You’re like an ink pen.

My favorite ink pen.

With that thick, black ink.

Streaming from the pen.

Flowing to the paper.

Filling it with

Hopes.

Dreams.

Wishes.

Nightmares.

Fears.

Love.

Hate.

Fate.

You’re like an ink pen,

Staining my fingers.

Black marks I can never erase.

Marks on my hand lines,

Marks on my heart line.

I’m terrified,

Because ink may not wash off.

You’re like an ink pen,

Gripped tightly in my hands.

Because I’m afraid,

That I might set you down,

And someone else will wonder off with you.

Afraid you won’t be my ink pen any longer.

You’re like an ink pen,

With ink that bleeds through the pages.

I wanted you on one page,

But you’ve touched them all,

Bleeding your ink on each and every piece of me.

You’re like an ink pen,

My favorite ink pen.

That I know will soon dry up.

So I cap it,

Relapse it,

And let the ink run dry.

I’ve always been the anchor,

I’ve always been the designated driver.

I’ve always been the one who waters your plants and feeds your fish while you’re on vacation.

I’m the one who stays at home,

While everyone else goes out.

I’m the one who says “have fun,” and then stays home and watched reruns.

And I suppose that’s gotten me by,

Until this Christmas.

When I realized I’ve said goodbye so much, my heart has turned inside of me.

You see, anchors don’t fall in love.

But this anchor did.

And anchors have a habit of holding on a little too tightly.

So when your ship sailed,

I stayed in the harbour,

I waved goodbye, yelled “bon voyage,” but I didn’t mean it all.

What I meant to say when I said “have a good trip,”

Was “please don’t leave, I need you here.”

But anchors don’t always speak so well.

So when that sea voyage made your cellular data fail,

And when you stopped dropping by,

I realized maybe all those words you said last summer didn’t mean as much as I thought.

I suppose it shouldn’t bother me,

After all I get sea sick.

I’m just the anchor that waits in the murky water while the rest are off with Captain Ahab.

And then I started to realize,

I’m the only one this way.

While you’re all off on adventures,

I’m in silt and sand.

Rusty old anchor, too heavy for myself.

Reeled in to be let down again,

Tethered to regret.

Hopes and dreams are not for me,

I’ll watch you all go capture the monster,

And I’ll be here holding the boat steady, when you want me.

Find the treasure chest,

And bring me back a coconut,

Save your mermaids, because after all, I’m just an old anchor in the harbor.

I’m not like the rest of you,

With saltwater and adventure in my veins.

And I love you all like pieces of me, but not enough to make you stay.

Anchors are good when you’re afraid of drifting,

But I found I’m no good for you, when you’re all made to be flying.

I am the anchor, reminding you of home.

I am the anchor, afraid of drifting into unchartered waters.

I am the anchor.

Anchors away.

“Diseased. You’re diseased.

I’m sorry there’s no hope on your own.”

Hospital lights are revealing. 

They expose.

They sting.

They burn. 

The doctor’s white coat blinds me.

His diagnosis stuns me more. 

The metal stethoscope freezes my chest. 

So cold it feels like fire. 

“It’s a problem with your heart.

Your mortality rate is high.” 

My hand on my heart,

No allegiance can I pledge.

I feel the soft rhythm, 

Betraying me.

Killing me.

Softly. 

“Isn’t there cure?” I ask.

Desperate for the answer.

“What can’t be fixed?

Inflammation?

Dehydration?” 

The doctor shakes his head.

“Transgression.” 

“It seems your heart is torn apart,

Full of deceit and malice. 

The cure won’t be found,

Apart from substitution.” 

The white walls close me in.

Too sterile for my sin.

I’m a dark and filthy mess,

In a spotless place.

I may not be a biologist,

But I know what “fatal” means.

I may not be a mortician,

But I know where “six feet under” is.

“I’ve seen this case a thousand times,” he said.

“Don’t worry, it’s inborn. 

It’s in your genes,

It’s in your code,

A part of you like your memory.

Someone before you had it,

Now you have it all the same. 

You took a bite,

You gave up the fight. 

And now your heart’s in dire straits.” 

I’m losing my breath,

The black spots dance,

A gory jig before my eyes.

Desperation overcomes me. 

I’m not ready to die. 

“You’ve got to find a cure!” 

I scream. 

“I can’t go out just now!” 

The doctor writes a prescription.

“There is one way.” 

My diseased heart beats faster.

“Well let’s take the chance!”

“It’s a matter of someone else. 

You see the only way to live,

Is to take life from another. 

A good heart,

A clean heart, 

A pure heart,

Must be broken and blood poured out.” 

“Where can this heart be found?”

I ask with measured angst. 

The doctor wrinkles up his brow.

“Only in the highest state.

See you’ll need a transfusion.

A blood transfusion. 

A transfusion from a heart that pumps

Blood that covers clean.

But we’ve only found one man,

With such a heart as this. 

A heart untouched by the disease. 

A heart untouched by sin.” 

My hopes crashes to the floor,

Like fragile glass.

“Such a man would never die,

To save someone like me.” 

The doctor then smiles,

Faintly, but sincerely. 

“Oh I don’t know,” he says. 

“You never know what love can do.” 

“But how can he love me,

When he’s never seen me? 

He doesn’t know my heart is bad.

A rotting corpse within my life.” 

Now the doctor smiles strong,

But his eyes are filled with tears.

“Ahh there’s the beauty,” he whispers. 

“He knows you through and through.

He knows your hate.

He knows your doubt. 

He knows your thoughts.

He knows you like you know your hands,

And still, his heart is filled with love.” 

I sit on my fear

And cry softly, knowing the end is coming. 

“I only wish I could meet such a man,

Who escaped this deadly place.” 

The doctor removes his blinding white coat, 

And takes a needle to his arm. 

“You’ve already met him,” he says.

“You’ve already met me.” 

And with a practiced stroke he pierces his arm,

And the blood begins to flow.

The clearest, purest blood the world has ever known. 

Working fast he connects the IV,

Now the blood is flowing to my heart.

“How can you?” I ask incredulous. 

“You cannot die for me!” 

“I can because I love you,

And to see you die would be death for me.” 

And as his life ebbs away, and my own begins to grow,

I feel my heart beat steady. 

I feel his love within. 

“You see my heart is breaking too,” he says through pain. 

“Breaking for you my precious child, 

And broken hearts bleed clear.” 

As the last drop empties into my veins,

I am restored. 

The doctor takes a step back,

And falls to the floor.

For a moment I can’t blink,

Can’t move,

Can’t speak,

Can’t breathe.

The only man to ever truly live,

Has died.

He has died for me.

And as I find my way back to earth,

I feel like I should cry.

But The Doctor wouldn’t want that.

There’s more to my life. 

I’m diseased you see. 

My heart is black.

But a perfect man gave me his blood. 

So now I love despite death. 

I couldn’t fix it on my own.

Someone else had to die. 

But now my heart is steady.

Beating within me.

Beating out the story of life. 

What kills me is covered daily. 

Covered up my transgression.

I received a blood transfusion. 

There was a substitution. 

No more inflammation. 

No more dehydration.

A perfect man has saved me.

I have found salvation. 

Crisp air nips at my ears.

Leaves crackle underfoot.

The smell of wood burning fills my nose.

The sounds of your laughter ring loud and true,

And the warmth in my own heart warms me more than any fire ever could.

The memories I’ve held for so long,

Play back like so many movies in my mind.

You all laugh and joke, but I sit back and watch.

Absorbing this moment, capturing it.

So when it is gone, I’ll still have the slideshow.

The best friends I’ve ever had,

And the most fun I ever see.

Breathing in the fall air, breathing in love.

Remembering this moment under the full moon.

Snuggled in my sweatshirt, toasted marshmallow on my tongue.

Your eyes bright across flickering fire.

Embers dancing like the hope in my heart.

Hopeful that this night will never end,

Hopeful everything could somehow stay the same forever.

Flames that are never quenched.

But all too soon, the final log falls,

And I find it’s time to say goodnight.

Hugs and more laughter, love without end,

Realizing this beautiful night is soon over,

In the process of becoming just another memory like all the others.

And as I drive home, I breathe out the breath I’ve held.

Not daring to exhale and ruin the moment.

Not bothering to worry about breathing, when you all are my air.

Finding that I breathe more easily with your secondhand.

Falling to bed, the night fades fast, but I find the memory still fresh.

But soon all I’ll have left is a picture of this moment.

So I breathe in one last time searching for that love scent.

But all I breathe in is the smoke that clings to my clothes and hair.

More pungent than when I sat by the fire,

Sweeter than when I said hello.

Because by the fire I don’t always appreciate the moment.

But alone, when all I have is woodsy smoke in my hair, I smell it more deeply.

Lingering smoke, reminding me of where I’ve been. Reminding me, it’s done.

And I hesitate to wash my sweatshirt.

Because I hold it like I want to hold all of you.

Even this scent of bonfire smoke will soon fade.

As will you and I my dear.

But for now I breathe it in, breath you in.

Because autumn has always been my favorite season.

Sometimes I feel the weight of the world.

Pressing down, squeezing every ounce of air from my lungs.

I breathe heavily,

Chest rising.

Chest falling.

Heart pounding so hard my ribs ache.

The choices, the people, the dread, the disappointment.

I want to leave it all.

I want to run.

But if I run my thoughts run with me.

Keeping pace with me.

Outrunning me.

Beating me.

I am trapped.

Trapped in this skin that doesn’t breathe.

Trapped in this skin that’s suffocating me.

It’s too tight, I try to stretch.

But instead it only restricts me.

Instead of being one, we are two.

My skin and I constantly fighting against each other.

Straight jacketed in my own body.

Prickling up my spine,

Tingling down my arms.

Straining and stretching to get air into my skin.

If only I could shed this skin.

If only I could shake it off.

If only I had skin that fell away as sodium poured over it.

Maybe then I could run without the weight of my skin.

Maybe then I’d be me instead of the skin that I’ve become.

If only.

I could breathe.

I could finally fly the way I’m meant to fly.

If only.

If only I had salt skin.

You know that song you find, and you wonder how you never heard it before now? That song that fills this place inside of you that you didn’t even know existed and was empty. That song you start listening to and can’t stop replaying, because as soon as it ends, you need to hear it, you need to feel it, all again. That song that you turn up as loud as you can stand, and close your eyes and listen because you want it completely blocking everything else out. That song where the artist composed every line, every beat, every note perfectly. That song you wish you could somehow tell everyone about because it’s that beautiful, but at the same time you want to selfishly keep its beauty all to yourself. That song that touches something inside of you that nothing else can reach. That song that stirs your heart and emotion to a place where you feel alive. That song that you know you’re burning out with every replay, but somehow you don’t care. Because right now, it’s the only song you ever want to hear. That song that seems perfectly made for you. That song you know will always be a part of you. That song you’ve completely fallen in love with. You know that song?

.

You’re that song to me.

twinkle lightly

Why have I learned to love and appreciate this

Just as it is coming to an end?

Why is the magic crashing down

Just as it hits its peak?

I’m terrified of losing you.

All of you.

But maybe even more than that,

I’m terrified of losing this feeling.

This feeling of happiness

And joy

And purpose

And loving

And being loved.

How selfish am I?

But in this moment of complete candor,

I can admit it.

I’m not just afraid of losing you.

I’m afraid of losing myself.

You have made me who I am.

Who I am today.

Five years ago I wouldn’t have understood this love.

This love for these people I’d always known,

But never loved.

These people I’d now give anything for,

If only to have them for

A few more weeks

A few more days

A few more moments.

Moments are all we’ve ever had.

Moments are turning to memories,

Faster than the leaves can fall from these summer green trees.

Moments are the gifts I’ve been given for the last three years.

Moments of laughter and tears,

Joy and sadness,

Nostalgia and excitement and understanding.

Moments that hang suspended.

Untouchable.

Will I remember every single day?

Will I remember every single sequence of events?

No.

Years from now I’ll have lost the playbill of events in piles of old shoes and leftover receipts.

But I’ll always have these moments.

They can’t be taken from me.

So when I feel the tears in my eyes,

And the lump in my throat,

And when we collide for a final hug,

And when I say goodbye to you for the last time,

And when I see your car pull out of the driveway,

I hope I remember those moments too.

It’s a moment we share just like the ones we’ve all shared for years.

The moments that spell out our friendship.

The moments that make up you and me into what we are.

And I hope you never forget them.

I hope they don’t fade away like broken Christmas lights.

I hope you hold onto them.

I hope, even as we come to an end,

We don’t lose moments we’ve had,

That we don’t yearn for the moments never had.

Instead I hope we reflect on what we were given.

Dwelling on what we were given.

Shining.

Sparkling.

I hope we’ve taught each other well.

I hope we always remember.

I hope we always shine.

I hope we always,

Twinkle lightly.

(based off the song by Talain Rayne)

My head took a wrong turn, back when I shouted “right.”

So now I’m sitting with this aching headache, and half blinded eyes.

It’s fine, I suppose, if you like puppet shows.

Or maybe if you like movies in 3D.

I’m not often bothered by either of the two, but I do find a nuisance, in tongue twisters.

Because my tongue went right, and my head went left,

So I sit back and let you all do the talking.

I laugh with effort.

I smile with effort.

But I wonder if it matters that I’m here making an effort at all.

Perhaps I’ll blame the humidity.

When the air is heavy and thick, it makes effort harder, as my tongue sticks to my lips.

My words just hang, suspended in the rain that cannot bring itself to fall.

And I stay suspended, unquenched and suffocating.

I’d like to blame you, all of you, for my unclear thoughts.

Because your lives are the rain drops that refuse to fall.

They hang suspended, but I’m left unquenched and suffocating.

My heartbeat sounds in my head, and I wonder if this is how they all feel.

The introverts.

The friendless.

The quiet ones.

Do they hear their heartbeats?

Do they feel their thoughts caught in the tangle of humidity?

Do they watch through eyes bound by their lashes?

Do they look in the mirror and gasp at what they see?

Do they strive for solitude?

Do they strive for peace?

Do they long for the rain to break free?

The sweat beads and rolls down my neck.

My stomach clenches.

I can’t put this effort in much longer.

Perhaps I’ll find a quiet place to rest.

Perhaps I’ll find a place to go, quiet and quenched.

Perhaps I’ll show my true self.

Introvert.

But my dearest ones, do not be mistaken.

It’s not you, it’s often me.

I believe if you asked, I’d give you my heart.

For love isn’t bound by the weather forecast.

Instead it is boundless and free.

I love and I love, but my heartbeat still sounds.

Reminding me it’s time to tuck in.

It’s time to rest, and remember myself, before I forget my friends.

But as I wipe the sweat from my brow, and turn back to the right,

My tongue is lax to catch up.

So I ride in the silence, wishing for rain, and wondering

When the humidity will drop.

But I wonder once more if it matters that I’m here making an effort at all.

Does it matter if I’m here?

And the lightening flashes,

And the thunder rolls,

My heartbeat steadies with the sound of the coming storm.

The humidity is breaking and so are my thoughts.

Because I am an introvert.

And an introvert is nothing more than a person.

A person who loves, and laughs, and remembers, and cries,

Just like you.

But this introvert wants, more than anything else,

To know that if she left it would matter.

To know that they care half as much as she.

This introverts wants to know her silence is not unnoticed.

Silence does not equal worthless.

This introvert wants someone to agree.

She wants an extrovert to step down from their pedestal of fame,

Ask if she feels alright.

And when she answers, they accept her yes,

But at least she knows they care.

This introvert wants an extrovert to love her.

She wants to be loved in her silence.

She wants to be loved in the humidity and the rain.

But perhaps we all want what we cannot give.

And as the thought of love breaks, whether fantasy or fact,

I hear the crack of the clouds and rain rolls forward.

I jump from the car, and the rain hits my face.

Fast.

Furious.

Calming.

Little drops of humidity finally set free.

It washes away the heat, and the stickiness of the day.

And all that’s left is an introvert who’s getting wet in the rain.

All that’s left is a person, with unsaid thoughts, and unheard dreams.

And she often wonders if they care half as much as she.

This is a poem I wrote two years ago in a literature class during a poetry unit. The teacher told me she read it to her whole family she liked it so much. In that moment, I knew I loved the way it felt to know someone appreicated the way you had constructed your words to paint a picture. I’ll always love this poem, so with a few updates I decided to post it, even though it’s a couple years old! So… this was a picture of me, two years ago.

Slender and Tall, Blonde and Eyes Green

Slender and tall, blonde and eyes green,

At table number five in a t-shirt and jeans.

She loves where she is, and she knows where she’s been,

If she had to do it over, she’d do it again.

Slender and tall, blonde and eyes green,

There’s magic in the moment, there’s magic in fifteen.

A dreamer, a wisher, she wants to lock time,

This moment’s her favorite, she hates changing her mind.

A lover of words, and writer of songs,

Not afraid to stand out, but she knows where she belongs.

Content on the side, but a longing for the stage,

The theater calls her to write on its page.

Slender and tall, blonde and eyes green,

More than once, she’s been known as a queen.

Not for royalty, beauty, or prom,

Instead a queen of drama, a lack of calm.

But that’s just her, a hopeless romantic,

Heart run away, with every last antic.

A stallion galloping, a creature set free,

Nose in a book, heart on her sleeve.

Her mind an ocean, an overflowing sea,

Though her head can be in the clouds, critical thinking is key.

To ask, to question, to wonder, to inquire,

Thoughts to think, she wishes to aspire.

Slender and tall, blonde and eyes green,

She knows she’ll trust God to guide her in everything.

She loves where she is, and she knows where she’s been,

If she had to do it over, she’d do it again.

Here’s a list of the things I hate.

Pre-calculus and trig working all night.

To no avail, rarely getting problems right.

Drinking cold coffee getting old in the cup.

Thinking it’ll be warm without heating it up.

People who laugh through their mouths, but never with their eyes.

They’re telling the truth, but you feel like they lie.

Fruit in the fridge, that’s gone soft and dark,

A pen out of ink, making just a faded mark.

The judgment of those, who have the upper hand,

When they tear you down, until you can barely stand.

Broken air conditions, when the fridge light burns out,

When your backpack unzips, and all your papers fall out.

When you try your very hardest and still isn’t enough,

When others work less than you, and still have a leg up.

When your cellphone battery dies in the middle of a call,

When you hit your funny bone against a wall.

A glass of spilt milk, a journal of unaccomplished wishes,

A missed opportunity, a sink full of dirty dishes.

Insincerity, and rings that don’t fit,

Losing your mind in a class where you just sit.

Running late in the rain; when someone forgets to include you.

Finding out you loved someone more than they loved you.

Not being at the place where the most fun was had,

Buying your clothes too late to join in a fad.

When the weather men get it wrong, when you miscalculate the bill,

When your nail polish smudges as you finish the seal.

When you write your whole paper, but miss write the date.

But the thing I hate the most is to hate.