stronger

stronger I need to be

like the roots of the maple,

grounding. the

limbs of the laborer never quit.

they're far stronger than I

to not need you

would be easier, I think, now.

"give me more" sounds selfish,

how do I find another way to say it?

I'm picturing the roundish petals

of the flushed pink roses you gave me this winter past,

and I'm wondering why not now?

sometimes I miss having someone who understands and relates like you did

"I myself am made of flaws, stitched together by good intentions."

I'm starting to believe that, for me, life is a series of internal conflicts, and my learned response is to push everybody out. Sometimes, somebody reaches out and pulls me back into the thick of it. Sometimes they let me go. And it's just relief and disappointment, relief and disappointment, over and over again.

braindump to be refined later

Sometimes I feel like a lily.

Other times, I feel like a rose.

Lily--starts out nondescript,

bundled tight, blooming glory

controlled, clasped close.

Until suddenly, the insides are exposed,

and the flower is beautiful,

and she hides nothing, not even the seeds

that got her here.

bursting with energy.

Rose-- delicate,

romantic,

stunningly beautiful--

a breathtaking specimen

that can stand alone

and perhaps be even more beautiful.

Layered, mesmerizing.

Thorned without shame.

Happy Third of July

the scent of scorched timber

lingers strong in my hair.

last night I lit the fuse

for the first time.

it wasn't as hard as I thought it would be

it was just fitting in in my own quiet way.

you may have sat a little farther away in the beginning

than I would've liked,

the patio furniture felt cold.

but I barely give a voice to the steady murmur of anxiety.

I felt it as we got into your car and headed out--

the nerves

like a part of me, inseparable,

maybe it really is just a part of me--

I can't really be mad at you for not making me feel like I belonged,

after all it's not your battle.

stepping outside of the box

was a good idea, even if I feel awkward

like an animal in the wrong exhibit

like a different species all together.

you kissed me at the end of the night

harder than usual. another diversion from

the norm. your lips couldn't have tried any harder

to conjoin us,

and I wonder why I wonder why

you would want to be a part of someone with this incessant trepidation

about all unfamiliar.

but then I remember the way I hold your face and kiss you

and look in your eyes and tell you it will be alright,

steady and consistent when you need me to be,

and maybe that's why.

meh, mind-dump

I lose myself from time to time,

forgetting what I'm all about.

The dull clamor of anxiety

overtakes my ability to

accurately perceive myself.

I start asking him questions:

Why do you love me?

Who do you think I am?

What is it about me that makes me so goddamn special?

He mistakes it for insecurity in our relationship

and tells me to stop trying to quantify his love.

It's really just me being lost

when it comes to myself.

I don't remember

what I look like without looking in the mirror.

I couldn't tell you

how my voice sounds.

I don't know if I'm religious,

if I have friends,

what I like to eat,

or how to make scrambled eggs.

What's my phone number?

Who the fuck am I?

What a frenzy in my chest,

and I just want clarity.

I think he thinks I'm too intense sometimes.

But Jesus Christ, times like these are scary as I

clutch to what others tell me about who I am,

even small comments in passing. And I

analyze them.

I'm too scared to start going back to Church,

I think it might be a crutch for some people,

and I don't want to rely on anything

but myself.

Whoever that is. So I guess Church isn't an option.

this memory scares me but I'm facing it

teal satin dress, hugging every curve. sleeveless, skin on display for the room. the room has too many eyes I can't quite identify.

blushing pink heels, matching flush all over my face.

silver and pearl tiara.

"Where is she?" you wondered. Well damn, it took you long enough to worry about me. It can be pathetic what meager moments I savored, tiny details I twisted into concern.

I wasn't sure who to hug first. I threw my arms around my best friend after a panicked moment. You seemed offended. Looking back, I'm a little annoyed that you'd expect the first hug. Especially after avoiding me for an entire semester. As if I wasn't everything you'd hoped for. As if I wasn't good enough for you.

Did I need a haircut? Was I too needy? Can I let it all go almost 3 years later after stumbling across the diary entry that reminded me? I guess not, because here I am, writing about it like it occurred just yesterday.

Finally, I got to the wine. The guy Lauren wound up dating months later after we broke up got it open. I settled for his cousin when you stopped being an option. God, what a horrible idea. Kicking myself for that choice, too. But you and I, we were never a sure thing the first go 'round.

I'm walking barefoot up the steps. You're worried about me cutting my feet. I'm surprised again that you care, so I hang onto the moment in my mind like a grain of sand worth a million dollars.

Three solo cups deep, I'm outside sitting on your lap. Was this the first time? I'm wearing your sweatshirt. I'm smoking a cigar.

You left first, and I cried. Your fingers were all over me in the back seat. For what?

You tried to be nice to me on my birthday, saying you'd be back for Christmas break and we would see each other. I'm thinking you knew what was going to happen when we saw each other. I feel like an idiot, still, even though we bridged the gaps after some time apart. I'm still feeling dumb. I'm wanting to go back and give myself strength to stand up for myself.

Your friend gave me 20$ for my birthday, offered me a sober ride home. That's care. I said no thanks, I had a girlfriend driving me home.

Lauren said you just didn't seem like an emotional guy, a relationship guy. I shrugged her off, I lied to myself. You weren't then.

You were texting me, calling me princess, telling me I was beautiful, filling my head with lies that every guy in the room wished I were their girlfriend. You were being nice to me for the first time in five months, since we first got together. Nobody should ever have to wait like I did. Nobody.

I can't believe that's what we were. I'm so glad we aren't anymore, but I'm still scared of it. I'm scared that we were both that down and out, I'm scared it could happen again. That's my most dreaded memory, in print, and it's the scariest, weirdest combination of details ever recorded by my hand. I don't think it will ever be like that again, but if it is, I hope I recognize what I deserve, and fight for it.