jolly old saint nicholas

It snowed this morning.
I woke up with cold feet scrunched up in blue flannel pajamas. somewhere around three o clock last night i tip toed to the fridge and ate all those esther price chocolates my grandma was saving for christmas. smoothe silky chocolate seduced my tongue and quieted all these winter fantasies.
i love people the most when it snows
when their cheeks are pink and their noses are stuffy and their hair is covored in snowflakes. i love them most when they're filled with the possibility that that first snow breathes into their rusty fall hearts. when they shiver as snow crunches beneath their feet and seeps through their soggy boots. when for a moment they are restored with that childish innocence christmas morning inevitably brings to all ages. writing letters to a jolly man in a red suit. one who never judges and pats you on the head. one who loves. and loves. and loves. and always eats your cookies.
a man who will never break your heart.
a man who will never let you down.
where have all the santa clauses gone?

Missing My Confidence

Just got yelled at by some hollow eyed librarian in a tangerine sweater but all I can think about is how comfortable these sweat pants are and how I shouldn’t have eaten that oversized chocolate chip cookie on the way to class. The hallways were crowded and I shoved bite after bite of sugary sweetness into eager lips because my best friend wasn’t there to laugh at and my stomach’s been growling all day. In the silence of American Government it cried out for food while we watched Mark Mallory try to pitch a baseball. I told it to be quiet and crossed my arms over the giant Buddha on my chest but the pleading continued and when the bell finally rang for lunch I bolted as fast as these soft pink boots would take me down two flights of stairs and into the cafeteria. I tried to tell myself not to eat it but I did, before I knew it I had chocolate smeared on the edges of my candy pink lips and an empty Otis Spunkemeyer wrapper crumpled in my hands. Damnit damnit damnit. No, I am not one of those girls who weighs herself each night and spends her afternoons with her head in the toilet. My happiness does not lie upon a scale or within a size 2 pair of jeans. I am not killing myself to be beautiful but my mirror is not the friend it used to be. It does not greet me on those early high school mornings with a smile and a wink. It does not whisper quiet affirmations on the days when my phone never rings and this house seems worlds away from reality. I used to find solace in that blonde haired reflection but my gym membership is expired and I eat raisonettes for breakfast. I stopped tanning because I was losing myself to a bronzed stranger and stood out too much in winter. Now my face is dull and lifeless and I swear if you stare long enough you’ll see your eyes in these porcelain cheeks. The complaining must stop because I’m missing my confidence far too much. I forgot how beautiful I was when he traded me in for someone else but I need to remember so that these sunny fall days are not wasted on an insecure seventeen year old with a camera in her hand.
And oh, that camera is in my hand. Every day I’m snapping pictures of the world only I can see. Downloading them so that-if only for an instant- everyone can bear witness to the beauty that overwhelms me. They can realize how gorgeous the specks of gold are in their eyes or find peace within the way the sun hits the wet pavement on dewy afternoons. The only thing keeping me grounded in this cyclone of change are these pictures and the people posing for them. I meditate as I snap shot after shot and by the time their cheeks are sore with smiling I have found my center again. I have found my Om. I have forgotten you. I have forgotten it all.

autumns wind

I'm filing these weekends away in my heart so that I can relive them on those nights when tears come easy and nothing tastes right. These automn winds are whispering winters promises and picking up golden leaves to blow them in my hair. Things are changing like they always do and the only difference is that I finally don't love him anymore. I can see him and buy him a buritto and know that he is destined for sadness because he has not smelled compassion from anyone but me and I am gone from him now. I will not hate him because hating anyone tears down the walls of my universe and makes me bitter. I love the morning too much to be bitter. I love this life too much to hate.
His best friend calls me late at night to stumble over confessions of "love" and I'm sorry but I could never kiss you. You and your jeep and your bad directions and your promises. These boys need to stop watching The OC, it makes them too damn dramatic and they get silly with ultimatums. Him or me, this or that, never or eternity. Just shut up, I have too much on my plate without your college boy problems. I will listen but I will not love you. I will love my best friend and my mom and myself. That's all the love I'm handing out for now so you can wait in line or surrender to my truth. <3

rainy days

Every day is a rainy day. Golden orange leaves sticking to my best friend wind shield- adhered firmly with crystal raindrops that don’t seem to be able to stop falling all over this quiet fall suburbia. At first those rain clouds were comforting, shielding a sun that hurt my eyes and reminded me of summer days in the front seat of your car. Now I am willing them away because the bottoms of my favorite jeans are soaked and my moccasins are slippery on the cold tile floors of my high school. Because my hair is frizzy and the hood on my new red jacket isn’t big enough to cover this blonde mess on my head. Because the only songs I like to listen to when it rains are the slow ones that make me think of you and everyone knows I grew sick of that long ago. I’m tired of talking about you. I could say that I have moved on but here I am blogging again and you seem to be the center of my poetry. You seem to make my fingers fly across the keyboard.
No, I am not jealous of that brunette sophomore kissing you at the Bengals game. I’m sure she is a lovely girl but those circles under her eyes scream of sleepless nights and I wonder how long she will stay innocent with a boy like you in her world. You took a picture of her pressing her lips to your cheek while you scrunched up that freckled face and tried to look like a hard ass. I took a picture like that. Exactly the same- that kiss, that angle, that face. You’re living through cheap imitations of our summer and I’m sorry she can’t edit pictures like I can. Maybe then it would look like you were actually happy. And yes this sounds bitter but the truth is… I have every RIGHT to let the phone ring when you call. I have every right to deny your friend requests on facebook and delete your ridiculous texts. I have every right to shut you out of my life and if I had a little bit more of a bitch in my blood I would have done it long ago. I should have done it long ago. So don’t whine to your friends when I hang up on you and don’t return your messages. They are meeting up with me at Krogers to watch the OC and listen to Sean Kingston in the car before they party the night away with you anyways. The truth hurts, doesn’t it? I forgive you. I wish you happiness. But I have been a dumb blonde for much too long.
I am pale again. My tan faded away when my gym membership expired and I realized I would rather be an Audrey Hepburn than a Paris Hilton. I was born with this porcelain shade so I suppose there is beauty in it somewhere,
but damn Barbie for having such bronzed plastic skin. I yearn for the smell of a tanning bed again and the shade of my eyes when my face is brown. I will accept my beauty. I will love my body even when I shove my face with caramel apples and too much candy corn and hot banana nut bread. I will worship the mirror even when I feel far less that beautiful, because if I don’t believe it- nobody will.

rasberries

Sour apple slices and ADD medication
Thick fog hanging on my bronzed shoulders and crocheted green scarf
Yawning and blinking blue eyes to life
I don’t want to see those high school halls but I know they are coming
Last night we ate at The Cheesecake Factory and revealed our dirty secrets over parmesan chicken and too much bread. We walked quickly around a deserted mall hunted for green eyed cuties and came up empty handed but oh, it was a lovely time.
This week is wearing me down.
I have been reading about wacky chicks in Paris and Milan who speak their minds and open cheap vintage boutiques in the center of the universe. They take off their makeup with tampons and dare to defy all those blonde haired beauty queens and bow-tied communists. They swim against the mainstream with a passion and take baths with Baking Soda. They collect iguanas and inspire the likes of Andy Warhol.
They would never let an asshole like you ruin their day.
And even when you told me you were with some brown haired sophomore,
I chose to be a wacky chick.
I chose to laugh in your face.
Go ahead; call me in a month from now. See if I remember how you used to smell.
See if I care about your apologies then.
I hope you’re happy,
But I’m sure you’re not.
Yesterday I sat in awe while a hobbling Holocaust survivor told her story in front of a hundred high schoolers in ironed pants and fuzzy red sweaters. She wiped her eyes and brought life the terror of her past. She made jokes about the return of Elvis and I laughed at the way her polish accent wrapped around pop culture references.
She told us about the selfless courage of an eighteen year old Jew. This stringy haired girl presented a dusty raspberry to her best friend on a leaf, and in my mind their world is black and white- maroon raspberry and green leaf the only color illuminated in a world drained of all color.
She represented all that was beautiful and her 83 year old skin told stories written in every pale wrinkle and saggy laugh line.
One day I will have a story to tell,
She did not make hers a tragedy- she made it an inspiration.
I refuse to live a tragedy when there are all these raspberries in the world.

ready for an adventure

Last night we decorated tie die tee shirts with cursive writeing in puffy paint and cheap plastic rhinestones. After an hour the floor was covored with glitter and I could barely keep my eyes open. I crawled into her bed and felt my face sink into her hypo-allergenic pillow. yes, sleep. i remmember what this feels like. six hours later we are rushing to get coffee. hot pink lipstick and blue glitter eyeliner. yes, we are seniors. yes, we love life. yes, our tee shirts are so much cooler than yours.
armed with lattes and early dismissal passes we floor it to school. first bell was a joke and second is even worse. I am restless and hungry for the world. I am dreaming of New York in the fall and all the pictures my camera is ready to take. I am fantasizing about the people i will meet, the journals i will fill, the freedom i will taste in a few endless months. they will fly by when all these pep rallies are done with but oh they are dragging by so so slowly now.
I have never been more ready for an adventure.

candy corn tummy ache

It has been so long since my last post.
Days have passed and my hair has grown and I have new favorite songs. Homecoming is in two days and my arms are tanned and silky and my stomach is full of candy corn. For some reason I can't seem to pass the purple bowl without grabbing two handfuls of edible pre-halloween joy. they leave me with cramps and regrets and soon i will do crunches on my cold bathroom floor
but oh, they taste so good.
Since my last post I have seen him,
and waved him away. I have thrown his sweatshirt into his glistening car window and avoided that gaze as I slammed the door to my best friends car and ajusted my Buddha tee shirt. Thank God my eyes looked blue that day. You threated me and texted me pictures of the money you owed me. "This is the closest you'll ever get to it."
Real classy,
grow up.
And now I have met new boys. Green eyed charmers with cheesy pickup lines that work at the mall. Dreadlocked band members singing in a window downtown. Spikey Haired Seniors who just got their braces off and love tacos. Broad chested skater boys who think I'm funny.
And still you call.
And still you text.
And last night i finally let your voice fill my phone.
I let you apologize. I let you promise me roses I will never smell. I let you ask about school, family, friends. I did not let you into my heart. I did not spill my emotions over a static phone line like i am so accustomed to doing when it comes to you. I gave you no rope to hold onto after you jumped into the light blue abyss of honesty and emotions. i let you say how you felt, acknowledged your guilt, and moved on. I politely loved you, with the kind of heart that has been used and recycled and reproduced stronger and thicker and worthy of someone more devoted than you.
And my fuzzy headed rebel boy worries that it has begun again. Worries I am as weak as I used to be, as susceptible to lovely promises and hazy apologies. He worries you will win me over with thai food and Guster. He worries I will fall back into you and that disaster that made my summer beautiful. I convinced him at 4:30 this morning that I am not his fool anymore. Before I hopped in the shower he texted me to tell me i was right,
i am strong.
i am smart.
i am independant.
and i do not
need
you
anymore.

not much time to write

Not much time to write today
munching on apple chips and Immunity water that leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. slipping off my clearance rack golden shoes because they are one size too small and squeezing the life out of my wide Hobbit feet. Just read an e mail from my blonde goddess inspiration. i miss her and love her and long to hug her. that day will come.
last night i didnt even need those herbal supplements to fall asleep. i spread lavender lotion over my dry hands and slid between my rust colored sheets. i smiled before i fell asleep and woke up early with a craving for lemon frosting. i have been talking to him little by little, but i have abandoned those homecoming dreams. i have let go of red dresses and expensive dinners downtown. i don't need it. i really don't.
first bell we talked about middle school pop songs and how underneath those pretty pink lips all girls are evil. they will three way call you, tell your best friend your a lesbian, make fun of your plaid skirt from L L Bean. they will love you and leave you and take all your secrets with them. they will be your best friend and your worst enemy.beware my darling when you surrender your intimate fantasties and hidden desires. they will slander your name if you let them get to close and thank God i am not a girl like this. thank God my best friend is not tainted by that middle school bull shit. the drama that holds high schools together and tears relationships apart. the crying in the bathroom stall and slamming of yellow lockers. i didn't live all those tragedies we read about in first bell and my heart goes out to those thirteen year old girls with orange foundation and stubby nails. the ones walking alone and exposing their stomachs. straightening their hair until it is brittle and straw like and even then the flawless faced bitches won't let her sit with them. i'm ranting and raving about a world i already lived through but all those articles about 7th grade catastrophe made me want to rewind and help those lonely hearts.

Achings.

Every day a new ache.
an ache to hold you ache to be rid of you ache to slap you and kiss you and forget you. ache to find new songs to play over and over on the way to school. i am tired of this worn out soundtrack, sad angry melodies and chorus's that swim around in my head until third bell when i laugh them all away. You start college today and I know i shouldn't but I'm thinking about you. Wondering if that new world will change you. Wondering who will sit next to you, what you will learn, where your life will take you when i finally find the strength to say goodbye and refuse to be a part of it. I have talked to girls who loved boys like you. Girls who got sucked into a universe where space and time and boundaries cease to exist because of a pair of brown promising eyes. Girls who cry in their dimly lit rooms and don't even want to call their best friend because they wish they were over you.Girls that hold on because it is so much easier to accept that 'i love you' at the end of the day than it is to break free and find someone that treats them with all the sweetness they deserve.
It is so much easier to pretend that his lips don't taste like unsaid words.
It is so much easier to let him slip a corsage around my wrist and slow dance the night away like we planned. But in the end i will be dizzy with too many disturbing deceptions whispered in the name of what we wished was love. And yes, i do still love you. but i will not be one of those girls for much longer. i will buy ice cold yohoos for blonde haired football players who are becoming my best buds again.i will get smoothies with my beautiful friends and start to love my body again. you claim to LOVE me, but if you loved me you would make goodbye easy. you would stay out of my life because it is much too hard for me to let you go when you keep calling and reminding me of those summer nights. you would hug me for the last time and let me find the passion that i deserve but i am bracing myself for angry words and bitter phone calls. i am getting ready for hell but after it's over darling i will walk confidently into the heaven only a single seveteen year old girl knows the secrets to. I will let my wings grow back and soar far away from all of this earth shattering emotion. These feelings are not wrong- they are just human. So I will let myself feel this pain,
but baby I'd be a fool to make myself suffer over you.
I talked to her on the phone for an hour last night and it's tragic but at least we can share these heartaches together. at least we are only a seven digit number away. at least i can nod understandingly while she cries and send her hugs from my faraway forest home. these disasterous boys will bring us together. <3

baby it's for good.

That peaceful sunday evaporated after i called you. i shouldnt have waited until the stars were so bright and the house was so quiet and i was all alone in my room. i shoulndt have dialed your number with so many expectations. i shouldn't have dialed your number at all.
before i talked to you my blonde haired prom date called me. a beautiful blast from the past and everytime i hear his voice i can breathe again. a whole summer escaped from us and i havent eaten thai food with him in far too long but laughing with him is natural.
i spilled my secrets and you lost your temper. yelling at me until you started coughing and couldn't stop. making me curl up in guilt on my purple bedspread and pull the long sleeves of your sweatshirt accross my body. hugging myself because in that moment i was the only one who could.
yes, i kissed him. a small sin compared to your nights of mayhem and forgetting to call but the tone of your voice gave me goosebumps and a craving for tea. you told me you were starting to love me again.
too bad.
you said we would work it out
you would give me a second chance,
well guess what
you can keep your second chance.
im not crawling back to you-
begging for forgiveness. we weren't even together so what my lips do on their friday nights is far from your testosterone driven concern.
i'm not going to let you hold that over my head
paint me insignifigant
reminding me of my mistake every time i leave your side. not answering my questions. hanging up on me.
you don't make me feel beautiful.special.talented.unique.appreciated.respected.orloved.
so tell me why i should answer when your ring tone fills my basement. tell me why i should text you back.give me one good reason not to rip up all those pictures of us when my teethe were so white and i believed every word out of those thin freckled lips.
i'm not listening to all those country songs that made me believe i loved you anymore.
i'm not holding onto a pretty couple. their love faded in august.
and the truth is
i fucked up once. i ran back to you. i could pretend it was because i believed you were sorry but the fact of it is that i was scared of how i felt when you weren't holding me. i needed to be needed.
i don't need anymore.
i have everything i need.
and this time when i say goodbye,
baby it's for good.

smells like fall

Laying on my back in the grass on this quiet Sunday afternoon.a Red ant bites me on my stomach and i flick it off before i hang up the phone with my long haired step sister. she is beautiful and free spirited and i miss her bubbly laugh. i miss her rap music.
friday night was long and smelled like fall. his backyard was filled with shaggy headed strangers with bad breath and a love of alternative bands. there were no cheese cubes like he said but the band was good and this house brings back so many memories. buck toothed me in an awkward one piece. diving into their crisp pool and trying to suck in a pudgy chocolate pudding stomach.i have had a crush on him since we were 5 and i was sleeping beauty. he kissed me softly on the lips and his strawberry blonde hair fell in freckled blue-green eyes. he had a hat covored in pins from australia and dave&busters. he was in the room when i was born and stopped talking to me when we hit puberty. things changed and our smiles hid all those uncomfortable recollections about easier times. when he was a prince and i was his princess. now here we are again and high school has made our smiles sloppy. he kissed me and after i let him i pulled away because too many thoughts of you were threatening to swallow me whole. too many thoughts of how you called me last night sounding so sick and sad. too many thoughts of us at homecoming and me in a red dress. and even if i didnt have these stupid fantasies about being with you this is not what i want. you will regret that kiss tommorow.
waking up saturday morning with a craving for cold pizza and a million pictures to download. the day dragged on and on while i cleaned the bathroom and played around with photoshop. later that night family came by and oh how i longed to make them laugh and play hillbilly golf with them- smile in their pictures and show how much i care. but my head hurts too bad and my eyes are foggy with insomnia. i fell asleep on our leather couch but an hour later my mom was waking me up to eat chicken dumplings and apple pie. God bless america. Around one in the morning my body surrendered to sleep after i lit inscense and re-read a british novel about an edgy motherless rock n roll bitch. i have no plans for today. no agenda. nothing to look forward to or dread. it is just a day. a gorgeous, slow sunday.
and all too soon it will be monday morning.

TGIF

A thousand screaming high school students in white
and me and my best friend are wearing jet black tee shirts. Splashed in school spirit, pig tails, war paint, black bandana, beads. Beads. Beads.
This is our last year.
Our last chance to drink up all this Thursday night joy. Our boys looked so pretty in those green jerseys but the scoreboard didn’t lie and I’m sorry to say all the cheering in the world couldn’t save us now. But the stands are filled and the lights are bright while the sun sets and we all scream for the drum line. I take too many pictures of beautiful girls that walked straight out of a magazine and into my high school. I smile even though it’s hot and muggy and I feel bloated from all that spontaneous candy corn.
I didn’t call you all day. Didn’t text you to tell you I cared or ask how you were doing. My fingers were screaming for my cell phone but I shoved my anxious hands in my pockets and took deep breaths until thoughts of you drifted away. Eventually you came to me. Missing me. Wanting me. Telling me how pretty I was. I push away and you pull me back and we are stuck in this passionate tug-o-war and I honestly don’t see either of us coming out victorious. You told me you loved me and I told you the score of the game. Laugh to myself and finally fall asleep. This morning came far too quickly and even that blue energy drink could not bring life back into my eyes.Oh well,
Thank God It’s Friday. :)

so much more than you

Six AM alarm buzzing in my head as i brush pale pink blush onto my cheeks. I feel dizzy and pale and disoriented. Feeling my way around the bathroom but this churning in my stomach won't go away and even though these jeans she let me borrow fit just right i don't think ill be able to make it to school.
lying in bed watching Somethings Gotta Give and imagining what life will be like someday when I'm old. When my skin isn't smoothe and my laugh lines sink in. When my eyes sparkle with secerets that only come from extra years in the universe. I have decided I will laugh often, love loudly, grow my hair down to my waist. Blonde and grey waves with daiseys woven into that mess of luscious locks. I will shop at flea markets and tell stories. I will learn to play the piano and cook thai food for my neighbors. I will embrace every wrinkle time has painted on my face.
I always get sick on the truely beautiful days. Yesterday i went job hunting with a beautiful brunette and got interviewed for a resteraunt i would never eat at- let alone serve. A large woman with a hair lip and mini-fro asks me about my past experience and i can never picture myself in one of those turqious button downs. So i thank her for her time and buy him a slice of cheesecake. I lie sleepily on his shoulder and resist kissing him when he drops me off a half hour late. yes, i am getting stronger.
tonight he will go party at a club with his frineds and probably call to tell me about how much he loves me. tommorow he will mumble that he doesnt remember anything and make an excuse to hang up. i'm breaking this cycle before it starts again. i'm buying new CDs and stopping myself from sleeping in his oversized hollister sweatshirt. i'm breathing and living for this moment, not tonights or tommorows. a universe revolving around a pretty boy is a universe full of catastrophe and heartache and darling
i am living for so much more than you.

not writing you off just yet

Yesterday I wrote a novel for this blog.
I sat still and poured my heart out while pounding on my keyboard and sipping on a diet coke. I mindlessly spilled my secrets onto the internet. I did not hit save. I did not copy my words. I just hit enter and then sat in shock when my computer crashed. All those lovely lines lost forever. I could look at it as a tragedy but this is just one more chance to rewrite my history. Take a step back and breathe and look at the situation in a new state of mind. These words will not be the same ones I wrote yesterday. These will be the words of a girl wiser than she was 24 hours ago. Someone refreshed by a weekend of flirting with blue eyed boys working at green tea stands in the mall. Someone who walked on the pavilion in Mount Adams in high heeled cowgirl boots and a golden corset. Someone who had nightmares filled with Cameron Diaz and trips to Paris all last night but who feels stronger than she ever has.
That Friday lunch date did not go as I had planned. My stony silence did nothing to ease this aching heart and even though when you tried to hug me I pulled away in defiance I am talking until my lip gloss has lost its luster and my lips are chapped from too much honesty I swore I would never cover you in. You don’t deserve to know what I spend my days thinking about. You don’t deserve to sit there so beautifully. You don’t deserve one second of this awkward apology and yet somehow the way you’re blinking your eyes and looking at your freckled hands makes me think maybe you really are sorry.
The words your best friend told me during all those 4 hour phone conversations were lies. A well thought, gorgeous stab in the back. I believed him blindly because you hurt me once and I wanted to believe you were the monster all those angry teens write rock songs about. I drank up his elaborate stories about your mind games. I let them sing me to sleep and woke up with a soggy pillow case. I did not think to as you or her or them. I did not need a second opinion or proof.
And even though they were lies, there is one truth. When I was home you were with her and yes, I know you regret it. I know how sorry you are but sometimes
Sorry is not enough.
Sorry can’t make me trust you more. Can’t get you back all those friends you pushed away with your dizzy nights and eagerness to fight. Can’t take back the way you talked to your mom or the doors you slammed in the faces of people who adored you. Sorry is lovely but baby, it will take more than sorry to make me jump. We sat on the curb of my favorite Thai restaurant while you smoked a cigarette and blew angry smoke away from my face. Angry with yourself for you mistake, angry with him for his lies, angry with me because you know I wish I could love you like I did. You flick that death stick into the street and cradle your head in your hands. Your friends are far away and your mom is dying and you have no idea how I am longing to hold you. But those days are over. I can’t make the pain go away, only you can do that darling. But I will put my hand on your back and promise you better days. I will pop my gum and damnit I’m sorry but this is my confession.
He kissed me
And I kissed him back.
And I’m scared the faces of the people that love me enough to want to protect me will stare at me in disappointment. Shameful eyes casting glares at the still girl who lets her heart get the best of her. But please know that I am not blind anymore. I am not caught up in your lies like I once was. And if I kiss you again, you can be sure that if you give me a disaster like this summer again it will be the last time. You can be sure that I will not let you ignore my calls, blow me off, make me feel less that beautiful and loved and adored. Because I know I deserve that now.
I may give you a chance to prove yourself because I truly see something in you.
Fool me once, shame on you.
Fool me twice, shame on me.
And maybe ill be shamed but if I am I am walking away without looking back. I am closing the door on you and us and your countless apologies. I will feel for your pain and love you from afar but you can bet your ass I will put up walls to keep your brown eyes far from me.
But I’m not ready to close that door.
Not yet.
Because I have made mistakes too. Let people down. Lied. I am not evil. I am not a monster. I am a teenage girl.
I’m not letting you throw your arm around my shoulders and claim me as yours. But I’m not writing you off just yet.

Goodbye.

Today I feel strong.
I feel funny.
I feel skinny and radiant and full of love for every lost teenage wanna-be aimlessly roaming these high school hallways. The grungy indie boy I used to love smacked me with his elbow in first bell and I didn’t even scowl at him. He hasn’t showered all summer and he wears the same tee shirt twice a week. He smells like old acoustic guitars and Halloween. He is a part of my past just as much as you will be. One day you might nudge me with your elbow and I would not even look your way. I would not remember the way you used to hug me. I would not miss those summer nights or magical fireworks. I would smile, and breathe, and move on.
I have a date this weekend. A first date with a sophomore in college who wants to be a policeman in a bad part of town. He remembers me laughing too loudly in the hallway when he was a senior and wants to know what’s behind these blue eyes. We aren’t expecting forever. We aren’t expecting love. We’re expecting to smile and nod and get to know another heart while watching a baseball game and splashing in the pool. When I said I was moving on,
I meant it.
But today I will meet you for lunch. In a few hours I will be in your car again-for the first time in days, for the last time ever. And the strange thing is, while my stomach churns at the though of smelling your musky promises again, I am not scared. I am not scared of falling back in love with you. I’m not scared of falling at all.
I will listen to what you have to say- apologies, regrets, well-wishes. I will forgive you and then leave you behind. I won’t wince when you call me baby. I won’t give in if you reach for my hand. Even though you don’t deserve it, I will give you this one chance to say goodbye.
Goodbye my brown eyed freckled armed free style rapping Hollister wearing obsessive compulsive liar. Goodbye.

Too Far Gone

The sad thing is
Yesterday I spent hours convincing myself you deserved a second chance. You were sorry. You meant every word of that e mail you sent me at two in the morning.
I was wrong.
I spent hours lying to myself and the people that love me for the sake of avoiding the pain of losing you. But I don’t feel pain now. I think of all the times you touched me and it burns my skin because I now know where your hands had been before I got dropped off at your house. I know whose pony tail was on your wrist next to mine. Some sixteen year old brunette across the street and if I didn’t love life so much I might just be sick. I was ready to meet you on Friday at our favorite pizza place. I was ready to sit across from you and color you purple with forgiveness. I was ready to let you hold me again like you told me you dreamed about. Your dreams are my nightmares. Swearing you loved me while you snuck around with your junior high sweetheart who lied to you too many times to count. I called and told you pizza was off. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear your voice- mumbling apologies and whispering I love you’s and searching for some redemption from a seventeen year old girl you can’t save you. You took advantage of my forgiveness, of my honesty, my easy going love I gave without question. I was there when your college dreams collapsed. I was there when the people you loved left. I stayed behind. I surrendered my summer. But I am not your savior. My forgiveness will not get rid of that guilt. You will have to lie in bed and think about what you lost. I will be sleeping soundly to James Taylor lullabies and Elton John records. I will be spending weekends at festivals. I will be tasting all that freedom again and licking my lips for more because I am rid of your head games. “Dude, I’m just messing with her mind.”
You can’t touch me anymore.
I’m too far gone.

Radiating Love

It’s a new day. My blonde hair is no longer short and choppy and hopeless. Thanks to birthday money and luscious extensions I can flip these long locks over my shoulder and brush them with a passion I forgot I had. Ha. Girls and their hair<3
Yesterday I tried to heal while reading a Buddhist manual for spiritual revolutionaries. I lie on my tummy in a well lit courtyard with an expensive fountain and read about forgiveness, the eightfold path, the four noble truths, cleansing my soul and body and mind and radiating love out into the world. All morning I have been radiating love while I sip this French vanilla coffee that burns my tongue and warms my hands. All morning I have been forgiving you while I close my eyes and breathe deep and count to ten and feel all that suffering fade away. Pain is real,
But I made myself suffer.
I made myself suffer when I put my head on my desk and thought of our first kiss and then our last one. I made myself suffer when I searched the computer frantically with lovesick fingers on the keyboard and forced myself to look at pictures of us before we were broken. I made myself suffer when I refused to see that it is out of my control. Pain may come and go, ease in and out of my universe but I will not avoid it. I will not shut it out or fight it off. I will embrace it, I will love this fucked up human reality of pain because when the pain is gone I am left with confidence and the power of knowing I did not sink to your level. I did not use your secret torments you whispered in my ear late at night when the crickets were outside your window and your friend’s cigarette smoke was filling up your car. I did not lash out at you with blood red words and a mouth full of profanity.
And I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you. When you call my best friends and beg for forgiveness they will probably hang up on your monotone mumbling frat boy voice. They will shake their heads and tell me to move on and believe me I will. But I will give you a chance to apologize to my face. To look at me and attempt to shower me in all the sincerity a 19 year old boy is capable of. I will sit across from you and stare you dead in the eye when I tell you that I will not bring you happiness. I will bring you phone calls and butterfly kisses and wrestling in your basement. I will bring you someone to make fun of and tickle and confide in. But until you find out who you are, until you forgive that girl you loved for four years before you even knew my name, until you let go of all that anger that’s flooding your brown eyes and making your fists clench into a tight ball- you will not know happiness. Not with me-
Not with anyone.
And as much as you hurt me darling,
I’m still radiating love.
I want you to be happy.

take your memories, i don't need em.

Back where I started again.
Blonde haired and broken hearted and thank God for best friends who will hold me while I cry my eyes out on an orange shag rug.
Our day started with Buddhist books and cheap Chinese food.
I find sanctuary in a book store and we sat for an hour with our legs crossed while we marveled at all the glossy covered miracles in front of us. We sat in a naturally lit hole-in-the-wall and ate broccoli and chicken for 7.50 with chop sticks we stole from Trader Joes. We planned our futures and laughed at the neon painting of paradise glowing above us. Surrounded by paper bouquets and fresh peas and hungry construction workers, her blue eyes made me calm. They eased my anxiety about that brown haired catastrophe I convinced myself I was in love with. Hours later and I’m bawling again. The radio is broken in her car and the silence is eating me up and making those tears sound like screams. While I was home taking meds and sipping tea and watching too much O.C he was out tasting someone else’s lips. Breaking promises at football games and dance clubs and then swearing we would be okay. That he still loved me.

Driving to his house in all that summer heat and even if it wasn’t 100 degrees I still think I’d be sweating in my Clash vintage tee and low rider jeans. All the makeup in the world couldn’t cover the tear tracks that have been streaming down my face but my eyes never look bluer than when I’ve been crying over the boys I love. He gave me back my Tiffany’s necklace and Guster CD. He gave me back the five page note I wrote him before I flew away to Hawaii. He gave me back my pony tail and flicked the other one on his wrist. “this one isn’t even yours.” It hurt and he knew it and I ran back to that music-less car because I’ll be damned if I let him see me fall apart over him. Him and his Hollister uniform. Him and his stupid raps. Him and his bad taste in movies and distaste for literature and smoky smelling car. Him and his promises and his brown eyes and his tickle-happy fingers. Him and his lies. And his lies. And his lies. I want him to know that today I will cry. I will talk down high school hallways in a pink Indie top and smile, then rush to quiet bathrooms to silently cry in closterphopic stalls. Today I will grieve, not because I miss him. Not because I want his freckled arms around me or his car in my driveway. I will cry because I stayed up all night making him that scrapbook for his birthday. Because I planned sunset skies in a hot air balloon and him in a tuxedo at Homecoming. Because we will never go sledding like he said we would.
But tommorow, tommorow darling boy that thought he'd shatter me, tommorow I will not cry. I will sing those break up songs in the shower and sway my hips when I walk and forget how bad it hurt when you text messaged me at midnight. I will eat lunch with my best friend and dream about weekends of not having to call you. Not having to hear your voice and wonder why it sounds like its dripping with deciet. I will laigh and flirt and smile and wear that pink lip gloss you never liked. I loved it.
tommorow is a new day.

capable of love

bare feet on hot black pavement
i ran accross four roads to get away from that condo.
the one where i screamed and she cried and we slapped eachothers wrists in anger.
the one where we watched The OC for two days straight and drank in the drama like diet cokes on summer nights.
the one where i finally yelled into her beautiful face and regretted it for a million footsteps while i ran in my pajamas down familiar streets.
and now,
i do need to apologize.
because now i have let my truth break hearts and dim spirits and it's haunting me even as i add senior pictures of lovely best friends to my computer.
it's haunting me as i look forward to country concerts with my brown eyed boyfriend and eat lightly salted pretzels that taste like honey.
it's haunting me and im sorry but i am not ill.
i am not sick with society or broken from this life. i am not in need of a savior or a facility to mend my wounds. i am whole and unbroken and unscathed by these daily sitcoms. i am capable meditation and peace and music. i am capable of apologizing. i am capable of forgiving.
i am capable of love.

perfectly flawed

When I say I am sorry for not being the girl
you wish that I was
I am not apologizing for my free spirit
my blue eyes
my untainted honosty
i am not sorry for my journal entries
the countless pages where i spilled the truth from ballpoint pens
and scribbled broken hearts and painted wings
I am not sorry for
my laugh
or my songs
or my knee high boots
My bracelets my turqoiuse rings my twisted truthful toungue
My night time dancing
my day time doodling
my afternoon meditations and twilight kisses
My dreams or my sins or my soul
I am only sorry you can not see the beauty in those things
sorry for you because your eyes are shielded by rolex's and jaguars
Rehab and protein shakes
Blue pupils clouded by perfection and i am perfectly flawed but you can hug me anytime you like. you can always love me.
i will always love you.

i'm sorry for this poem.

smile wide while you shove that greasy American Dream into your perfect Crest mouth
smile that secret smile you save for short haired waitresses and curious passers by
the ones who think we are a lovely family
a charming combination
a pretty disaster in midriff bearing shirts
with umbrellas in our drinks and fingers crossed behind our backs while we swear we are happy
i love with a passion foreign to those manicured fingers
i love with a heart you shattered and mended and promised the world
i love with a love only she understands and only we share and im sorry if this poem breaks you or makes that tan face turn fuscia with anger and hurt but underneath this teenage angst
behind this stream of conciousness bullshit
hidden within these words that i am pounding on my keyboard
is love
is pain
is an apology
im sorry i wasnt good enough to be in all those pictures
im sorry i screamed lyrics too loudly in our overpriced paradise
im sorry i coulndt make you laugh on that choppy ocean water
sorry i coulndt smother you in sentences that made you feel complete
lies about how great our life would be
deceptions that would pollute my soul ive worked so hard to bring back to life with meditation, pad thai, Elton John
i can not be the girl you want to love because she is a fantasy
a blonde haired hypocrite who bites her tongue and hates the mirror and shaves much too often
i can not be her because she smiles when she wants to cry
and when she laughs
shes really screaming.

wisdom in her hands

Up till two last night reading Harry Potter and crying over fictional characters. Looking at old pictures of us and wanting to rip them to shreds but instead hiding them in old drawers to find on some rainy day when i dont still love you so much. Today i ate lettuce wraps and won ton soup with a wrinkled goddess i used to resent because she corrected my posture and critiqued my wild pink highlights. I used to eat fresh salted peanuts in her epic looking kitchen and buy her fanny packs covored with giraffs. I have fallen back in love with her because I am finally old enough to appreciate all those birthday cards and lunch dates. I can finally see the beauty behind her age and the wisdom in her carefully moisturized green tea smelling hands. I play her my music and restore her faith in this generation of chaos. i convince her we have morals and good taste in literature. i thank her for a wonderful afternoon and hug her like i mean it.
because i do.
Flashback to lying on your chest and watching Grease with my mom. My blue slippers were too big and made me slide accross our wooden floor. They led me into your toned freckled arms and I watched you chug a bitter tasting diet drink. I watched with wide eyes while i swung my legs and sat on the counter and prayed you woundt be angry if i went to the wedding escorted by the big brother i never had. If i sang hillbilly songs on a crowded reception floor and laughed a little too loudly at drunken jokes told by distant uncles. I hate when your lips get tight like that.

Live in Love.

i am home from hawaiin skies, coconut bras, perverted surf instructers, midnight cheescake, chinese room service, overpriced tanning lotion that makes my skin peel. i am home from trying to mend what should have never been broken. a family with gold necklaces and six kids. two rebels, two quiet eyed angels, two wild youngsters. i will not slander their love on the internet because i am not that girl they see me as. i love them when i bite my tongue and hold back words that i should probably scream. i love them when i stopped being a hypocrite and started accepting the father he has become. i loved those siblings when i didnt even get to say goodbye. i spent hours in an airport thinking of you and hopefully one day you will be able to forgive me. hopefully one day you will be able to see i didnt mean to throw you off that sea-do so many times. i didnt mean to mumble that profanity when i slammed the hotel room door. i didnt mean to take all those pictures of you when your face was so sad and you missed me the most. you sobbed into my lap in a dark neon limo and i made promises i didnt keep. promises about being a better sister. about holding you tighter and putting you first. i fucked them up and when you come back to Ohio darling im begging you to watch Gilmore Girls with me and let me tickle your tummy. please give me another chance.
things are starting over with her now. shes moving out and falling in love with a green eyed boy who knows the words to every song and promises her the world on long distance phone calls. she is breaking just like i broke but i will be right there with her through all those sleepless nights. nothings worse than shattering alone. I will take her to downtown shops and buy ankle bracelets that jingle when we walk. we played hide and go seek in Honolulu and a neverending game of charades while we waited on a plan that wasnt coming. we will make the best of this topsy turvy world because what else can we do? Live in Love.

days when i love the world.

This morning I cried into a chocolate birthday cake after the batter made messy art on the kitchen counter. I cried because I'm leaving him and her and them and I'm scared and excited and bloated and sometimes I dont feel beautiful enough to be in their family photos. I cried because I still can't sleep at night and my dog ate my retainer and as much as I want to change the world I'm still just sixteen damnit. I can't drive and my life dreams of being a famous performer are dimming fast. Flickering under a lampshade somewhere because too many people have laughed when I told them one day i would be a star. I don't want to sell myself to suburbia. I don't want to surrender to Ohio. This is not my kind of place to fall in love.
But while I'm here, I will love as deeply as I can. I will dream of downtown vintage stores and spicey food and acoustic guitars. I will write about the hobos and the gypsys and the dreamers. I will make magic wands for blonde haired girls who don't know how adored they are and decorate Altoids boxes with confetti stars and rose petals. I will covor this suburbia in glitter and wonder and magic.
I will bewitch myself with all this overlooked beauty. The beauty of the small things-
the grocery stores and hand holdings. The first kisses and denim overalls and muggy summer days when cookie dough ice cream has melted on some concrete sidewalk in the neighborhood down the street. The high school hell and prom songs and hugs from your grandpa when he gets home from Ireland and he smells like first class.
Or even the beauty of days like today. Days where I wake up and my sister is hugging my waste and the house is buzzing with Carol King and my birthday cake is a beautiful disaster. Days where he kisses me softly for what I'm terrified will be the last time before I fly away. Days where we walk hand in hand down a gravel road next to an old convent and the sun sets and the wind blows and for one moment i know exactly how blue my eyes are. Days where I have so much ahead and so much behind and so much right now right here that I can hardly breathe.
Days when I love the world.

I fear hitch-hikers, blue eyes, and promises. Deserted movie theaters and bad fathers. Lonely winter nights when the hallways are creaking and you can't see out your window. Pale passionless faces and wedding vows.

Love is my enemy. I hate love and I love love and I have willingly given far too much of my heart to that twofaced emotion that promises eternity and leaves you with NOTHING.

My worst subjects are Handling Hearts and Standing Up for Myself 101. I am failing miserably though i enrolled myself in both of these classes. I enlisted in desperate hopes of becoming strong.

My teachers are middle aged hippies, a homosexual with a crown on her head and art spilling from her fingers, blonde haired heroine who slays vampires on day time TV, round bellied buddha with a childs smile. They educate me through heartache and adventure and meditation. They they hold my hand when the world collapses.

I feed my mind with Kashi bars, green tea, pad thai, chocolate covored raisins, and strawberry smoothies.

My universe is coral colored with flashes of yellow and orange that ignite nights when the stars refuse to shine.

This is a glimpse of my world,

---> these are pieces of my TRUTH.

While I watched my sweat drip on an overpriced elliptical machine you texted me. Reminded me of Moulin Rouge duets and all those times i promised to teach you to meditate. Forced me to run until i was gasping for breath and i still could not escape you.

So i admitted I missed you and told you goodbye. I crouched on a sunlit curbside in silver aviators and cutoff shorts and waited for something better to come and drive me away from your dizzy dreamland that couldnt last.

Funny how I fall for boys with sick dogs and a passion for thai food. This new song singer took me to an ethnic hideaway with blue shutters and butterscotch mints. He told me he wants to take care of me and make me happy but I'm not ready to believe him.

Not yet.

He tries to touch my unshaven legs and tells me I intimidate him from behind my brown glasses.

He honks at strangers and plays his music too loud.

He is just as tattered as I am. <3

I am more than content

Weeks and weeks since my last post and I'm sitting here feeling bloated in my sisters flannel pants- missing four rings from my hand that i accidentally left at his house that chaotic morning. It's strange to tell someone i love them again.

It's even stranger to mean it.

Fireworks lit up a summer sky right before the thunder cracked and I was sitting in a luke warm hot tub with three sisters i used to know so well. I am falling back into their world because part of me belongs there. We will fly to Hawaii with ipods full of new music and I will wave goodbye to my brown haired free style rapping boy toy and ask him to forgive me when I miss his birthday. I promise to help him blow out his candles after I have hulah danced on tourist beaches and laughed out loud in an island oasis.

I wish i had more to write but for now I can only tell you that this summer has brought me bittersweet independance and sloppy kisses that taste like BBQ sauce. It has brought me a freezing bedroom in the basement draped in silk scarves and army letters and a punishment i deserve. I lied to spend a night in those arms. To pretend I was a patriot and watch Star Wars with a hollister wearing college boy on the fourth of July. I lied and now I can't see those big brown eyes for weeks but i have countless seasons of Buffy on DVD to pass the time. I have a puppy who licks my cheek in the morning and a mother who steals my CDs and makes me chai tea when i need it the most. I have a best friend who knows all my favorite songs and who can sing them more in key than I ever will. I have a brother who hugs me tight around the waist and cries when i try to break away,

a sister i can tickle at midnight,

a free spirit no one will ever tie down.

I am more than content-

I am joyful.

I have so much more to give

We sat on the computer until midnight making videos in an abandoned kitchen. Singing the wrong words to backstreet boys songs and pretending to know spanish and laughing.

and laughing.

and laughing.

the next morning came far too fast and i can't stop yawning even though it is the hottest day we've had so far. Job interview in a dimly lit resteraunt and I swear if you hire me I'll smile while I open that door and make their Friday nights beautiful. I'll charm them as I hand them their menus and steal their hearts while leading them to their table. I tried to make eye contact and sip my diet coke slow and classy and maybe I wasnt sophisticated but I was real. In the end, I think that's all that counts.

I read my poetry for a quiet classroom yesterday and the love notes they scribbled on ripped note cards take my breath away. They fill me with renewed inspiration and make my pen fly. They forgot their high school bull shit while I read about love and Paris and the non conformists they long to be. They listened to the music I was making even though my throat was sore from a chaotic weekend and nights of insomnia. They clapped when I sat down and now I remember why artists are so happy. Because they give something to the world. Because when they give, they get. I have so much more to give.

The more I read about these Jack Keroucs and Steppenwolves the more I long for escape. I taste freedom and oh I can not stop licking my lips. I have forgotten about promises and love and something I used to pray on. I am living now. This second. This moment. The universe won't wait for me to define my perfect romance so I'll simply take the beating hearts it passes over to me and be as gentle with them as I can. I'll savor the last Friday I will walk into that high school and surrender my restless hunger for adoration to a night of meditation. I'll find my "Om".

It Isn't Funny Anymore

Thunder crashed and he hugged me for the first time in months. The power’s out in a house full of a family that used to mean Chinese takeout and Joss Whedon on Tuesday nights. In the candle light I don’t even recognize them. They are warped by the faint flicker of flame between us and I want so badly to laugh at their jokes but that humor is bittersweet and it isn’t funny anymore.
He held me and cried into my sweat stained gym shirt but my body was limp under his desperate hands. I blinked and read Herman Hesse and promised myself that in an hour I would sit on a rain soaked patio in my pajamas and cry under an oversized umbrella and purple clouds. Smell the sweet storm that just raged over my summer fantasies and wave goodbye to the daughter he used to know. She is a phantom walking barefoot in circles around that mansion she used to call home. Promising love to strangers and swallowing her truth. Conforming to rules that would break her spirit and teach her to hate art. I refuse to be that girl.
Bald headed uncle flew back to Atlanta skies but I wish he was here to criticize mainstream music and smell Skyline with me. I wish he was here to go off on tangents about the details of life unseen by the residents of my world. He rants and raves and makes it beautiful. He sees me the way I wish everyone I ever loved did. As an individual. An artist. A beatnik sixteen year old sucking strength out of poetry. He is far too brilliant for this small town so he returns to his music filled house. To a house filled with cats that know all his secrets. To a manikin dressed in vintage clothes that watches him eat breakfast. But I don’t worry. He’ll be back.
Coffee in the morning with that springtime boy and finally I am a regular. I walk through a mahogany door and they know my face and my smell and my passion for caramel and expresso. It’s nice to be known.

the taste of summer

Spring is fading into summer and I am singing new songs. Songs that make my hips sway and my heart hurt in all this humidity. Unrealistic expectations I created myself because I wanted to badly to believe I was worth holding. I wanted to badly to live out a fairy tale- I forgot I am no princess. Just a mixed up hippie child with a digital camera and home made perfume. Just a brown haired misfit who loves in run on sentences and ethnic food. Last night I walked downtown by my mothers side in a short skirt and floral print silk. We ate crab cakes with thai sauce while a bearded faced bohemian played the cello. Everything tastes better when there’s music. We dreamed of Greece and watched slow paced southern love unfold in a cold abandoned movie theatre. We browsed for vintage clothes and golden Buddha statues and silver rings to warm callused writers fingers. We were suspended in a mother daughter paradise.
Swimming under hot rain clouds and there’s a sun-burnt boy in that pool I used to think I loved. While his skin turns red he smothers me in memories I have been killing myself to forget. All those pictures last fall- my purple polka dot mittens and his blue hat. Cold ears and pink noses and golden leaves scattered on haunted roads in the middle of nowhere. It was just us and her and a whole lot of deserted bridges to stand on while the sun set and the wind warned us it was time to go home. He reminded me of bible studies and sweaty concerts and being his bands biggest fan. He told me the picture I made him was still hanging in his room and damnit I am so sick of those green eyes staring at me. For months they wouldn’t even look my way but here we are and oh how I long to be far from him and his memories- his words are no accident.
So we swam and ate sticky brownies and at the end of the day I can taste summer on these chapped lips of mine. Last night I said goodbye to a boy I barely know. One with blue eyes and dreams of the army. One I won’t see for months but kissed me softly on a Saturday night. Maybe I should regret giving my lips so willingly but I don’t because I’m just sixteen and hopelessly brainwashed by countless romance novels and Hollywood love stories. Don’t get me wrong, I know that was not love. It was just a goodbye kiss he can think about those long nights away from home. When he’s writing me letters from an army camp in cursive and I’m checking the mailbox barefoot in early mornings. We both know this is pretend.
I have become desperately addicted to five girls. We drink Starbucks at ten o clock and pile in a blue car. We sing and we cry and we love each other in a way only best friends can. Unconditionally. Beautifully. In endless nights and groggy mornings and heartache.

Words of Wisdom

Dearest Mallory,
I am writing to you with hands you would not recognize- callused, wrinkled hands. My fingers are gnarled and twisted but don't worry. On my wrists there are hemp bracelets and Earth-tone beads and silver charms from Barcelona, Paris, and Amsterdam. These hands are eighty years older than the ones you are holding this paper with now but darling they are still yours. They are still draped in memories and thrift store jewelry. Some things never change.
If I am not mistaken you are currently sixteen and utterly lost. You're in love and out of your mind and you cut off all those long blonde waves that cascaded down pale shoulders. You bite your lip when you lie and spend anxious nights anticipating midnight calls- praying for a blonde boy to sing you to sleep while you light lavender incense and scribble peace signs on your ankle. If I am not mistaken, you wish you were a tie-dye-tee-shirt goddess.
Before I go to sleep tonight I wanted to write you a letter to reassure you that yes, you do master calligraphy. You spent weeks in that Sunday morning class downtown but you can finally bring beauty to uppercase S's and lowercase y's. Your signature makes overweight store owners gawk- they have never seen penmanship so closely resemble art. And don't worry, you fall in love. Oh, you fall in love. Over. And over. And over. You surrender yourself to brown eyes and acoustic guitars with engraved initials of reckless lovers. Sometimes you get hurt but you wrap that broken heart in silk scarves and mend it with green tea and Kashi bars. You paint your pain on white linen canvases and hang your masterpieces on a lonely wall. You grow into a Picasso fueled by these next few years of pain so keep all this beauty in mind when you’re drenching your pillow in sweet tasting tears.
Remind yourself daily that there is a rhyme and reason to the seemingly random disaster of our America. Stop eating Weight Watchers fudge bars when you could devour straight up chocolate heaven from your favorite ice cream parlor. I know you think your sides are chubby and your thighs are too wide but trust me on this one, one day you will realize how beautiful you were and long for that summer figure. One day your joints will ache while you do yoga in Central Park. You'll look down at your thirty-something year old cellulite body and remember the days when you could wear low rider jeans and not terrify lollipop licking toddlers. You will regret every time you looked in the mirror and hated what you saw. Please start loving yourself, before you start losing yourself. Please stop writing your poems for everyone else- yours is the heart that needs those lovely words the most. You have always loved to fix what’s broken- always lived to breathe life into the eyes of the hopeless. But as a personal favor to me my dear Mallory, breathe life into your own eyes. Learn to play the guitar. Tell that boy you love him. Forgive your father for not being able to hold you when you needed those arms more than ever. Embrace your best friend. Make the world as beautiful as you want it to be.
Live for today. No regrets. No what-ifs. This is your time to shine darling.
Love,
Mallory

mylogo<3

my logo for digital image design. peace and love baby,

peace and love.

my logo<3

While I Live

Hours of crying on a blank canvas and praying that it came out as art. i ended up with a bunch of old Vogue pictures and snapshots from lazy childhood summers- sprawled out and scrambled and on top of all that loveliness i scribbled LOVE in a white pastel. Pearls are draped around those beautiful face, hot glue gunned down and covored in a thick layer of sparkles. Maybe its art or maybe its just a disaster but in the end it got me through another Sunday night waiting for my phone to ring or the sun to set or the right song to come on. John Mayor and The Shins sat with me on a glue covored carpet and let me miss him. It's not that I cant stand the taste of this pain. it has lingered on my lips politely for years now and i would swallow it but i would rather let it make me strong. This morning i left all those tears to yesterday and laughed out loud in a ying yang tank top. Yes I miss those bear hugs and lullabies but these jeans fit just right and it's eighty degrees and I'm tired of complaining. Tired of letting that pain get in the way of a beautiful spring. SO i will miss him while i smile. Miss him while novels spill from my fingertips. Miss him while I fall in love and find salvation in European poetry. While I cross smooth legs and bare feet and bite my nails. While i live.

breathing in spring

I'm breathing in spring. I'm taking in pure air that smells like Olive Garden and aromatherapy and a million memories I want to carry around in a golden locket. Wrap them around my neck in a hollow heart that sits on my chest on the days when I'm not strong enough to smile on my own.

I feel the need to update the world on all this happiness. To tell them I've found reasons to sing again. Reasons like a blonde haired boy with an Australian grandma. Reasons like a best friends car to clean in cut off shorts and blue bandanas. Reasons like sunny days created for long bike rides and kiwi slushis. unlimited bread sticks and choirs full of girls who hardly know how beautiful they are. I'm attempting to capture all these lovely fragments in run-on sentences and candid pictures but my grammer is awful and my fingers cant type fast enough.

these past few days ive been letting myself live in the world and said things that i wish i could take back. ive cut up people that i love with words when they werent looking and i hope you'll still love me when im done being honost. im sorry for thinking you were annoying. im sorry that when i was sick i called and calld and called because i couldnt stand any more VH1 and i ached to hear your voice. I thought it would make me feel better but i found myself depending on blue eyes for my happiness and i never want to do that. happiness comes from me. from music. from an infinity of journals i have filled with my truth. from unfinished sketches and a sea of dreams. not from someone else. they have their own happiness to find and if i can help i will but i cant give it to them. all i can give anyone is love and these words and pray that it's enough.

next summer I'll hear wedding bells but i swear darling

i refuse to let them shatter me.

im sorry i cant smile for you yet

maybe one day I'll fit in your family picture

Until then,

i suggest you brush up on photoshop.

my favorite duet partner && the greatest tragedy

This is the greatest tragedy
Tired eyes and scarred arms on a Monday morning
Steaming tears on a tile floor and not enough words to clean up that blood
Apologies slipping through unpolished fingers and flying into the deep blue silence
Vibrating in open mouths and shaking you to the core
She will wear long sleeves and softly kiss the boys who stroke her heart with bad intentions
Hate herself for loving too thickly and pour salt in her wounds until the sting makes her smile
No remedy can heal how deep those cuts go
This is the greatest tragedy
Crimson lips selling artificial love on a glossy 8x10
Blue eyes lined with regret and a beautiful girl getting lost in the lies her mirror whispers
The fairest of them all is falling into a generation of misplaced Cinderella’s
And those snow white cheeks are tanned to tainted perfection
That billboard body’s a bullshit body but her limbs ache for that airbrushed happiness to sweep across soft pink flesh
Desperate for something only the flash of a camera can ignite
Her smile frozen forever but behind that blissful grin are throbbing memories buried amidst lovely deceptions
This is the greatest tragedy
Liquid sin robbing the innocence from her eyes in a hot basement
Bitter taste on the tip of her tongue and that southern accent is thicker than ever
Hungry boys with popped collars and bad breath reaching for something those fingertips can barely brush
Empty bottles and smoky promises but in the morning their bodies ache with blurry regrets and their childhood lullabies are light-years away
This is the greatest tragedy
Silky words given to a boy who would love her like lightening
A fragile heart beating in his open hand
When that summer fades into golden leaves and three ring binders those thick fingers close around it until the beating stops
And she forgets how to love
Wasted songs and poison kisses
Oh how he adored that blonde hair but her poetry meant nothing
This is the greatest tragedy
A fathers heaving sobs echoing in pierced ears years after the tears have been dried
His baby rocking that man back and forth
I forgive you. I forgive you.
Hiding wet eyes in his worn Abercrombie polo
Be strong, hold him tight.
Maybe tomorrow those songs won’t make him think of pretty women and sleepless nights
This is the greatest tragedy
A broken goddess tied down by a prince charming nobody asked for

She cried into those wedding vows but the bells were haunting
Nothing but a sarcastic savior in a silent house
And while she slept he stole her rock n roll
Hid it in his favorite bottle of wine
drank it as she sketched her dreamland behind diamond eyelids
Someday I will learn to love him
This is the greatest tragedy
Naked honesty typed with unpainted fingers on a black Dell desktop
The truth of a sixteen year old girl screaming to be heard
Aching to be acknowledged
She’s painting it out on a dirty canvas for your judgmental eyes and praying you will love her anyways

exploration

fairy tale disaster

Phsycology Letter Project

Buffy,
Happy birthday darling. You're eighteen but I can still vividly remmember you baking cookies in a princess crown and finger painting to the sounds of Elton John. I have no idea how you have become this beautiful young vegetarianwith a head full of possibilities and a hand full of college applications, but at least it shows I must have done something right.
I know how often you ask me about your dad- that anynonmous man you never knew. I know how you long to know the truth about our lives and your cihldhood and the beautiful disaster created when the two collided. So as part of your present this year my dear, I promise to shower you with honosty no matter how ugly the truth may be. I only hope after reading these words I will still be the heroine to you that I was before.
You were a product of Pina Coladas in Paris. You came from midnight dancing on cobblestone streets beneathe the Eiffel Tower and sheets of Egyptian cotton. Never think you are a mistake Buffy becuase you aren't. You were art. You were a masterpeice in the midst of a European Revolution. Like all beautiful things in life, you were unplanned.
Your father was a musician I met while spending that summer in Paris. Eighteen and he stole my heart with an acoustic guitar and pretty peniless promises. When my stomach began to swell and the morning sickness came, he stopped singing songs for me and fled. He left us for a red lipped senorita that taught him to tango. That was your father honey, a traveling gypsy who gave me the most precious thing in my life. You.
I know I haven't been the best mother. Ramen noodles were a sad excuse for dinner and I should have surrendered thosel ate nights in the studio for Mommy-daughter time with you. But if i could give you any advice about parenting it's that a good parent loves thier child. Unconditionally. They are patient and understanding and they embrace the teenage rebellion that eventually takes hold of all of us. They forgive. And forgive. And forgive. And love you while you stumble through the bitter flavored years of adolescence. If i was strong in anything as a mother, it was in loving you. Perhaps this is the reason for my suprising success- at 18 I was terrified of being a mother. I would look at you and your calleidescope eyes filled me with horror. You were so small, so innocent, so untouched by a material world. You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I was so scared I would shatter you. I would raise you wrong. I wouldnt be there when you needed me. But my unjaded love for you overcame it all. I have always been proud of you Buffy. Always.
My hope for you is that you will always know it's okay to cry on the phone with the blondeb oy next door until three in the morning. It's alright to admit you can't do it all, throw up your hands and scream to the universe for a savior. You work so hard to save the planet darling,
please promise me you won't forget to save yourself.
Be careful with other people's hearts- remmember many have been beaten and bruised and are barely beating but you would never know it because in this world weakness is ugly and being beautiful is all that counts. HA. These are thelies the world feeds us with glossy spoons- please don't believe them. I'm begging you to keep standing out. Blending in is overated and the death of any poet. Don't fade into suburbia- unless that's what you want. I know you dream bigger than two car garades and jean skirts in grocery stores so don't settle for that. Don't settle for liking a man. Don't settle for thinking he's sweet and looks good in a suit. Do me a favor and fall in love. Passionatly. Recklessly. Sloppily. Fall into a love that is epic. Fall into the kind of love that hippies sing about.
Speak your mind. Don't swallow words with a sip of green tea- let them echo on crowded subways, in opinion filled lecture halls, in best selling novels. Don't worry when you get writers block. Anything meant to be written will be written- just open youe mind and close your eyes and be prepared for greatness and callused fingers. Never regret yesterday, it's a waste of time and an insult to the universe. Remember we are all moving in a circle- connected and never ending. Life flowing into death and bringing new life. Hearts beating all around the world and the circle still spins.
If i could dream anything for you it would be that you live the life you've always fantasized about. That you never doubt your intuition and you always know what an imprint you have left on my world. That you make music out of your tragedies and smile while you sleep. You are my inspiration. You are my best friend.
Happy birthday baby
love, Mom.

Life in a Yearbook

One day,
you'll regret all those times you ignored me in the hall.
One day it won't matter how electric it felt when he forgot to kiss you.
One day
No one will remmemeber the beautiful drunk girl in the denim skirt
Whose laugh was stolen from romantic comedies
And skinny legs were spread wide open
No one will remmember the overachiever who sat next to them in English
Her navy turtlenecks covering one sided opinions
And suicidal academic perfection
No one will rmemeber the long haired actress who starred in school plays
Her soft voice and articulate words will be lost to an era of breast implants
And merciless cameras
And the blonde teen dream who made you shake with envy?
In a few years her blue eyes will be forgotten
And she'll gain back all that weight she starved herself to lose
One day my life will become a yearbook
All these faces I wished loved me
All those boys that made me cry
All those girls that made me scream
They will be black and white faces in an amateur layout
They will be four years that I could have been loving myself
STOP WASTING YOUR TIME PERSUADING THEM
Their eyes are open but their minds are closed
and their hearts aren't worth it anyway.