Healing the writer's mind

I haven’t been ignoring.

AP tests are killing me.

we’re getting close to graduation though. <3

dreamsoftheink: I love this blog. I love writing short things, too :) they're so inspirational

Thank you! I’m getting ready to graduate and lost a couple of people in my life, so a lot of it is self reflections. Thank you again!

I loved the rain last night.

however.

i missed you during it.

somethings won’t be the same.

move on.

As a child I grew up

holding your turbulent hand,

bursting at the seams

with aria drivel.

I was exposed to your decadence,

fluttering around. Your empty

bottles of chardonnay made you the champion

of my distorted world.

You christened me

at the sober age of five as

“postpartum liability”;

infusing fortunes with chamomile lullabies:

Love the illuminating

corpses still living luxurious lives

in your galaxy.

Leave the universe to me.

Confide in gravity.

Your hands molded me

into a tactile chancellor.

I learned the importance

of all things silver;

of all things authentic;

of all things lurking in the shadows.

The radiance of enchanting

abyss you had pushed my

perception into was an expressed subterfuge:

I loved the delicious quintessence—

I bloomed into a nebula.

Then one bleak monumental night,

in the midst of flourishing in the

exposure to succulence

that always happened when

I was holding your hand

A mystic occurrence—

legendary of clandestine opportunities—

your voice smothered

my ravishing sunrise

as we wallowed in our unconditional closure.

I cracked my cinema eyes:

like a supernova you had burned

a feathery flawless orange,

and now a lollipop center

almost completely gone:

you went away. 

Among the condemned stars

is thrusted responsibility

of departed ones exquisite nectar.

I see your fingertips

across my skin

playing “heartache’s worn

it’s welcome out”.

And as we climb the stairway to numb—

no wind

no rain

no winters—

it’s something so

beautiful

even imaginary friends will

Rest easy tonight.

The music is

 sparks in a sea of

grey; a sea of fool’s

only believing

in everything they see”.

But I’m not gonna ask you to

Stay.

‘Cause every new beginning

comes from some other

beginning’s end.

I had gone to see my grandma more

I’d held her hand more often as a child.

I’d gone in front of Jay. Then someone who truly loved her could’ve been holding her hand as she left.

I had skipped school wednesday and gone down there with my daddy to be with them all day.

I knew how to repair the broken strings left.

I knew the words to make my daddy smile again.

I knew the words to make me smile again.

I knew how she felt those last hours, to know if Tootsie or Amy was right.

These memories would be consumed by happier memories.

As a child, I had spent more time inside listening to her stories than outside playing with the ducks.

I knew how to make Jarretts life better.

I knew hot the future would go.

I knew how to fix my heart.

I had prayed a little harder, little longer, little stronger.

I HAD TOLD HER I LOVED HER, OUT LOUD, ONE MORE TIME.

why my grandma was the one who received the black curse of cancer.

how i found the courage to sit by her side, knowing that nightmares were being created.

why i can’t mention the fact that she often called me the wrong name, forgot birthdays, never called or came over for TWO WHOLE YEARS, out loud.

Why it killed my dad so much. I never thought of their relationship being a perticularly close one. 

Why they won’t accept Natalie.

Bailey did what she did.

Why I care. Because trust me. I know I shouldn’t care. Not at all.

if I’m gonna come into my own skin, nor eit it’s going to be through poetry.

If I want to be an english teacher or an elementary teacher. 

if the constant worry i feel when I’m anywhere but with my dad will go away.

why cats are fastenated with balls of yar.

why my grandma karen let all of her mothers stuff go to the curb and get picked through, as though it was meaning less.

IT MEANT SOMETHING TO ME.

The orange sunrise finally touches the purple sky and I gasp at the beauty of the love making, and the potential star babies that might result with it. The river runs next to us, racing us to the final destination. The light shimmers off the facets, and I laugh as they begin to play and dance with each individual blade of grass. 

here, I do not feel any sorrow when I think of my grandmother’s name, in fact, I dare say it out loud, and laugh as it rolls off my tongue like a bowling ball down the alley. I grip the steering wheel stronger, feeling God’s presence warm me, and suddenly I can see my grandmother’s face. I check my cheeks for tears, and smile as none fall.

I’m gonna be alright.

As the light-dim, because happiness stings our eyes in the night time- shines on her translucent skin, she throws a slight temper tantrum when no one will sit her up. The kicker of this is: she’s already been sitting up for half an hour. The brief yet heartbreaking fit is ceased when sleep finally shuts her wrinkled eyes, only to be brought back to her reality calling for a mom that’s been dead for longer than we’ve been alive.

She falls back asleep, and i sit next to the angel who never got to really know me. She never remembered my birthday. Never came to a basketball game. Never once told me she was proud of the human being I am and will be in the future. 

I need to tell her that I forgive her, because that’s something that needs to be said. 

i forgive you, Grandma. I forgive you for playing favorites and me never being the prize. I forgive you for giving up precious time we could have spent together because you wanted them to pay you.

And I hope you forgive me. I hope you forgive me for always having better things to do on a friday night. Forgive me for always promising to come down more, but never putting up a fight. Forgive me for never calling and asking you about your day, or just to tell you how much I love you.

And I do love you. Very much. I love the way you used to give me hugs with your full body. I love the way you always want to hold someones hand, and remind us that no one ever wants to be alone. 

I love the way you’re my grandma.

I forgive you. And I really really hope you forgive me too. 

I love you.

The succulent smell stained

the inside of my burnt nose-

peppermint schnapps and menthol cigarettes.

I tried to keep you

wrapped up in

blankets that later

would remain untouched for

centuries.

I remember

the porcelain feel to your

chalky white face,

always terrified to touch you

petrified you weren’t real.

I could gaze into your

ocean-deep eyes for hours,

let your beautiful scent

swallow me whole-

peppermint schnapps and menthol cigarettes,

my sweet addiction.

I would dwell over

the burden of the world crashing down around

two lovers in lust,

you reassured me with your luscious lips,

that everything would be just fine.

I awaked suddenly,

no longer feeling a light-filled

heavy mass next to me

on our tempredic bed.

You left me for the last time,

the smell rose with the smoke

as I burnt the pillow covered in

innocence, childhood dreams, the

taste of a first loves kiss,

peppermint schnapps and menthol cigarettes.

I’ve let you go,

my sweet addiction.

I used to be the

roar of a crowd that gave

the band onstage

the heartache to sing—

and a couple drunken stumbles

across an open stage,

falling and catching

in a graceful dance.

 I am the

orange

red

yellow

blue

white fire

that scorches everything in its

wake, and

the black cloak wrapped around

death’s arms,

sweeping up friends and family,

ignoring pleads and cries.

I’ve forgotten the green

meadow grass that tickles

the barefeet of babies,

and the silver flute that a beautiful

girl raises to her ruby lips,

producing gorgeous sounds-

never smearing her lipstick.

But, I remember

that pink apple blossom tree,

in my grandma’s backyard and

the fact it survives,

although it’s surrounded by

hard, cracked, broken

concrete that makes me

want to be

the song that two lovers wake

to, still wrapped in

each other’s arms and

smiling, smiling, smiling

so bright the Sun

goes back to bed

and the memory foam mattress

that remembers

your shape even after

you’ve been gone for ten years.

I will be the

word lover again,

written in white

pressed and burned into the

blacks of your eyelids.

C. Rylant

I carry a picture

of a fresh faced child

full of unnamed fear

as she looks into a mirror that captures

“lost precious innocence.”

The camera could not capitalize on the

full impact of the

catastrophic event;

onlookers cannot see the change

within the young writer’s eyes

that looks out

as she realizes what she’ll be

taunted, haunted, hated

for in her later years:

“be different.”

I carry a mouth full of jokes,

ready to pour

and feed the lost child

who had become my best friend.

“Save her from destruction.”

I carry the lyrics

to the songs we whispered to each other,

the lyrics becoming her hand painted black hair,

and the melodies becoming her body

tangled up in my arms.

“Innocent until proven guilty.”

I carry the love

she showed me

through our best friend kisses on teenage angst necks

through our best kept secrets that leaked out through the

very pores of her body’s surface that

I skimmed with my old woman’s hand.

“Soft skin cuts more deep.”

I carry the hate

she poured over my open wounds,

like salt it burned and twisted my insides out

like oranges her name once tasted so sweet

rolling off of my freshman tongue,

and now it’s a bitter mushy mess,

like crackers left in salvia,

it’s hard to swallow.

“It is better to have love and have lost then to never have loved at all.”

I carry the hope

that I will one day

forgive her for the

backstabbing best friend

lies that fueled my tears and angry tweets,

forgive you for all the

harsh words, long nights, bawling, hate filled

I love you’s/I hate you’s

that filled my wide-open mouth.

I always begged for more.

“Foolish freshmen.”

I carry hurt

that cut my white bones until

the yellow mesh bone-marrow showed through.

“Best friends for never.”

I carry the memory of a very different woman,

her bright brilliant beautiful green eyes,

and a helpful hand and hurt smiles.

She slowly mended my broken bones

back to a reasonable normal

with her heart in my hand she

seemingly whispered into my

closed brain,

“Love her, fool.”

I carry the reluctance to fall

in love again,

slowly slipping, sliding, sloshing

my way through the muddy ground.

“Love is a battlefield.”

I carry the difficulty

of whispering to my parents

the deepest darkest dreariest

secret that would change their way of

opening their eyes in the morning

and closing their eyes at night.

“Lesbian.”

I carry the devoted love

that they always show me,

telling me they loved me all the same,

never changing their mind.

“Family is forever.”

I carry the woman next to me,

in the private pocket of trying to keep her

in my favorite brown jacket,

until the pocket became so filled with love that

I had to let her out.

“Can’t hide what isn’t yours.”

I carry the weight of graduation

like it was my most prized possession,

easily humping it through the treacherous ground,

finding comfort in it as my grandmother,

one of the only people I

tried to protect from my

foolish behavior, long nights, perfect grades,

joined hands with the one person

she believed in

more than me.

“Go. Just. Go.”

I carry the still image of

my child-hood companion, my fairy godmother, my angel

dressed in her Sundays best

with a wooden casket surrounding her.

“She looks exactly as she should.”

I carry a thousand and one tears

right inside my nasal cavity.

Not a drop is wasted on mourning over

her lifeless shell.

“I’m crying these tears for me.”

Most importantly,

I carry unconditional love.

I carry hope for a brighter future.

I carry the love of a beautiful and perfect woman.

I carry the secrets of all my make-believe lovers.

I carry myself:

with dignity.