This world is going to swallow me whole

THIS IS WHERE YOU CAN FIND ME NOW.

Fri, 05 Aug 2011 21:25:16 -0500

i will live with the stars someday

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 19:40:00 -0600

The truth is that I’ve got secrets and I’ve got baggage just like you do. I’m insecure and I don’t always know what the hell I’m doing, but that never stops me from trying. I might fall apart, I might feel like giving up and never doing anything with my life, but dammit, I never stop picking myself up and reaching for that far off moon. My nana once said, “You’ll live up there with the stars someday, Brittani. You will. I know it.” And ever since then I’ve never stopped trying to jump that high. I’ve acquired broken bones and skinned up knees and more than a little heartbreak, but that’s life, isn’t it? You don’t get the good times without the bad. You don’t know what true happiness is unless you’ve known sadness. So I’ll take these broken bones and I’ll mend them. Maybe they’ll end up a little bit crooked, maybe my scars will never fully heal over, but that won’t matter. My scars and my flaws are proof that I’ve lived. And if there is one thing I can promise you it’s this: I will never stop setting my sights on that far off moon. I will never stop trying to reach those stars.

Sometimes I sit here in this chair of mine and I find that my mind just goes around and around in...

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 19:07:00 -0600

Sometimes I sit here in this chair of mine and I find that my mind just goes around and around in circles. I think and think and think, but I always end up right back where I started. I have a million and one things I want to do, but how in the world am I supposed to pick which one to do first? I want to go to the library and leave notes in every single book that I’ve read that I can find. I want to write on mirrors, “You’re beautiful. Don’t let anyone ever tell you differently.” I want to travel the world, meet new people, stay at lovely little bed and breakfasts and be charmed by the locals. I want to read every book that I haven’t read yet. I want to go up to strangers and talk to them until they’re no longer strangers. I want to help this beautiful and ugly world somehow. I want to inspire someone. I want to teach someone to look beneath the surface. I want to learn. I want to learn everything that I can from this world. I want to live, and that’s the hardest damn thing in the world. Most of us just survive, just stumble our way through our entire life, constantly saying, “I’ll do this later or when I have more time or money,” but what we don’t realize is that later has already passed us by. Life is passing us by every second we sit there in our chairs and think in circles that never stop turning.

constellation of freckles

Tue, 22 Feb 2011 12:10:00 -0600

I’ve got a constellation of freckles and the weight of the world on these two shoulders of mine. The freckles are from spending too much time out in the sun on a hot summer day — the sun isn’t very forgiving. The weight of the world is something that I’ve always carried with me. I can’t remember a day without it’s huge weight resting on my shoulders. I once thought that I had found someone to share that weight with me, a curious blue eyed boy that spent most of his time lost in his own thoughts, only occasionally looking up in surprise as if he wasn’t where he thought he should be. But that blue eyed boy shied away when I started to hand him some of the weight. He was too scared, too fragile, and so I continued to carry the weight on my own. A stranger came up to me once and asked me about it. “How does it feel,” he asked, “carrying all of that weight around on those tiny shoulders of yours?” I smiled at him and answered in the only way that I knew how, “It feels like home.”

“Damaged goods,” Anna said as her hands tightened around her cup of tea....

Wed, 16 Feb 2011 12:08:00 -0600

“Damaged goods,” Anna said as her hands tightened around her cup of tea. “That’s all I am now, really.”

He looked at her — not the usual casual glance, but really looked. Her hair needed a trim and there were bags under her eyes that looked like they weighed at least a pound. Her nails were chipped and bitten to the quick and her mouth had taken on a permanent frown. He thought she was beautiful, but knew she would never be able to see what he saw in her.

He took a step toward her and cautiously put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re beautiful, you know.”

Her laugh was quick and sharp. “I’m nowhere near beautiful, Christian. You’re just seeing things.”

“No, really,” he said urgently. “I wish you could see it. I wish you could see yourself through my eyes.”

Anna turned around and looked him in the eye. “What are you trying to say?” she asked.

“I love you, Anna, and you’re the only one that sees yourself as damaged goods.” He gently brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Will you let me take care of you?”

She set her forgotten tea cup down on the window sill and placed her hands on his shoulders. “I don’t know about taking care of me, but I’ll let you kiss me, if you want.”

“Hearts are fragile things,” my nana always told me as I sat on her lap before she...

Sat, 05 Feb 2011 20:09:40 -0600

“Hearts are fragile things,” my nana always told me as I sat on her lap before she tucked me into bed each night. I believed her then — of course everything my nana told me was the truth — but now I don’t think that I do. Sure, hearts are fragile at first glance, but we put them through hell, don’t we? They get bruised and broken, battered and abused. We fall in and out of love more times than we can count and our hearts they just keep right on beating, even after all the pain and the heartbreak we put them through. We’re constantly giving pieces of our heart out to others, only to have them returned with cracks and scars all over them, but still our hearts keep pumping blood throughout our system. We feel so much and we hurt so deeply, but our hearts never give up on us. We’re the ones that give up on them ninety eight percent of the time. So I don’t think I’ll tell my kids that hearts are fragile things. No, instead I’ll whisper in their ears, “Hearts are the strongest things in this world. Don’t ever give up on them, because they’ll never ever give up on you.” Maybe they’ll pass that on to their children, too.

Whenever I take off my shoes around other people and they notice the blisters and the calluses and...

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 02:28:00 -0600

Whenever I take off my shoes around other people and they notice the blisters and the calluses and the scars on my toes, they inevitably ask how I got them with just a tiny bit of shock in their voice. I always smile, look down at my feet, and say, “A dancer’s feet are never pretty.” Their answers never vary much. It’s always, “Wow. Why would you do that to yourself?” or “It’s not worth it,” or “You’re crazy.” I just shake my head and laugh because they’ll never understand that to me, just dancing for five seconds is worth all of the pain and all of the blisters you’ll find on my toes. In fact, I’m proud of them.

My problem always seems to be that I give too much of myself much too soon. I’m usually more...

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 02:24:00 -0600

My problem always seems to be that I give too much of myself much too soon. I’m usually more than a little in love with a person by the time we say hello — let’s not even talk about how hard I fall once we really start talking. I’m always holding on when I should be letting go, leaning on a shoulder when I should be standing up straight, giving too much and taking too little. I guess the truth of the matter is that I don’t want to be forgotten. This world is such a huge place and there are so many people out there and I just don’t want to fade into the background, you know? I want more than a tiny bit of recognition as we pass on the street, more than a vague, “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” as we bump into each other at the supermarket. No one likes to be forgotten, right? Please, please don’t forget about me.

I’ve held on to this key for what feels like years, but...

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 02:11:00 -0600

I’ve held on to this key for what feels like years, but really has only been a few short months. You gave it to me as you packed your bags and jokingly said, “That’s the key to my heart, Abby. Don’t lose it.” The sad thing is is that deep down inside, I really wish that this was a key to your heart. I guess that’s why I’ve kept it held tight to my chest when other girls would have lost it the moment you left. You would never trust anyone with the key to your heart, though, and I’m a fool to even consider your playful banter to be true. I had this coming, I know. We established rules long before we first fell into my bed together, so hot and needy. What we had was only physical — something to hold us over during those humid summer nights. We weren’t supposed to let silly things like emotions get in the way. My heart never listened to a word my head tried to say, though. Before I knew it I was head over heels over head in love with you and you were packing your bags to go.

I hope that one day I can lose this key of yours, but for now I’ll keep it hidden under my pillow and pretend that one day you’ll come looking for it. Maybe you’ll even let me keep it.

Photo

Mon, 31 Jan 2011 01:54:01 -0600

It was three o’ clock in the afternoon and I had been...

Wed, 26 Jan 2011 22:46:00 -0600

It was three o’ clock in the afternoon and I had been waiting at our window for what felt like ages. Every other day, you seemed to get home so fast, but that day time slowed down. It always does that — when you want something to get here faster, the hours become days and the minutes become hours. I had a secret to tell you that day, something that I wanted to shout from the rooftops because it filled me up from the inside out and I didn’t see how I could keep my secret held tight inside of me for much longer.

An hour or so later, and you still weren’t home. I was starting to get worried — you were never ever late. My mind began to conjure up all sorts of horrible images. I picked up the phone to call your cell, but before I could dial the first number it began to ring. I jumped, startled. I took a few calming breaths, then I answered the phone. “Hello?” I said. “H-hello, Amy. I’ve got some bad news,” the local sheriff said with grief in his voice. A few sentences later, my world began to fall apart.

I never got to tell you my secret. You’ll never know about this child of ours that’s growing inside of me. You’ll never see his smile or his first steps. He’ll never know his daddy. We won’t argue over what to name him or how to dress him or when to potty train him. I’ll do all of that alone, all the while wishing you had left work just a few minutes later so you never would have been in that trucks way. I’ll never again wake up with you beside me or see you smile or wait for you to come home from work.

I can barely find the will to get out of bed anymore. I avoid the window at all costs.

my winter boy

Mon, 24 Jan 2011 23:36:00 -0600

What we shared was only for the winter months, for those long nights and short days that were mind-numbingly cold at times. The months that used to be so bleak and unforgiving became the brightest months of the year for me. With the cold came you, and with you came the warmth that filled my entire body, setting me aflame. Most of our time was spent in front of the fire with only air separating your skin from mine, and I never wanted anything more. You whispered, “I love you,” for the first time on one of those cold winter nights in front of the fire when we burrowed underneath blankets to keep warm, and all I could do was smile and press my body closer to yours. I didn’t want to cheapen the words by saying “too.” I wanted to wait until I could say those three little words without them being an obligation. And so on the last day of winter, as you were packing to leave once again, I grabbed you from behind and brought your ear down to my lips and whispered, “I love you. I thought you ought to know.” We spent our last hours together in front of the fire like old times, with nothing but the air to separate our skin, and I never wanted anything more.

scars and flaws

Mon, 24 Jan 2011 02:17:00 -0600

Maybe my feet are a little pigeon-toed and maybe I trip and stumble over my words and invisible cracks in the sidewalk. Maybe I never know what to say or how to react or when to step away from it all. Maybe my hair is always a mess and my tights are always ruined. So what? Maybe I find that beautiful and maybe, just maybe, someone else out there does too. Because, you see, I think perfection is overrated. Flaws and scars and mess ups are so much more beautiful, so much more real, than anyone’s idea of perfection could ever be. These scars I have on my legs from tripping one too many times over my own two feet are proof that I’ve lived, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything. Each scar has it’s own story and maybe one day a stranger will strike up a conversation with me about my scars, and from that day on there would never be a day that that once-a-stranger and I didn’t talk. So, can’t you see? Your scars and your flaws can change your life for the better. Don’t ever wish them away.

we just keep living

Sun, 23 Jan 2011 01:36:00 -0600

I am stitched together with skin and bones and heartfelt wishes and half-written stories. My hands are shaky and my breath is weak, but my heart it just keeps beating. Yes, there are days that I just want to give up and spend my life as a hermit, never talking, never having any human contact, never doing anything more than reading books and getting lost in my own little world, but I never stop breathing. “You can’t get hurt if you don’t depend on anyone.” And, oh, I’m getting so tired of being hurt. My heart, it just keeps beating inside this broken little chest of mine, no matter how many times a day I feel like giving up. It’s funny how the heart keeps beating and we keep breathing even when we no longer want to. The body refuses to give up even when every last bit of hope has been beaten out of our weary little hearts. It continues to fight even when we no longer raise our hands to defend ourselves against life’s blows. There’s beauty in that, isn’t there?

bright lights

Fri, 21 Jan 2011 19:32:00 -0600

When I was younger, I believed that the bright lights on your car would literally blind someone. I always thought that it was a horrible idea. Why would you give someone the power to blind another with only the push of a button? Some people don’t deserve that kind of power and responsibility. I was only six years old, but I was already beginning to understand that the world wasn’t always a nice place to be. I already knew that there were bad people out there, and that those bad people liked to hurt others. Did you have to pass some kind of test to be able to use the bright lights? I thought so. It seemed like the only logical thing to do in my six year old mind. What’s funny is that even though I thought the lights would literally blind you, whenever a car would pass by us at night, I couldn’t help but peek through the fingers that I placed over my face. I guess we always need that conformation that something horrible is out there. If we don’t see it with our own two eyes — even if that would be the last thing we saw — we won’t believe it.

rubbed raw

Tue, 18 Jan 2011 22:06:00 -0600

Lately I’ve been feeling like every time I step out into the world, I’m being rubbed raw. Some days I just can’t take people and life and all the complicated messes that go hand in hand with both of those things. My skin feels like it’s peeling, layer by layer, until one day I’m going to be standing there, only muscle tissue and veins. How can I survive in the world like that? One touch, and I’ll fall apart. So, please, don’t touch me. Please, don’t come any closer. Please, just leave me alone with my books and my thoughts. I’m barely hanging on to this skin of mine. One more touch, one more harsh word, and I can’t promise that I’ll be here when you wake up tomorrow.

I guess that’s a promise no one can keep, though. We don’t get any kind of guarantee that we’ll be here when the sun rises in the morning or when the sun sets in the evening. We don’t get a death certificate that says, “This is how and when and why you’re going to die. Have a nice life, enjoy it while you can.” We’re only guaranteed the second that we’re in, and even that is fleeting. So I’ll hold on tight to this skin of mine, and you hold on tight to yours. And whatever you do, don’t let them rub you raw.

we're human and we're beautiful

Sat, 15 Jan 2011 16:01:00 -0600

Sometimes I feel so much that I want to take my heart out and lock it up tight in a cardboard box for a little while. Sometimes the world just gets to be too much, you know? And I just want to hide underneath my blankets until it all goes away. Life doesn’t stop for anyone, though, and if I do that, I’m only hurting myself. You can’t just throw your hands up and say, “I’m through!” You can’t place your heart in a box because without that beating heart, you’re only a shell of your former self. We always want to avoid the pain and the anguish, but can’t you see that that’s what makes us beautiful? Our ability to feel so deeply, right down to the bottom of our toes, and our ability to mourn so completely that it becomes a physical ache, that’s what makes us human. And we humans are so damn beautiful, even though we don’t recognize it. Sure, we’re broken seventy percent of the time, but there’s beauty in that, too, if you know where to look.

potential

Tue, 11 Jan 2011 01:29:00 -0600

We’ve got such potential buried in these bodies of ours, did you know? We’re capable of so many things. I mean, just think about it. Think about your eyes and all they can see. Sure, not everything is beautiful and there are some things in this world we should never have to look at, but you’ve got that potential to see so many of the truly wonderful things out there. You can see a loved one’s smile or a rainbow up there with the sun. You can look at the stars way up high in the sky and you can read a book someone has created with their own two hands. Think about your nose and all the delicious things you can smell. Sure, sometimes you want to throw up because you smell something so horrible, but just imagine what the air smells like after it’s rained or the smell of warm cookies coming out of the oven. That’s worth the bad smells, right? You’ve got two ears on either side of your head and with those ears you can hear so many awe-inspiring things. You can hear a baby laugh or a song that seems to say exactly what you need to hear. You can listen to the advice someone gives you when everything is falling apart and you can enjoy the sound of your loved one’s voice — something precious and all their own. And you’ve got two hands at the end of each arm and those hands are capable of so many things. You can hold someone, touch their skin, write a letter, build something, comfort someone, create something — all those things and more with those two little hands of yours. You’ve got two feet that can take you anywhere you want to go. You can dance, you can jump, you can run in the rain. So, don’t you see? We’ve got so much potential in these bodies of ours. Go use it.

not live, just survive

Mon, 10 Jan 2011 01:19:00 -0600

Sometimes(on days that end in “y”), you wake up and you’ve got this ache deep down inside your chest. It’s right there where your heart is supposed to be, you know? It’s heavy and it seems to keep you from breathing properly, but how the hell are you supposed to get it out? You can’t very well rip out your heart and still survive. And god, all you want to do is survive — not live, just survive, that’s all. But you’ve got this ache where your heart used to be, like you’re missing a place that doesn’t exist or you’re reaching for someone that was never there and you have no idea how to get to that person or that place. Surely that’s the only thing that can ease this ache. But how in the world are you supposed to search for something that doesn’t even exist?

you'll always be able to fly

Fri, 07 Jan 2011 22:51:00 -0600

We all cower behind excuses and “I’ll never be good enough’s” because we’re all just so scared to fall short of our expectations. We never realize that it’s only ourselves that make things so damn hard. We expect everything to just work out the way it’s supposed to without any real effort from us. We expect to be great at the things we love, even if it’s the first time we ever put pen to paper or the first time we ever put on a pair of pointe shoes and we go up on our toes, shaky and scared. We all have this need to be the best and when we’re not the best straight off, we start getting scared. Before long we just never do anything worthwhile — we assume right off the bat that we’re just going to fail, so what’s the point of even trying? I miss when we were young and innocent and we believed in so many beautiful things. The tooth-fairy was real, and love was the only thing that could make babies. Mostly we just believed in ourselves, and it was so damn beautiful that it hurts to think about now. Don’t you remember how that felt? Jumping out of the swing when you got so high and believing for those few precious moments that you were going to fly. Somewhere between the swing and the ground, we realized that we couldn’t, but that never stopped us from trying.