&& They'll Keep Coming


Disappointment. Dis-appoint-ment. This, a point meant, was what she received.

She tries to let it pass her by, maybe if she doesn't acknowledge it it would simply leave her alone. But the problem is, it took a liking to her and it stops to play with her hair, to blow a breath of sadness in her face. It finds her inability to retaliate something humorous and pleasing, an excuse to linger.

It sleeps all night and all morning too. At those times, she's oblivious and believes herself free. She goes out with friends and spends her time radiantly, she sure knows how to smile. But at evening it lurks, and spotting its prey looms overhead. That is when she learns of the rejection, the let downs the "can't"s. She sees the chances too far from her grasp, she hears the "no" and feels the wind from the closing doors.

She wants to reach higher, to stand on her tippy toes, to refuse to take it as an answer-to knock again. But as she raises a hand, it falls back down. Her energy is consumed from day to day and inside, she is defeated.

She can still smile, you really ought to see it, and her laugh is something to listen to. Even if they're forced and muddled with tears, they'll keep coming because that's all she can do. Things disappointment can't steal off her lips or from her voice. Her only act of rebellion as she obediently drops her aspirations and wishes.

The only thing she manages to acquire is a pat on the head for turning away from everything she ever held her breath for.

Its been months now since we've started talking. We got along easily since the beginning, I'm not sure how it happened. I don't even remember meeting you at all. It's strange, but I'm not alarmed.

I usually worry about one thing or another constantly, even in my sleep. But since you've been here I finally feel peace and I realize everything is okay. I wonder where you came from. You're living on your own and though you don't say it, I know you're lonely.

You've told me that you're not used to being dependent, that you're usually the one who worries about others. Sometimes, you've got to let me do the worrying for you. It's what friends do, right? We'll take it on hand in hand.

And you're a Guardian Angel, I'm sure. You're a natural comforter and the one people confine their thoughts to. Whenever I'm upset, you're somehow present and ready to pick me up again. But are you really my angel?


Lets Go


Whenever I went to late night parties, somehow I would end up sitting somewhere along a wall or by myself on the couch with an unopened can of sprite in my hand. There would be the smell of weed in the air and the sound of heavy liquor going down down down. I could hear the sex in their words when they spoke, I could feel the intentions behind their eyes, the drugs in their bags. I'd catch sight of you dancing without a thought of the world, the music in your veins, and smile.

You enjoyed taking my hand and dragging me to these places. I would follow without a word or complaint, so humor me. You always did. These nights never really ended well, but how can we really expect them to? I'd turn away from your slim figure and watch the predators prowl. If I blinked, they would be gone. Sometimes you'd take me into a bedroom and we would sit on the floor together, our backs against the bed. Whenever we left the room, your "friends" would give you a high five.

Early morning when it was still dark, we'd be walking, your arm heavy around my shoulders. Ever since I met you, you've been good at holding your alcohol. I think you held mine too, just because you were that great of a friend. Our steps would slow as we got to the end of the street and routinely we would turn and face each other.

"Never... have I felt so alive," You'd tell me breathlessly in my ear as you pull me into a tight hug.

I'd think of the 'you' I once knew.

"You don't even know alive anymore," I'd say and give you a kiss on the cheek goodnight.




-Yes ma'am, my pleasure.

-You're so polite.

-I'm a gentleman with these things.

-I'm glad, it makes me smile.

-I'm glad. I worry that you don't smile enough.


I Won't Fall


It's dark and this is the third day I can't sleep, maybe because I keep dreaming of what's already gone. There's a lot of different kinds of silences, but the kind when even darkness is still is the one I'm afraid of the most. I'm too used to hearing your voice or your breath next to my ear. When it's not there, it tears right through me. We both know I'm not that strong, but I think you forgot. I might be the only one who remembers me.

And once you find me again,
"_____, don't cry" you'll tell me. I'll look at you with tears in my eyes and say, "Yes."

I'll keep trying because that's what I said I would do from the start.
But for tonight, I guess I'll just pretend that I'm not alone.


No Title For This One


Dear World,

You've taken 15 people out of my life. You've managed to strip the things I kept close to my heart. You did a really good job of that. You've disordered my emotions and peeled away at my soul. You've kept me sleep deprived and working late. I've nearly given up multiple times.

I heard that "Strength is nothing more than how well you hide the pain."
I resent that.

Strength is how well you are able to turn the pain into your advantage.
Pain doesn't need to be hidden, that only proves how afraid you are of being human.

I'm going to keep waking up in this hell just to spite and irritate you. I might get slower at getting up everyday, but you better damn well know I'll be standing no matter how empty you have made me. All that shit you played on me? Its what keeps pulling me up.


P.S. Fuck you.

You deserve more.
Hmm. I don't need more. I just need you.
You want a weak little sick girl?
No. I need one.
What's the use of one?
To remind me. Everyone needs to be loved and cared for.
You're a great guy, did you know that?
Right when you told me. I believed it.

Because I want everyone to know how remarkable it is to have a best friend like him.


I Hope This Helps


I met a man waiting at the airport bus stop a week ago.

He paused before stepping through the doors.
Turning back to me, he had the soft, concerned look of a father who realized his mistakes as he raised his own child and lived with the guilt of reducing his family from 3 to 2 just so he could follow his own dreams.
"I'm not afraid to keep on living.
You shouldn't be either." he told me and boarded the vehicle.

I sat there, thinking those words over. I scrambled them, I rolled them. I tore them apart and put them back together. But what I was looking for was exactly how he gave it to me.

By that time, another man took a seat next to me. I think I probably missed a few of my buses by then. He was dressed well, with a clean face and smoothed hair. There were a few wrinkles near his eyes, but he didn't look that old. His shoes were dead black and coated with a light layer of dirt from travel. He had his coat hung over an arm and was speaking quietly on the phone in his other hand. From the tone and the way his brows furrowed so often I could guess it wasn't going well.

After he closed the call, his hand slumped into his lap defeated and he had the look of power and wealth but gave off the energy of someone crushed. I didn't know what I was thinking, but as he stood up to board I spoke aloud the words the previous man left for me. He paused in his path, the only acknowledgement that he heard me. He didn't turn around or respond but then continued up the steps, but he was seated next to a window and as the bus drove forward I could catch the glimmer of tears on his cheeks.

I think I understand what he meant now.


Makes No Sense


Why are people so nice to me?

How can they care that much for a stranger?

It makes me cry even more than when I actually get hurt.




[Insert picture here]

I'm not crazy. Really. I know that's what most actual crazy people tell them, but I have enough evidence to prove I am not so. Just because you don't know doesn't mean you can push that word on me.

They keep questioning me with the commons. Did you get in a fight with your friends? They're deaf to my answer I've been telling them the whole time. Are you pregnant? I don't think it's out of ignorance, but misunderstanding. Is everything OK at home? Things really are complicated to understand when they haven't been where I've been, seen what my eyes saw. It's not boyfriend problems, is it? Some things are just too much-but it might actually be too little. Hey. I'm an unhappy girl. Glad we have that established.

After a struggle with school authority they finally let me go, after all; that is what I've been pleading for them to let me do the past hour. I'm a little afraid to drive now. On the highways, I've been having these fantasies where my hands gradually turn the steering wheel to the left and the next lucky car is the winner and we both are thrown into an explosion of glittering lights. I kind of like that. To be part of an instantaneous beauty that only a few lucky to none get to see. Once in a lifetime. 

But before I actually play it out I remember the orange butterfly I almost hit earlier. It was a fragile thing, but not lacking in charm. The tiny creature was fighting its way across the air and the way it struggled. That particular beat of its wings and its effort. I pressed on the brakes and the butterfly was sucked by the air flow up past the windshield and over. That wasn't the kind of beauty I wanted to create. Then I would think about the other driver. They never did have a say in my artful scheme and I would force myself to keep the car straight. 

I do admit that I'm not stable-at least not anymore. But crazy? Never.


July 3, 2010.


Happy 17th Birthday, my lifetime best friend even though
I don't think you'll ever see this.

I know its been a long time, about a year now that we haven't seen each other. But you know what? You're still my best friend. Even though we haven't talked for months. We both realize that we're only a text, a call, an email, a message away from one another and our hearts have always been right next to each other.

I wanted to remind you today that you know me. I know that sounds kind of funny, but I don't know how else to word it.

I'm still that girl you got into reading in Grade 3 & 4.
I'm still that girl you literally save every Friday in PE class when we run the track.
I'm still that girl you played pretend/imagine with every breathing moment in elementary.
I'm still that girl you wrote letters to after I moved in Grade 5+
I'm still that girl you co-wrote stories with all day when we would visit.
I'm still that girl you spooned with those days we went to Mexico together and spent hours at night up because we couldn't stop laughing.

No matter how much we change, physically-mentally; I still know you and you me. Of course there will be times where we would stop and look at each other and wonder who this other person is, but thats ok- Because we would realize: This is my sister. My best friend, this is she and I accept that.

Or we would end up beating each other up over why we changed so much.

Go on. Go on.

This is your life and I hope you're living it the way you want. Are you who you want to be? Is today how you saw it? What makes you feel alive?

If you ever need, hell even when you don't, anyone you know where I am.

I'll listen, I'll cry.
I'll find what it is you need, I'll help.
I'll laugh, I'll love.
I'll order that meal for you.
I'll beat up that person.
I'll brush your cat.

And, ok.
I'll admit it: I miss you.

Happy birthday again, J, RainNose, Kaye, Jeni, whatever alias you are under.
Love you more than any hormone infested boy will.





Can you forgive me?

What if I wanted to run away.
What if I wasn't running from you.
Are you able to see past the blood on my hands? The corpse before me?
Look at me, and tell me if what you see is who I am.
Would you take the place of this man?

I lower my head in disappointment and the nails fall from my hands
You turn in the opposite direction and begin to walk away.
I'm just waiting for someone to pick me up off the floor.
To engulf me in strong arms and tell me:
"It's ok. We're all guilty of the same things."

You are forgiven.




There was this boy I used to talk to last year. He lived on my street and we'd always walk home together after school and have the most peculiar conversations. He was a strange one, after all.

I asked him one day about the half full or half empty glass question, "Which do you see?" There wasn't a hesitation in his response, "Neither, I'd be trying to figure out what exactly was in the cup."

"What if it was your soul?"
"Why would it only take up half the glass?"
"Maybe you just have a small soul."
"Maybe I'll just eat yours and mine will grow."
"Fuck off, it's mine...."

One Friday, I stopped him in the middle of the street with the rain drenching our shapeless bodies. A few cars honked at us to move, but they only joined in with Nature's symphony in the background. We stood still for a moment and I made a grab for his hand and placed it over my heart.

"Do you feel that?" I asked him. He'd only nod.
"It's ticking like a cheap clock," I explain. "But it still tells the time, even if it's a few minutes-or an hour off."

I watched him get under the shelter of his front porch and slowly look back at me with a kind smile. There always was enough sun for us both.

I was the strange one, after all.


Does This Make Sense?


So, I'm not sure where to start this; but I suppose I already have. Last night after our conversation I couldn't sleep, and then later I did. And I was not bothered until I woke up again. I had my break, as did it but I didn't want it to come back so soon. Perhaps I shall nap again and take my escape.

But what if I was to awake somewhere unfamiliar? Flowers woven in my hair and a song waiting to be stolen by the birds down below. What am I to think?

I do not understand.
It must be because I am too simple, I don't perceive the depths of words. I have too soon set limits on them and the original doesn't mean itself anymore.
I do not understand.
It must be because I am too complex, I over analyze these made-up patterns-a new one born anytime I am stuck to provide myself with another conclusion.
I say it three times, I do not understand.

How are the thousands of miles between us diminishing while your heart and soul is drifting further away from me?

How is it I am falling asleep.


Sometime This Hour


I've been holding onto the rope for a long time now, the tension pulling at the pieces.
Ever since I fell out, I've been reaching for these life savers, these things that people throw out to me. Will you let me drown...?

I don't understand how the hardest thing about holding on isn't the pain you endure. It isn't the burning sensation through your hands nor the discouragement from others. It isn't the thought of losing whatever it is, no matter how much I wish it was. It's having to let go.

I got tired of reaching for visions that are only that.
I allow the rope to slip from my fingers and float between tendrils to the bottom--Now I know what I believe in.

And I think to myself:
So this is what its like...
To breathe for the first time.

Hey little girl. Hey little girl.
What do you think you're doing?
Crossing this street without looking at either side;
It's quite dangerous, y'know.

Little girl, little girl...
You have a family waiting far far away.
Why run when they hold you more valuable than a pearl?
You have all your friends, and each love you so I pray.
They won't understand this, please just go home.

You're quite strange, little girl, little girl.
Looking up at me like that.
With your hair in their wild, untamed curls.
I beg of you, explain this absurd act?


Sir, madam. Whoever this may concern...
I realize the danger, I realize the consequences-but
I cross this street on a personal term

My family, yes, I have more than one
I agree, they do not comprehend my intentions nor my actions
but each I hold dearer than the sun.
My homes have wings, wheels and even fins
For I never seem to be able to find it--
More rigorous than a haystack and pin.

But put aside.
Sir, madam, look at me closely.
There is a magic trick I wish you to view.
It doesn't involve much, just my own person and the falling light.
But before, I'd like to bid you adieu
Now watch. . . as I disappear from your sight.

I've always been walking alone; but I don't mean to.
When I turn around, everybody is so far far behind- and I feel it in my heart.
But I keep walking anyways
I don't want to be afraid anymore.

You tell me that one day you'll catch up to me.
And we'll hold hands like we once did when we were five.

I walk through cities, I climb through mountains
Wherever I go I am always in your sight
I keep walking
Step after step, forwards, to the left & to the right.
But never back.
I count my steps and divide when I stumble
But before you can reach me, I'm already walking again.
My shadow stretches closer to you than I ever will
but my heart is closer to yours than its own beat.
And one day, I'm afraid when I turn around to look for you
You won't be there...


Where'd You Go?


Inspired by Danny & his writing.
Thank you.

I remember coming home to an empty house. Those days I would cry.
I'd find myself refusing to eat and feeling like shit.
Those days I wish I'd die.

Then I'd catch a glimpse of you-- and your wide, wide smile.
You'd come up to me with that personality that never found itself down.
And I'd laugh. And everything was just fine, if even for a while.

You'd try so hard to get me to see the lighter side. You made my days.

But you haven't been doing that recently, though... What happened?

For JarBear

I've thought it was strange, a peculiar thing, whenever I would find a flowers bent (ever so slightly) and amazingly in unison towards one direction. It was mentioned in my Biology class two years ago that they did that in order to survive. Since then, it has fascinated me how flowers and plants had that tendency to grow towards the sun, or actually any source of light, but I suppose it made sense. It followed the "Survival of the Fittest". Light: a necessity to life. Virtually everything would die without it. I've seen vines and leaves grow over each other, even block one another to be the one on top. 
You know... I'm like that. Me. I see it everyday, and even take part in this cycle, but nobody really reveals it dry. Probably because we don't want to accept our barbaric side. I find myself among the smaller leaves, the thinner vine, or the weak. I don't expect to be able to sustain myself much longer than I already have.
The sun doesn't shine in my direction anymore, and I don't know why. It means I ought to be dying.
But I don't mind, because you provide my light. 
If you let me, I think I'll go in your direction.


Five Days Late


Doctor, it has been a while since I felt like this-- I never expected it to happen at this time.

I don't know if you'll understand my complications, but that's ok. I only wanted some advice, perhaps a suggestion or two on what I should do about this situation of mine:

It's a bit painful, yet comforting at the same time. I never realized the magnitude to only be put on hold. For approximately a year, I suppose. I can do that, I can wait. Don't worry, I can be patient on things like this. But it bothers me a bit, that he'll be so far away. I really can't say that though, cause it'll be the same when I go as well.

I want to know him better. There, I said it. I like him. There, I said it. I admit though, I am shy.

I comprehend the reasons, please don't stress-I know you have enough already. Honestly, this would be for the best considering the circumstances.. but that doesn't make me feel any better. Truthfully, this would be the time for me to concentrate on school.. but that doesn't mean I'm able. Frankly, this would be when I take a deep breath and move on.. but that doesn't mean I will. Like I said, I can wait. I will wait and cross my fingers things turn out right.

Doctor, the thing is...
I think I sprained my heart.


Hello, I missed you.


It has been a long period, longer than 2π, 4π or even the dreaded monthlies, of time since I've last seen your lovely face. But, dear, I am back for you, and I missed you so. I've craved your breath on my face and the feeling of your hands in mine. Let us speak with our eyes and hear through our mouths.

There are so many things I've seen since I left, and many more I want to share with you, love.

Have you ever found kisses in pockets? Or a piece of hope in the mail box? Ever seen a person's soul stolen with the permission of only the word "yes"? Maybe even a cat helping an old lady cross the street?

No? Ah, beloved, there are so much more to even wonder! If you look at my palm, you can see every scar and rough ridge I earned from working in the cloud mines. You'll find the trail of loving fingers left burning badges into my skin. Have you ever buried your toes in dreams and found swimming stars below your feet? Have you ever smelled Spring's hair and traveled in time? I have.

I've sifted through files of ambition and I've peeked through wishes. I've played hide'n'go seek with sin, and I've inhaled forgiveness. I've spoken to mountains and I've sung with the earth. I've done anything imaginable and everything thought of in the time I've been missing. . .

But, dear, I am back for you, and I missed you so.