Beautiful On Our Own

Biking again but this time there's green haired women in leopard print shorts and tatooed men holding brown snakes in wrinkled hands. The sun feels so good and for a single moment in time when I caught my reflection in a cafe window I was overwhelmed with peace. I could breathe. I could listen to the sounds around me and feel like I was part of something bigger than all these e mails from my mother. Usually I find that feeling when the car windows are down and Elton John is singing about some lovely tiny dancer. Or when im rolling around in the snow with an angel who brings me chocolate milkshakes when I cry in mango colored corners. Or when you dedicated Postal Service lyrics to me on crumpled paper and drew hearts by my name. I could have gotten lost in you when you played acoustic guitar on her plaid couch by the fire. That fall I fell for you in golden leaves and vintage trucks and sweaty concerts. Now I avoid your green eyes in the hall because those songs were nothing but pretty lies. You captured me with promises you couldn't keep.

Why oh why do we do this to ourselves? These high school romances that end in petty tears and meaningless pictures that make our knees ache when we look at them. Smiles frozen in time that we will never wear again but we still rememmber in the dark on lonely sunday nights and wonder if they think of us too. We are in love with love itself and most of us don't even know what that is. Movies, poems, articles in seventeen magazine painting a picture of something every girl wants to get lost in. But being lost inside love is not hallmark cards and daiseys on your doorstep. It's paranoia and jelousy and lies and insercurities. It's pretending to understand a feeling that could swallow us whole but oh, how we adore drinking up all that chaos <3 size="5">we are beautiful on our own. without a shaking hand to hold. without the smell of cologne on our vintage tees. It's an endless cycle and there's a whole world of lovely hearts to break.

Monday morning my parents will decide if I get to pack my things and fly away from these Idaho skies. If I get to see my best friends and finish the school year. If I get a second chance to make them proud again. Even if I go home she's scared he will break me down with sarcasm and a new jaguar convertible and his girlfriend who has taken the place of his children. I know I've let you down dad, but I would give anything to be your little girl again. I would give anything for you to hold me like you used to and sing off key Billy Joel lullabies. I would give anything for you to stop looking at me like I let you down.

Useless Worries, Hungry Eyes

Windchimes and revving truck motors floating through my open window. It's a beautiful day and I'm sitting here on the computer struggling to find the right words to bring me home again. I have to write out the mistakes and faults in myself so that they can be read and judged and analyzed and hopefully in the end, if i prove worthy, i can see my best friends husky blue eyes and start looking for prom dresses like the rest of the high school universe. I can stop worrying about plane tickets and custody and start worrying about my roots showing and my pale skin. Put away this game of pretend that I'm sick of playing.

I don't want to grow up.

I shouldn't have to. Not now. Not yesterday. Not when I was seven and you locked those doors for nine hours while my sister screamed and my brother cried and I shoved my face with more chilly dogs than my pudgey body could handle. Not when you were heartbroken again and i held that heaving body with tired arms.

I'm learning that all this worrying is useless. Worrying if they will still love me when I get back, worrying if my laugh will sound the same, worrying if all the pretty eyed boys I put my faith in never really cared. Worrying if I'll be at an airport a week from now or flying high above these corn fields and legislative lunches. Worrying if i miscounted my calories or gave my heart to the wrong person. These things are inconsequential. I live in a world full of worriers who are missing the beautiful simplictity in every single moment. Who forget to meditate because the news is screaming and time is flying through their acyrilic fingertips. I've been burying myself in books and reading about art and Buddah and reincarnation and the soul. About love and illusion and God and sin. These are not the kind of books that end with happily ever afters but they are opening my mind and helping me breathe through the lonliness. Pages of inspiration that I'm drinking with hungry blue eyes.

Fragments of my Life

Taking countless pictures of myself while a bee flies in and out the window of this red pickup truck and The Eagles sing to me softly. It's a perfect seventy degrees darling but I'm freezing because I'm starting to forget what home smells like and that terrifies me.

Bike riding through Wal Mart parking lots and over bumpy sidewalks while dogs bark and all that sunshine hides behind some big ass cloud the second I start pedalling. Freezing in a floral print shirt and sweat pants but I won't stop because if I do I'll feel that homesickness wash over me again and I don't know how much of that I can take.

Strange how all those things I took for granted are the ones that dance in my sleepless memory. Driving darkened streets in a Geo with a beautiful black haired girl in oversized sunglasses and jeans her mother hemmed. Lovely bohemian boys in the hallway, country music mix CD's, photography teacher who's seen me cry, familiar faces around a circular table starving for conversation and tater tots, Abercrombie wearing dad who loves too deeply, hippie throwback mother who inspires, soft spoken sister with my eyes, wild blonde brother who aches to be loved, short southern grandma who never wears shoes, gorgeous step sister who can't be tamed, awkward step dad who takes hours to cook, bad smelling puppy i barely know. These are the pretty fragments of my life. These are the things i want to touch again.

Insomniac attack

Three AM again and insomnia is winning, tired of battling with stiff sheets and creaking floorboards
this computer is my neon escape from open eyed nightmares and shoving my face with hawaiin chocolates hidden under the stove in the kitchen
theres a man that lives next door who stands in the street naked and peeks through open blinds
i see him in his truck in the mornings and his green eyes give me goodbumps because that is the kind of world that we live in
lost naked men in the middle of the road. i dont know weather to laugh or cover the eyes of every child I've ever loved.
I want more than anything to fall asleep and dream of a revolution.

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Caramel Macchiatos and Pad Thai

Today was caramel macchiatos and pad thai in a sunlit coffee shop. Crossing my legs and biting my lip while i spill a lifetime of stories all over a stranger who loves me. By the time I remmembered how to breathe my cup was empty and six hours had passed. All that truth made my lips chapped and my throat dry and I'm still missing those meaningless days in a lovely suburbia but now i know
I'm stronger than I thought I was.
I'm strong when I rock him to sleep and turn off the news. I'm strong when I remmember the words to all those songs and lose myself in obscene poetry. I'm strong when I realize

this is just life.

not a sitcom

not a novel

I can't live inside phony snapshots and broken promises, I can't be terrified of things i can. not. change.

But I can know that someday

this pain

will make me a masterpiece.

I can know that someday these words will just be a foggy memory, and we will laugh about the weeks I spent alone.

But until that someday comes, I refuse to live in promising tommorows and artistic nights of insomia.

I'm starting to live

right

now.

falling in love with Allen Ginsberg and chicken fajitas

Creaking floorboards in an Idaho gettaway and there's a fly buzzing around that beautiful light in the hall. These floral bed sheets are old and musty and i wonder whose tired body has dreamed in the same spot as mine. I wonder if they believed in God.

I wonder if they were in love.

I wonder if they ever had nightmares as terrible as mine.

Today i fell in love with Allen Ginsberg, chicken fajitas, and a million brown eyed boys.

the world used to watch him kiss his girlfriend in the hall. Corner maybelline lashes against an aluminum locker and promise her it was REAL. Steal her lips before second bell and there they were watching the whole thing.

High school passion is so damn beautiful.

Probably because those kisses are just an illusion and in a month that boy will be learning to love some blonde haired hippie's favorite band while that girl bats her lashes at his stoned best friend in a cold basement.

Some days,

I can't tell the difference between love and a car crash.

It doesn't matter, both are fatal.

Metal hearts manufactured by Victoria Secret adds and happily ever afters.

If it isn't a fairy tale

it's porn and love falls somewhere in between.

For now, I'll smile at boys with pierced ears and empty eyes. I'll eat meatballs at hockey games and wish I could be drunk on you again.

I'll cover my eyes with cheap golden aviators and wear knee high boots with black dresses. I'll discover Buddah and finally forgive myself for not being able to save them.

I'll come across old family photos that make me want to cry and watch a sweat covored preacher scream about Jesus.

"The savior is coming!"

"Where will YOU be when He rises again??"

Drawing peace signs on my wrist and falling in love.

I'm sorry, I want to put faith in your black and white suit because your face is so sweet and your wrinkles show a lovely history. But the pages of your Bible are tattered and torn and written by the hands of men like my father and he boys who have broken my heart.

I believe in first kisses and lullabies. I believe in stained glass windows and lightening bugs and poetry. I believe in record players and falling to your knees when you can't fight anymore and you should'nt have to.

I believe in a soul so divine that it can love a world full of sinners and forgive a universe of lovers.

I believe in the God we find when we admit that sometimes there are things we can. not. change.

Sometimes there are fruits we are not meant to eat.

We do not live in an Eden,

But Oh,

We do live in love.