 7 and under

and maybe 4 was always best.

because inside jokes will always leave someone confused

and there will always be that one kid 

who never played that video game

i will go out to see a movie and go out to eat

but to be honest most of the time 

i would rather be home with one or two people

with easy access to a bedroom 

that no one else uses.

when i was a kid my hobbies included

being able to play with my brother 

without being interrupted by the neighbors

reading a book 12 ft up in a tree

and being so high up 

that the wind makes the branches under me sway 

i am a dog person 

 for the same reason i don't like talking to people

because small talk feels so insincere 

and no one will ever genuinely appreciate you
as much as your dog will

and you can laugh but being overly social feels so fake
and I like being Real

assumptions

people like to assume

people like to assume because i went to japan
i am a weaboo
a nerd
an "otaku"

and honestly i might have been

but now I'm a bigger fan 

of Japan's culture 

and hot spring baths

people like to assume because i'm a girl
i fight dirty

then they find out i grew up with brothers
and then they assume i am a pro wrestler

people like to assume that because i am a girl
it is also okay that i dress like one

but its not
not because i'm a tom boy
but because something inside me cries
i like cute clothes
i like girly clothes
but it hurts to wear them.

but assuming never hurt anyone

worst of all people like to assume
family is a safe topic

people like to assume
i have a little brother i quarrel with

maybe an older sister i yell at

maybe i make fun of my mom
and tell her she is old.

and honestly

its like the worst surprise
to realize

it pains people when i talk about my family

because the word divorce
is like a knife worse than any swear word

because we live in happy valley
a place where words like divorce
have practically been outlawed

those who use it ignored

and those who talk about it ostracized

because no one wants to believe
that true love can end

that their whole lives have been  a lie
that maybe one day their parents won't love each other

that maybe one day their prince charming
might not be so charming

because people like to believe divorce 

is simple
simply easy
simply evil
and simply something they will never have to worry about

and people like to assume love is easy
and people like to assume life can be simple.

so when i tell them no that's not my dad
hes just the person married to my mom
she got remarried

see there's another word

remarried

it sounds inviting until you process it and realize
what exactly it is you are getting yourself into


no shes not my sister shes not even my step sister
she is my step sisters half sister
and this is her husband

no uncle fred is not my uncle
he is not my moms uncle or my dads uncle
he is my step dads uncle
and crazy does run in the family

no its not my grandma who lives in my basement
its nanu
her real name is carol 

but so i'm making sense
it is my step dads mom

no he is not my little brother
he is my dads girlfriends son

yes i grew up with brothers
but i got 2 sisters when my mom got remarried
6 or so years ago.
no they are not babies
no they are not my half siblings
nothing is as simple as half siblings
yes they are both older than me

no i don't have one brother i have 4
but only one lives with me all the time
because 2 live with their mom
and the other lives with my dad

And you might say I have 5 

because my dad has been dating that girl 

for a really long time

no i'm not an only child
nothing could ever be more strikingly different
than saying i am an only child
no i don't fight with my siblings anymore

we leave the fighting to the grown ups
and they don't fight as much as you would think
but they still fight more than we can take.

and you went silent after the first sentence
so i will stop
i will stop
because divorce is a taboo

and no one knows what to say
when i say any more than i love my family.

so lets start over

"i love my family"

Moths and Butterflies

My childhood was full of debates

was a fox a kind of dog or a kind of cat
why are only baby ducks yellow
and how do they change colors anyways
how do blue and yellow mix to make green
which came first the chicken or the egg
why is it that wearing mittens
helped me sleep through cold nights
how do allergys work
why are mirrors not see through

but the one that stuck with me the longest was

moths and butterflies

my first impression was that moths were boy butterflies
but maybe they were old butterflies
then i found out certain caterpillars
grow up to be certain moths or certain butterflies
and then i wondered

do caterpillars know weather or not they will become a moth or a butterfly
do they get disappointed when they come out a moth

why do moths fly around at night if they like light so much

are butterflies cocky
why don't they fly around at night
can moths see in the dark better
are butterflies rude to moths

is that why moths only fly around at night

if i were a caterpillar
would i grow up to be a moth or a butterfly

nocturnal teenager jokes aside
I like night time
and i have never felt like a beautiful butterfly
maybe a slightly pretty moth
if I'm lucky
I'm not good at confrontation
and i enjoy naps in the sun

but it took me a long time to accept
that it's okay
to not be a butterfly
Because moths can be pretty too

Hearts and the color red

People paint on smiles 

Thick 

And red

Red

Like the blood 

We all still bleed

And the cartoon hearts we have all seen

And maybe it's because you think 

It shows you're human 

But blood isn't thick

And hearts were probably never even red anyways

Because I remember seeing one

 in a video in 5th grade

And I think it was really just a fleshy color

But I was a little too freaked out 

to pick up specifics 

But maybe that's all we are

 fleshy colored people

 inside and out

With a lot of red liquid that keeps our fragile little hearts beating

But we all still pretend our hearts are red Because red is strong 

And red is fearless

Because red gets things done

Because red is beautiful 

So we say our hearts are red

And we paint on red smiles

So people know

That we are strong 

Inside and out

But we are really pink

Not a cute pink 

A fleshy pale almost yellow pink

And I doubt we have ever been another color

But don't fear

Because we all still bleed red 

We all still bleed

Red

And just because our hearts aren't red 

Doesn't mean 

we don't have strength

 and courage

And love 

 flowing through our veins 

Because we do

And even though we are all 

just a little more human 

than we want to be

We can still be strong 

If my heart were a house

If my heart were a home

 it would be broken

Wrenched in half 

like a doll house

It's Dysfunctionality 

displayed for all to see

One room is daddy issues

One is mommy issues

One is step dad issues

The other is girlfriend after girlfriend issues

There are school issues

And growing up issues

And I never signed up for this issues

There are abandonment issues

And there is an attic full of hope

With a window so big you could leap out of it

Or stare out all night 

and feel like a part of the night sky 

There are holes in the roof that insure this

And a constant melody of crickets 

And old rock music 

I'd like to say the moon and stars 

are in this attic

But that depends on whether or not 

you believe

And all the boards seem to be

 a worn out grey

And the roof still bears some black shingles 

Almost as if it had been nearly burnt down 

Some years ago

And who's to say it didn't 

when all seems well

It is because it's been closed up

You can still see in through the windows

Just enough

To catch a whiff of the dysfunction 

To know to steer clear 

To not undo the latch

Because it doesn't stay closed well without it 

But the gaping window in the attic

Still seems to draw some in

the warning on the box says

Do not get invested in this heart

Please keep away from small children 

And the light of heart

Take care when closing If you close it while your appendages or feelings are inside

It Can inflict pain pinched skin bruising 

and heart break

Hearts that are broken 

while this product is in use 

are not under warranty 

and users will not be compensated

do not feed this product chocolate

If product is fed chocolate 

The warranty will no longer be valid

no returns will be taken

And refunds will be minimal at best

On occasion poetry will spill out of it

do not read the poetry

please treat them like soliciting phone calls

Because if you give it hope

The calls will never end

Please do not give it poetry in return

Because No refunds or returns 

Can save you

Past that point

For my mother

My mom was the woman 

who grew up so fast 

she forgot to do the growing

The teen who loved the rebel life 

But never really took part in it

The girl that beat up the boys on the playground

And never wanted to date anyone

Now she's the woman 

who was abandoned

Now Never truly appreciated

And never truly done

because she 

has passed elementary school 

and middle school 

twice now

And she has her son's graduation to prove it

She runs her daughter to work every day

And convinces her to actually buy clothing 

Instead of always getting rid of it

She also happens to be 

the part time therapist

Of her mother in law 

Who lives in her basement

She is a motivational speaker

To her 20 year old son

Who could be so much more

And she never stopped trying

because she doesn't want to let go

And even though 

I may disagree with her

from time to time

I will always respect her

for how far she's come

And for never giving up

And I owe her this

Homeless man.

I can feel my baggy boy jeans 

falling just short of covering up 

my red and blue angels socks.

I can feel that my beanie 

Gives me the appearance 

of homeless man rather than a skater 

And once again the jeans aren't helping

And if only my socks wouldn't show

I don't wear makeup

I have skin like a war zone

My eyelashes were always too short 

My face too big for my eyes

My chin too defined

My face plagued by moles

My upper arms too big

My hair has split ends

And refuses to lay flat

And I bruise way too easy

Every day I feel like a hobo

And quite frankly look like one

But some how you love me anyways 

I hate being called perfect

But I could never tell you not to

Because maybe I like the world you see

And I'm afraid 

you'll get your vision checked

Because no Tinted lenses 

No smudged glasses

And no colored contacts 

Could make me look nearly as good 

As you see me now

(Guys I swear I'm working on something better than this and I know I haven't posted in a long while. but, I needed to fill the gap with something)

(^~^)/* goodbye for now.

Listening to prayers

We paint on smiles that match our skin

And robotic voices echo through the building

They told me work 

would be my escape from home

But now I have trouble 

seeing the difference

Because I paint on a smile for you each morning

And tell you less each day

But today I found myself listening in again

I'm sorry I stopped

And I'm sorry I did

And I'm sorry I do

But I'm mostly sorry I stopped

I'm sorry that even though 

you don't realize it

My soul is older than yours on occasion

And I don't know when 

I stopped being there for you  

Because I used to listen in 

on every crying phone call 

And every heart felt prayer

But last time I knocked on your door 

Hoping you would finally realize 

I've been here all along

And you shut and locked yourself up

 deep down inside

And eventually I think I thought 

I could listen to music with headphones in

Because there was nothing to miss

I've never been ok 

putting both earbuds in my ear

Until this year

And I don't think I'll find it ok again

Because dear

No matter how much your new husband pretends

Everything is not ok

And I wanted to be the one 

you finally admitted the words

"I feel broken" to

But I wasn't

Instead it was your moms cousin 

who lives down the road

And that makes me want to cry

But I heard it mom

I heard it

And I won't miss you saying it again

And maybe when I've moved out 

You'll finally say it to me

So here's to wishes

That I finally stop painting on smiles

And let my voice ring true

Because I wouldn't be here without you

And I won't let you be alone