These are what memories are made of; sepia photos of a baby born, while the dead of winter rages on; Nyquil dreams and scraped knees; catastrophic flooding, hope and delicate crystals given to me so I will love you like no other; voices in your head that weave musical lullabies, adventures which could never be true. A clock ticking at noon, vintage furniture, porcelain dolls, heavy drapery, velvet costumes that you dress me in, allude to your madness and your expensive tastes. Without match for my intuition, you trip over your words and phrases, singing songs to me that I did not believe, even when I was young. I see now your bruises. I have heard tales. You can’t live in a nightmare forever. I will love you anyways, stranger.

I sit alone and I eat my blueberry muffin alone and I long for days long past. My mother works in the garden and I sit alone in my kitchen. The television, on in the background. News stories from foreign countries and I chew away, feigning indifference. I sip on a cup of bath temperature tea. I hear my mother call my name, but it is very far away. I stand up, I feel dizzy and outside of my body. The walls are too yellow, the sun is too bright. I walk up to my room, away from the noise of the lawn mowers and children playing in the sunlight.

I reach my room and your name pops into my head. What you took from me, it is irreplaceable. I open my bedroom door. I stare into the mirror and I cannot recognize the face staring back at me. Hopeless, immortal, inconsequential. I forget what loneliness feels like; I now have only ice in my veins. I pick up a pair of scissors from my night stand. Cool and crisp, like that November evening when you sold my soul. When your voice led me astray, into the clean, calm air, and I was hoping for more. Snip snip snip. A few feathery pieces of blonde hair fall to the floor. I am dazzled by the way they drift lightly, as if defying gravity.

I see that my masterpiece is ragged, unprofessionally done, a mess. I do not care. I look different. Feel different. I am different.

I crawl under my sheets although it is nearly two in the afternoon. I sift myself against the cool sheets, my soft pillow, cuddling me back. I hear footsteps on the stairs. I picture you, coming into my room, out of your cell and back into my life and my mind and you tell me I look ugly and I tell you that I am, it’s true.

You walk away. You are only a breeze, as the door closes behind you. A sad melody plays from my ballerina jewelry box. Strangers try to fix me. I am unfixable. Because I do not want help.

I like words. Simple pixels on a computer screen that can make you feel exactly how your supposed to in exactly that moment, telling you exactly what you need to hear. I like drawings. Sketches that dance across a page, that love you when there is no one else. I like windows. When it is drizzling outside, catching a cold, catching a cab. I like dreams. Floating and dropping and fizzling away.

away.

away.

away.

Through the glow of the neon lights, the t.v. on in the background, selling me your soul. You remove your mask to reveal something ugly. Pretentious. Something that is never going to call me again. You kiss my neck. My extremities are frozen. My skin is pale. Through the snow and the ice, I came here. Walked like a pilgrimage, through the promise land, to your bed. Your skin is smooth, you ignore my shaking, a wolf howls in the background. When it is over, I go home. Through the snow and the ice. I am frozen.

I find the outdoors terribly overwhelming, all trees and grass and children playing, laughing with their friends, laughing at me. I want to go back inside, back to where the lights are dimmed low and my mind can rest and warmth and comfort can seep and settle into my bones. I once decided that anything that required a heartbeat was not for me to meddle with. I found that I lost track of thought, time, energy. I could die in an instant. Death, with you in between my thighs, in the middle of the night, sighing. Candle lit midnight. Stationary at noon. I ask the world to slow, to relax, to adjust to my needs. I am naive and dull.

my writing is a mess

a scrawl across a white notepad

with thin blue lines

so my words stand straight

up right & correct

like they went to boarding school

instead of public

and my writing is messy

like those boarding school kids

just went to college

and now don’t know

how to stand up straight

or be sober

ever again

On a beautiful day like this, we welcome new life into the world. New hopes and new dreams to follow. New love. New fears. New new new. You are small and new and beautiful.

Who are you when we are out in the dark, dancing the night away with strangers and sweat induced coma and dangerous thoughts that circle your mind. Who are you when we are sitting on the bus, holding hands and crying ourselves to sleep and singing that melody that we listen to every day because it reminds us of when times were good. Who are you when we are alone and who are you when you are with others and I am not around? Who are you when we are sitting under that willow tree, falling in love and not admitting it and falling out of love and throwing it in each other’s faces. Who are you when we sip tea on my favourite checkered couch, drowning in who we used to be and the comfort of knowing what to expect. Who are you when you think of the way my nails feel scratching your shoulders and holding you closer to me and you are kissing my neck. Who are you when we walk around in the perilous part of town, lights dimmed and you are holding me, whispering in my ear, and knowing full well what you are doing to me.

awake since 4am, eyes dry, kitten going crazy, so thirsty, late for work, forgetting things I repeated to myself over and over not to forget, falling in love with words, hungry, why am I always like this? I see no color. I feel no wind. I know it’s there. lectures and let downs, cheerios, yogurt, mountains in the background. I live near the beach but I have not been to it yet. this is where I’m meant to be, right?

Eyes too close together, hydrangea’s in the backyard.

This is my home; I feel it when I come here.

Dancing like lunatics;

Memories;

This is my home.