Women Are Permeable

She carried herself with a meek sense of confidence that somehow seemed to surprise her conversation partners when her mouth remained tightly shut, straight teeth like bricks holding  in the words floating around her throat. Her shoulders were dusted with freckles, marking careless summers in a field somewhere, where the hot sun and company's laughter made her forget to utilize a tree every once in a while. Her long legs appeared to permanently house old, scattered bruises nestled deep within her paper skin, and exactly three mosquito bites that told anyone who noticed them "I stayed outside just the right amount". Her heedful heart beat cautiously in her chest, with great concern for a sudden and dramatic burst of emotion that might force stagnant blood out of the holes that had been so carefully stitched back up.

She, like most women, was permeable.

A man sees me across the room
He will drink me in with his eyes
and shape my insides into something he thinks might save him
And I will exhale my insecurities
Waiting for gravity to unhinge my chest
And bear to him my fragile bones.
His eyes will peel back
His face will sink in
His heart will set low
And his mouth will open and sing to me the disappointment he feels
In the long limbs and messy hair that let the light out too soon.

Loving You...When You're You

Fingers mindlessly playing together and I carry this secret with me
Across the street,
Through the farmer's market,
Your fingers whispering stories to my skin
Time slides across the sunny skyline
Like melting butter across a pan
I am squinting into the sun to see you
But I forgot that you are the sun.
Your voice is true and deep
And I want to wrap myself in the warmth of your words.
"I love you" tastes like the strawberry jam
They are selling from the cracked glass jars
Carefully placed on the crooked table-
It seems a little silly
And sounds a little creaky
But from across the black hot parking lot,
It looks like a secret between two smiling mouths.

Two Years

"Tomorrow I am going to make an appointment with a counselor". I penned this in my journal almost exactly two years ago. I remember this moment well. I was living in the dorms, it was a late week night and my roommate was in her loft, exhaling heavily indicating that she was deep into sleep. I was suppressing sobs and feeling helpless. This was a low point in my life, although I can't quite remember why. I had spent the early evening walking around alone in the rain, with my hood up and my heart heavy as I passed smiling faces, laughing and running together to someplace dry and warm. There have been a lot of similar moments since that one, wet and cold. Standing, walking, biking, driving alone - feeling like I'm standing behind some fogged up, murky window looking out at bright, crisp, and clear happiness. "Simple and happy - what is that, and will I ever have it?" Something else that has appeared in my journal over and over.

What happened after that night of dark thoughts and hopeless feelings? Why did I never make that appointment? I can't quite remember the next morning. I imagine myself waking up to the natural light of the sun, enjoying the crunch of snow under my boots while wrapped up to my neck in warmth, eating a warm and filling breakfast, chatting with my friends, and convincing myself that I was okay. I wonder how many times I've done that over the last two years?

I am often times frightened of my own dark thoughts. They are starting to swallow me whole, chewing up and spitting back out my relationships and future. When I reflect back on my writings, I am shocked at how long it took me to connect the dots. Denial is a powerful, blinding thing - but now it's time to take back my happiness and whatever else has run away since then.

Loving You...In Your Depressive State

What happened to your eyes?
They've gone away for a while.
Words pour from my mouth excitedly
In anticipation of seeing you again.
But my face is clean, cold glass to you
And my words are rocks falling hard.
"I love you", I say, tender and quiet.
You mirror my words but the sound is muffled
Because I'm watching the shadow loom over your face
I'm watching the heaviness weigh you to the ground.
I grab at your hands but your veins turn black
And I watch in horror as the poison trickles downwards,
Thick and hot.
I'm trying to breathe you in,
But when you exhale ash fills my mouth.
I choke on my words trying to find you
But I can hear the bones in us both grating to dust.
What happened to your eyes?
I used to feel you moving.
I can't remember the last time you've stirred.

Re: My Need to Write More

Time since I've written anything: weeks.
Time since I've written here: days.

My need for writing is growing stronger than ever. Sometimes I feel like I ache for it. I complaint about my time restraints: no time to myself, no time to relax, not seeing my boyfriend for seven consecutive days. But I do manage to find time for things that won't ever matter in the long run. I clock seconds and minutes just scrolling mindlessly, quickly, through social media in intermittent spurts. It's time to give that up, save those precious seconds of my day, for writing and releasing myself with my words.

Starting now.

I Need To Let This Out

I need to let this out (I'd like to scream it at the top of the tallest mountain, but I'll take what I can get): I am very much in love with the most genuine, considerate, and intelligent person I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. I've never wanted a person to be a part of my future more. And now, for some self meditation and some late night yoga. I'll be back soon, blogger. It's been a while, but I'm still here. Just quiet.