something I wrote at camp-

untitled 

ghosts of a life that

used to be.

pine-needle thin sticks, blurred

around the edges, standing

tall, proud, broken, burned.

still they endure, blackened and

dead they may be but maybe

not.

maybe the expanses of charcoal-trees could be

redeemed, grow into a forest of dreams that died-

shot down by bullets from guns belonging to a 

Thing Called Reality-

dreams that died, but rose again.

untitled

sometimes I think I grew up without you,

left you behind in the days of four feet tall and playing pretend.

sometimes I envy you for it, you seem to still see the world in black and white, still think that what you give is what you get (what you deserve)

sometimes I envy you for it, your still-young imagination lets you roleplay and improvise without feeling like a little kid and being ashamed of it.

sometimes I almost hate you for it (but I could never hate you, never, so I don't know what the right word is)

sometimes I guess I just get frustrated. I grew up more than you did and it's not the same when you come over

when I'd rather just eavesdrop on the grownups (or maybe add something) rather than color in books with alcohol markers not meant for this sort of thing

rather than splash color behind lines and break them.

maybe it's something that comes with being a younger sibling, this kind of innocence, because no matter how old you get, you'll always be the baby.

(take it from an older sibling, and take it as a good thing) 

sometimes I think you grew up without me,

left me behind in the days of elementary school and texts that made sense to me (not the kind with too many abbreviations and not enough spelling)

sometimes I get frustrated, sometimes I get mad, that you're on social media and getting a phone this Saturday

that you shop at places like Brandy Melville and wear your shorts so short and your tops even shorter

or maybe I just envy you for that, because I'm not brave enough to do any of those things, to even want any of those things

because maybe I'm a little scared of devolving into a girl who fits the stereotype.

no, I am scared of devolving into a nameless faceless brainless perfect teenage girl in a stereotype I've tried so desperately to break out of

so sometimes I envy you for those things, for not being trapped by your thoughts and your fears, sometimes I envy you for giving yourself that freedom.

remember that day you tried to teach me that dance your learned and I didn't even try? we laughed about it later, about my uncoordinated hand waving and random clapping

but I think I hurt us both, that day, those minutes, and I'm sorry.

sometimes I think that we're not best friends anymore.

that's okay with me. I still miss you sometimes.

but we're different people than the two tiny five year olds who flew so high on the swings and skipped so many monkey bars and played so many games of tag

we're different people then the three foot something girls who stepped into the same classroom on the first day of school in two thousand thirteen.

I still love you, though

don't think I'll ever stop.

you were, after all, my first friend. 

I notice lots of things

Like the rose gold hue that filtered through my window on morning, that I've never seen since

Or a just so floral arrangement that delights the eye

The first robin trilling, announcing that Maiden Spring will bless the earth with her charm again 

A crisp morning in early autumn, not quite hot or cold

The light dancing on a ripple

The soft fuzz of my blanket

There is so much more that I could say, but my journal would fill up to the very last page

And I have many more poems to write so that would be inconvenient

I know that you, reader, can see many more beautiful things

That not even a library could document

You will add to the never ending poem, just like I did, and all those who came before me.

We've giving you the headstart

Now it is your turn 

Is Heaven really all it's cracked out to be?

I've been waiting for years, all because of one simple line; 

But the more I think about it, the more I don't want to think. 

I've always loved Revelation, but it makes me wonder too much.

One day I decided it didn't matter;

God is a nebulous force, and I, a mere human,

Could never hope to understand

So that's that, and no more questions asked.

I'd nearly forgotten until going back to religious camp.

Like, 'Oh yeah, we're all supposed to be looking forward to that.

Heaven, huh. Whoops... I guess I kinda forgot.'

I'm not sure how to feel about that.

It reminds me that nothing is ever as perfect as it seems

And I wonder, is the way Heaven ends up 'perfect'

Because all the bad thoughts are simply unable to enter your mind

Wouldn't that take everything that makes me, me, away? 

What would I be without the constant voices in the back of my head

Nit-picking and critically remarking on an imperfect world?

What would I be without a need for improvement, or something to create?

What's the point of eternal life if there's nothing to think while living it?

If that's what Heaven is like, I'm not sure I want it;

Either so perfect there's nothing to think,

or you're physically unable to think the things you want.

I'm just not sure I want torture in a lake of fire either...

the rain pours down over us all

and I wonder how we all got so

lost

whatever happened to lead us here

all together yet feeling so very alone- i

laugh

isn't fate a such cruel mistress?

to make us all suffer here together 

How do I handle this?

My steps are light

A stupid grin

Accidently stealing my lips

I can't stop the bubbly feeling

That feather-light soft weightlessness

Bolstering my every movement

That's just what happens when I see you

Your crooked smile

Melting into something unbelievable adorable

The hair that you've been trying to grow out

Swish behind your ear with the flick of a wrist

Your every fluid movement and the sweet

Softness at the end of each curling word you say

It makes me giddy beyond belief

But then I turn a corner

And see my friend crying,

'What if no one likes me when I change?'

'I will, I'm always here for y-'

They're gone, it's like I don't exist

And nothing I say will make you feel any better 

How am I supposed to help

When I don't have any presence of my own? 

continue down the hall

I see those pretty figures, skilled and extroverted 

[I'm not perfect either but-]

'Help! Hey what does ###### mean?' 

[Wait! I... I'm not su-] 

'Hey, aren't you | | | | |, why are you always so >>>>>' 

[I-] 

'Ugh, you. Why can't you be more like ********?'  

[...]

[Sure, I'm not perfect either]

[I bumble my way through life, pretending to know]

[I just want to help others, even if I don't understand them entirely]

[I try not to want what I don't have, try to remember to improve, to make do] 

[I try not to hate others for stuff they can't control]

[I'm nothing special, I'm not good at anything]

[I wish I were more, that I was something, that I was enough]

[I wish I could be something worthy of brightening your life like you do for me] 

I'm confused

I shouldn't be

I've explained this to myself so many times 

But now I'm back to square one

It's not that it's 

Necessarily bad 

It's just not for me...

orthat'swhatithoughtbutnow-

Stop. Breath. Ok?

I'm religious so I shouldn't be questioning this 

I shouldn't be 'queer,' right? 

That's what I was trying to say before

But???

Earlier I convinced myself

I don't like you, it's just...

I admire you a lot, and really respect and look up to you

That's all, I'm just 'confused' 

Besides, what about that one guy?

What do you mean he doesn't count?

Because he's 2D?

Ridiculous. 

I-

There's a misunderstanding, I just like you as a cool friend

That's all.

But how do I explain the butterflies that burst in my chest

And terrorise my stomach

Whenever I see you?

...

Well-

What could be the cause for my bright red face and racing heart?

Ah... So, you see the thing is- 

Why is it I make a soft expression when I think you aren't looking

But glare when anyone else is around?

Or stare in awe when you flip your hair or say literally anything at all ?

And bite my lip when I see so much as a picture of you,

While the corners of my lips give me away whenever you smile or laugh? 

W-what kind of question even is that?!?! 

IN CONCLUSION.

There is nothing strange going on. And no, I never liked anyone anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~

This is basically a dramatic reenactment of the voices in my head with added overly-obvious exaggerations for the sake of humour. But seriously, I'm having a slight dilemma. :' ) 

if i could give you the world (i would) 

years later we'll probably look back on this and laugh about it, me a little bit bitterly, you a little bit sadly

about the time a girl begged her parents to get her to the first days of seventh grade and they bought her a plane ticket

i would yell at them, if she wanted me to.

i would tell them exactly what i thought of their parenting, if she wanted me to.

.

years later we'll probably look back on this and smile in disbelief, me a little bit angrily, you a little bit sadly

about the time a girl was left on a park bench to wait for a friend who didn't know she was there

if she wanted me to, i would tell them exactly how unsafe it is to leave an eleven-year-old child in a public park.

if she wanted me to, i'd drive out to stargaze and scream at the sky and ask the universe why until it gave me an answer.

. 

years later, i'll probably glare at the universe and you'll tell me it's okay (it's not) while we talk about

the girl who had to go through her parents' emails to find the ones about the dress code and the textbooks and the school supplies

i would have done it for her, if she wanted me to.

i would have done anything for her, if she wanted me to.

.

years later, we might read this poem together and i would tell you that i stand by everything i said.

because you deserve more than this.

you deserve more than parents you are more responsible than, more than a mother who can't even get organized enough to get you an appointment with a therapist you were brave enough to ask for

you deserve more than a dad who's okay with leaving you on park benches with only a text to the mother of the friend you were supposed to meet

you deserve parents who take the time to read school emails and get you to class on time

you deserve so much more.

.

and i would do anything you want me to, like phoebe bridgers sings in that song i haven't showed you yet.