in my minds eye

 

British literature accompanies you tonight. Thoughts of the victorian era, Jane Austen, and your greasy hair.

Dirty hands, stained blue for 3 days with fan art. A cracked guitar and a leaf are your weapons of mass illusion. Despite my childish pout, you're hiding some more kindergarten expressions with ivy league ideas. Ideas you call to, preach to, plea to.

Your absence is a dark cave I haven't crawled from in days. Waiting for you to throw a rope, fashion a ladder, open your barred words to the light.






Food is scarce in such a dreary place, though gardens surround my blind eye for miles.

wishing on eyelashes and shooting stars

She took my hand and with a tilted gaze, spoke with courage. I wanted to throw myself underneath those sheets and close my eyes like a child playing hide and seek. If she can't see me, she can't throw me away. Like the trash overflowing the corner of the workspace in her apartment. The stained wooden floors taken over by discarded papers, water bottles, and broken hearts. I entered her world like a good idea that she later realized was a drunken mistake. Fill the glass to the top and she'd still argue it was only half full. Silly man, that's not optimism.

We wished on stars and eyelashes. Now every time an eyelash falls, I push it to the floor because it makes me feel dangerous. I feel like she'd cry if she witnessed it. Which would make me smile because then I'd know that those nights meant something to us both. Shoot down the stars with my nerf gun, hoping they explode before they enter her atmosphere. Standing on top of that mountain was supposed to make me feel immeasurable. Yet aiming my gun at her dreams made me feel about as big as an ant beneath a giant boot.

Her bare skin left an imprint in my brain. Like plastic forks against a foam container. Running her hands up my legs made my throat clench and my eyes open wide. Feeling her breath next to my ear made the hairs on my neck stand at attention.

Let me buy your love with nickels and dimes and you can use the flower petals as my receipts. Laying naked on the floor we rolled onto, smoking the cigarettes you swear you aren't addicted to. Yet there is the lighter; barely any fluid left and marks against the sides from the walls you introduced your anger to every time you lit up.

You talked of your open sexuality and compassionate beliefs like it was supposed to make me feel like your boyfriend shouldn't care about what we shared in every room of your apartment. Exchanging bodily fluids in the most animalistic ways. Grasping each other like if we dug our nails deep enough, we'd never have to part. Maybe that just made it easier to say goodbye for you. Made it alright.

Will he notice the love notes I wrote in the steam of the bathroom? You'll probably tear them down and go buy whole new mirrors.

we are the product.

She stomped on it. Made you think it didn't matter. Made you think you didn't deserve better. You resented her for it just as much as I did but we kept our silence. That's what we were told to do. Observe but keep your fucking mouth closed. Duct taped and strapped to the morals. Forget your own, adopt the other. 

I took scissors and a razor to my head that night. Wanted to strip myself completely. Feeling the crisp clip as the strands float to the floor, I began to feel lighter. Putting the cool edge of the razor to my head, I finally found the significance of what it means to be singled out. Allowing that extra inch of difference, of desire. 

The way she splays herself in front of me makes me realize why I let myself fall into her. Our lips touching reminds me how to breathe and in that moment I'm suspended. She was the dragon, ripped clean, raw and natural. But in that room her layers dispersed to the corners of my mind and here she was in all her glory. Brilliant lights occupying her eyes as she gazed, shooting right through me, making me shiver. 

Hold it together, I kept telling myself. Don't shake or you'll make a fool of yourself. I'm a leaf, hanging from her limbs. Reliant and tossed aside when I get too old. That doesn't bother me though. I will sit here, absorbed in her grasp for as long as I can muster the courage for. She giggles because she knows come fall, I'll be fighting for my place among the rest.

They still scream, they still beat at her door. But we can't hear them anymore. I like it like that. Hidden in the confines of sheets and sweat and laughter. Just me and my dragon girl.

i am me

Maybe it takes me a little longer to learn a lesson. My reflexes are slow but I' try. I go through this process; make mistakes that I don't even understand, and then keep doing it subconsciously until I figure out what made me do it.

For as long as I can remember, my mistakes have been something of a battle to figure out and learn to control in the future. I'm not giving up the rubix cube of my idiocy. I will not give up on myself because I know I can do better. I know who I can be.

When you gave up, I took the reigns. When you stopped loving me, I started loving myself again. The people who see your mistakes and label you under them are the people who don't really know the truth of who you are.

"If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best."

I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm human and don't you dare underestimate me because once I'm done being an unintentional asshole, I'll be the best person you didn't really know.

dear daddy

I've realized lately that I worry a lot about what people think. Feel like people are judging me and my every move. I hate that feeling. I hate caring what other people think and am trying to change that but it's something I've always had. And it's always been our biggest problem.

You care a lot and want the best for me and I appreciate that. But your eye always seems so close. Don't do this or he'll freak out. Do this that way or you're going to get yelled at.

I get nervous to even see you but I always still have this deep clinging hope and excitement. I was so anxious when you last came to see me. Pacing the living room, watching out the window, mom watching me out of the corner of her eye. And then when you pulled in, I smiled. Couldn't help but feel it instantly across my face.

But not 5 minutes into the drive you're already ragging on me, cutting me down. I hate when you make me feel like that. When I feel like you're judging me my whole world is shaking. You called me a circus freak. Do you remember that? And then we drove. Not saying a single word to each other. I had no idea where we were going. We drove around for 45 minutes before you said another word to me. I just sat there repeating it. "Circus freak. Won't get a job."

And then what you did at OVI, my work. You walked out on your daughter before the food even got to the table and left a $20 there like you were just saying "fuck it". You walked out on me. You didn't even tell me you were leaving. I had to ask Angie where you had gone. I couldn't stop crying when I went back inside. Breathing hard, sobbing, trying to talk to mom on the phone. "Maybe this was a mistake." That stuck with me too.

When you call, I come running. I don't know if I'm ready to do that again yet. Thank you for helping me with my insurance. I wasn't going to ask because usually when you give me something or do something, there are usually strings attached. "If I do this, you have to do it my way." At least that's what it feels like. Which is why I was just paying for it myself. Which, in a round about way, was still trying to impress you. Look, I'm paying my bills. I'm taking care of myself. I'm doing this for me though.

I'm sorry. I'm just not ready.

I love you,
Chelsea

seasons of a smile.

It is April and we are a miraculous age. We came from very different places; I was a small town girl from the east coast and you were way too refined for me in your west coast ways. My county is about 866 square miles small while you lived in a small sidewalked town only three hours from San Fransisco. Although I did get you to jump off of that base in Tennessee by the dam when I went away to college for a year. The beads of water clinging to your tanned skin in the bright light that was slowly disappearing behind scattered clouds.  
   
     The first time you came here was for my sister's birthday weekend. We weren't even in a relationship yet. Everything was still so new; fresh and exciting. You looked beautiful with your thick blond hair pulled loosely into a bun. And the bright purple of your button up shirt left a hint to the spring air. My hair was still black from the dye I had insisted on a couple months back but you could see traces of my own blond coming through at the roots. You stayed at my mom's house and for some reason she let you in my room. We'd laugh later when we would look back on my grandmother listening to our indiscretion late at night and asking me about it by confessing she also likes women. Go figure that would end up being the same night I ask you to be mine.

     I spent spring break at your college. Fermenting alcohol in a watermelon would later be the death of your bladder and the brunt of an ongoing joke for at least another year. But I didn't mind. I was just glad it wasn't me who peed the bed. You were a little tougher than me and could take the joke. I stole your tegan and sara sweatshirt before I left and later replaced it with a shirt I made that had a sloppy drawing of a mountain and scrawled writing saying "you're pretty much the peak of the mountain." I figured it would be a good trade off at least until it started getting colder. Then we could share the sweatshirt.

     You swore you were going to marry Eminem while I was chasing after Meryl Streep. I think you had a better shot than I did. You were the girl that always had something interesting to say; I'd sit on the edge of my seat just waiting for you to breathe. The girl that, when I touched you, my subconscious couldn't help but create a mental map of every inch of your body so that I never forget the difference between how it feels to touch your hand as opposed to how it feels to touch your arm.

~

     Saying that we found each other in our innocence would be an understatement. But we were lost in the colors of our love. I would break it and then try in every way I knew how to put it back together. It was like a game almost. A game of learning weaknesses, pushing them, and then an attempt to rebuild it. We clashed for over a year like we were trying too hard to fit a mold that just wouldn't go. And my fascination with the mechanics that held us together was no help. I could only take it apart so many times before it became too mangled to put back together.

~

     We tried so many things to make our long distance relationship a little easier. I toyed with the idea of moving to close to your college and even interviewed for a few jobs. It finally caught up with us when I moved to Nashville and you graduated. Finally we got that shot and it lasted a month if that. I later asked if I had chased after the airport cab if you would have stayed. You said yes.

~

     It's April again and we're still at a miraculous age. But everything is different now. You changed me for better and for worse. They say every tear has its reasons and every smile has its own season.

functional dysfunctionality.

There's no more appropriate title for this post.

I just took probably 15 minutes and way too much over thinking trying to figure out how to write this. I don't want to go into detail. It's a little embarrassing. I haven't written in a while about what's been going on in my life. I need to ventilate it and maybe no one will read this because I'm not going to post it on Facebook and I don't know if anyone actually follows my blog anyway. Just needed a place for release and some mindless babbling and ranting in between.

So these past months of me being back in PA have definitely been anything but boring. A lot of changes are happening and I feel like I'm finally getting the hang of what I want in life and going for it head on. I also feel like there are probably multiple blog posts on here alone that sound similar to this one; I'm always talking about revelations and changing myself. It almost feels like bullshit.

I was so excited and sure and ready when I got accepted to the Art Institute in Nashville. I thought, "Man, this is it. This is my school." I was the one who watched as endless people just left and I always said that would never be me; I was going to graduate from there. I wore my shirt proudly. "Become an Art Institute graduate…or compete with one." Now it makes me sick when I want to wear it.

But things happen. Plans change, directions change, and sometimes people leave you hanging. So I'm not depending on anyone anymore. I'm doing this for myself; not for him. A state school is just as good and 10 times cheaper. Something I can afford on my own. Which he's still telling me I won't be able to; that I have no idea what I'm in for, that I have no clue and that one day I'll see that he was right.

yeah …

I have 2 schools picked out … meaning I have 4 and 2 that I realllllly want to go to. Bloomsburg, Cal U, Mansfield, and Temple; in order of desire. Not hating on Temple. Good school. I just don't know if I really want to live in Philly again and I'm not commuting. Ok, so I really don't want to go to Temple but it's nice to have a third back up. Hopefully I won't need 3 back up plans but we'll see. I have an awesome letter of recommendation from Leslie Haines  who is the chair of graphic design at AI and I had really good grades when I was there. High school … eh … I got ok grades.

I sent out the applications this past Tuesday, my transcripts and letter of recommendation on Wednesday and now the waiting begins. I may go nuts. I hate waiting. Ok, not waiting in general, but waiting for something really important to happen. It's a tough thing. In the meantime I'm going to continue to work at Ovi and save money to move and take care of the things that I need to take care of.

Right now I'm just living it day by day. Some are harder than others but most are pretty good. I'm trying to keep a smile on my face and continue moving forward.



I miss you.