Tag: Memories

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the greatest

We used to listen to a Cat Power’s album over and over in bed

We started making love to it and then eventually we would fall asleep to it

Lately I’ve been skipping over this one song when I hear it

Not wanting to face what feelings I might encounter

But the other day it came on and I let it play

And it occurred to me I never listened to the words before

Once I wanted to be the greatest, she says

The greatest of what I wondered

The greatest of all time

The greatest to conquer

The greatest singer

The greatest writer

Once I thought you were my greatest lover

I thought you were the love to end all loves

You brought me to my knees

You ended me with one look

I surrendered to you

No wind or waterfall could stall me, she says

And I thought, I would have given anything for you

I was the greatest fighter for you

I gave up many things

I thought I was fighting for something

I thought I was doing what anyone would do for love

And then came the rush of the flood, she says

And then came the surrender, I thought

But I was not a failure, no

I gave up on something that wasn’t working

But I fought for what I thought was right

And if it were right

I would have kept fighting

Now I’m fighting for myself 

Stars at night turned deep to dust, she says

I could follow the glimmering night sky until it lead me nowhere

You were no North Star

No galaxy of wonder

You were a blinding dust bowl 

A mirage of sparkles

That would only swallow anyone who dared to come too close

Melt me down, she says

I slowly became a puddle of myself

A shallow pool of has-been strength and tenacity

I no longer knew my mind or my soul

Into big black armour, she says

How long before you showed your true colors

I rose my white flag proudly 

And then I ran with it

Whipping in the wind like a sail

Leave no trace of grace, she says

And you didn’t

Just in your honor, she sings

In your honor, I thought

There is no honor in deceit

There is no honor in your actions

There is nothing honorable about that

About you

But this?

The ending of something that was not meant to be

That is honorable

That is brave

That is the greatest 

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Cold Coffee

Just after sunrise

Cold morning filling the small space 

A sweatshirt for you

I like the chill in my bones

Hot coffee

Favorite cups

Mine was a gift from you

Just an arms length away

I felt you like you were up against me

My favorite time

Sleepy eyes for you

Sometimes we talked

I liked the in between spaces better

No noise, just knowing

I knew

I always knew

I thought I knew

I didn’t know

I didn’t know I didn’t know

I did

Coffees gone cold

You thought I should have dealt with losing you better

My favorite mornings I share with my thoughts only

I don’t want to do it over

I wouldn’t change what you did

I would change what I did

Can you trust someone too much

Can you miss them and know that they don’t belong in your better world

It wasn’t better 

It wasn’t the best

It’s for the best now

Do you remember me

I made you a book of poetry

I did whatever it took

I made love to you like I was making it for the first time

I thought you opened my world up

You were blowing it apart

Bit by bit

Small parts at a time

I didn’t notice

You wouldn’t do that to me

If you remembered me

You must think I’m someone else

If I can have the same from you…

That was what we vowed

You don’t remember

You’re not holding up your part

Your words are no good here anymore

Cold coffee

I stare at an empty space across from me

No one took your seat

I’m still waiting for the person that was honest

Taking me a while to admit

She never existed

Afraid it says more about me than you

Afraid I ran into raging waters without a life vest

Knowing I couldn’t swim that well

Thinking I could learn along the way

I thought I could learn along the way

Perhaps I thought you would teach me

Perhaps I thought you brought a raft big enough for two

Take me back

To before the mornings were my favorite part

So I can choose a different time of day

When the light isn’t so beautiful

When the world isn’t so quiet

So bare

So showing

When thoughts and faces are less exposed

When they are pure and clean before they are tarnished by the day ahead 

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All the Days

Today I am happy

Today you have not crossed my mind hardly once

I say hardly because you are still embedded in the back of my subconscious 

Only a little though

I think about you hardly at all

Except for the days that I wake up thinking about you

Which aren’t many

But some

And I am at peace

Aside from the days that I am burning with hurt

Those are the days that I hate you

But then there are days that I think of you fondly

And I am grateful for you

But that is only on the days that I do not feel used

And taken advantage of

I am good

On the days that I’m not bad

And I only miss you on the days that I don’t not miss you

And I only crave your attention on days when I’m feeling insecure

But I only feel insecure on the days that I don’t feel lucky that I only wasted 6 years on you and not 20

And on the days I don’t fantasize about the life I want to live and smile to nobody but myself

Those are the only days I feel low

Because on other days I am so lifted I could fly

Because there were days you weighed me down

I might even say most days

So now-a-days I am light as a feather

And people tell me I don’t have the look of someone going through a hard time

And I say that is because sometimes the hard time is what makes everything better

And the other day someone told me I looked great

And I said I guess divorce looks good on me

Because some days I can feel sad about what happened

But I am not sad

There are days that I feel angry

But I am not angry

There are times that I feel devastated

But I try to keep those to just moments

And those moments are becoming far and few between

Because between the days that I might feel like I can’t process the way my life has changed

Are days that I breathe a sigh of relief 

And that breath gets me through the day

And on to the next day

And on to the next

I remember the day we met

And I remember the day I thought this was it

And then there’s the day I knew this was ending

And somewhere in between were days of amazing and days of misery

Days where I thought you were crazy

And some days I thought I was delusional 

And I can’t forget about the days we talked about a family

There were so many days I thought you made me a better person

But on other days we brought out the worst in each other

And yesterday I thought about you every time I was in the car

And today I did the same

But tomorrow I might forget I ever loved you at all

Because there was a day you made a decision that changed our trajectory 

And that day was a terrible day

But it wasn’t the worst day of my life 

I’ve had many days that were worse than that

I wonder what that day was like for you

There are days I think, you weren’t the worst thing that happened to me

But as the days go on I’m realizing you weren’t the best either

And in 100 days from now I bet I will feel less bitter

And 200 days from now I might feel less pain

And in 365 days this is going to feel more like a memory 

And less like it feels on this day

Which is like I’m on a carousel 

Slowly spinning around with every emotion moving up and down in a consistent flow 

Today you told me you still think of me

And it made me cry

Because it’s easy to assume that on the day to day, you don’t think of me at all

But you said you think of me all the time

That’s pretty frequently

Is it safe to say I probably cross your mind everyday 

There are days that I think about myself more than I think I about you

And those are joyful thoughts

And they get me through the day

And on to the next day

And every day is a new day

And that gets me through the day too

And on to the next day

And on to the next 

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Falling in love with Mountain Biking

People who have known me most of my life would agree that I have not always been the most athletic person. Actually, that statement makes it seem as though occasionally I was athletic, but lets’ face it, I was not. I played basketball in elementary school on a team consisting of five girls, plus a sub, until eventually the sub quit. We had to beg the coach to let us play without her. I rode my bike around the block I lived on, in the parking lot next door to my house and under the overpass down the street.

When my family moved to a new town and I entered middle school, I became paralyzed with shyness. I literally got D’s and  F’s in P.E. because I wouldn’t participate in playing any games that required me to run, hit, or throw. In highschool I toyed with the idea of joining track because it appeared to be what most of my friends were doing but I never followed through. After highschool I joined a gym and while I was running on a treadmill one day, and a guy I graduated with came up to me and said he couldn’t believe I was running.  So, it was clear, I wasn’t the sporty type.

About a month into the road trip that my wife and I took, we realized we were in major need of bikes. Hiking and biking seemed like the things to do when you are exploring cool, popular hiking and biking destinations. Duh! So we went to a bike shop in Helena, Montana. I was excited to own a bike, I just wasn’t really sure what I was going to do with it. I had not ridden a bike since I was about ten years old. Unless you count the brief encounter I had in my late teens/early twenties. I rode a friends bike around the parking lot of the condo he lived in. I was embarrassed by how clumsy I felt. I was unbalanced, awkward and afraid I was going to fall. Turns didn’t come naturally, I felt too high off the ground and once I picked up speed, I was done! So when we walked out of that store with our mountain bikes you can imagine my apprehension. I hadn’t even admitted to my wife how long it had been and how bad my last experience was.

We took the bikes back to our campground and went for a ride. It is hard to describe the feeling I felt riding that bike around. I was not the same fearful, timid person I was before. Hell, I just quit my old life and was living on the road, traveling the country. I was in friggin Montana and now, riding a bike.  It was the most fun I had had since I could remember. Sure, I was a little rusty and shaky at times but my prominent feeling wasn’t fear, it was absolute delight. Any trepidation I had, I rode through and it went away. I didn’t want to get off my new bike. It was like I was a little kid again but it was better. I felt free, happy, and excited, but this time I had something to compare it to.

I love when the mundane things, the things that get easily taken for granted become extraordinary moments in life. Riding a bike is something we all learn to do as kids. And then there’s that saying about learning to ride a bike; once you learn, you never forget. They don’t say, you’ll never forget but if you wait too long you might be so scared that you vow to never get on one again. You just assume it will be easy. You assume you can do it. I spent life NOT assuming I could do anything. In fact, I assumed I couldn’t do most things. I let the unknown become the un-do-able. Clearly and thankfully, that’s changed. Throwing yourself in the deep end can do that to you.

Moab, Utah is one of the best places to mountain bike in the country. There are hundreds of trails from beginner to advanced. We were not advanced riders at the time; we didn’t even have the right kind of mountain bikes for the trails we decided to ride. We had “hardtails,” meaning there was no rear suspension. So when you ride over a rock or land a jump, you land hard. Your ass comes down on the seat like a ton of bricks and if you are lucky it will stay on the seat. If you aren’t lucky you sort of bounce off of it and the nose of the seat jams into your inner thigh or more sensitive areas I need not mention. I had no shin pads or any pads for that matter and I was wearing running sneakers.

We were wise to upgrade our pedals, which provided better grip from the little metal pegs that stick to the bottom of your shoes, except not so wise to not upgrade our footwear as running sneakers have nothing to grip so my feet kept slipping off and I would get a flying pedal to my shin. This left me with lovely little puncture wounds where the pegs dug in. It also left me with marks on the back of my calves from when my foot would slip off the front of the pedal causing the pedal to rip up the back of my calve. Keep in mind I was wearing pants, the damn pegs went right through my pants!

 

While my ability improved the more we rode, I still managed to fall or slam into things frequently. But we were riding on harder trails and I was getting better and better. Even though I was bruised and scraped up, I never wanted to stop riding. I just got right back on and kept pedaling. Me, the girl who got scared of falling in a flat, paved parking lot was zooming through single track trails (it was more of a slow zoom, I won’t get ahead of myself), climbing up and gliding down slick rock. Every decent feels three times as steep when you’re looking at it from atop a bike. Scraping knuckles and elbows on trees and falling into thorn bushes. I didn’t give a shit. I loved what I was putting my body through.  Physically, it was the hardest thing I had ever done.

We would ride for hours. There were definitely things that scared me or made me nervous. There were times I had to get off and walk my bike. Sometimes, when I couldn’t make it up something, I would get off and go back and try again. It might have taken five attempts, but eventually I would make it up.  My thighs burned like never before and it would feel impossible to push through but I would. At the end of every ride my legs would be wobbling. My palms would ache from gripping the handles. And I don’t have to tell you how my ass felt. Devastatingly, our bikes were stolen in California but after mourning their loss we got ourselves new ones, with dual suspension.

Despite my fear and lack of athletic ability I became a mountain bike rider and I loved it. My family could hardly believe their eyes when we would send them pictures.  I don’t think anyone would believe it. I could hardly believe it myself.

For the first time in my life I felt powerful and strong and I felt fearless. Being fearless for me didn’t mean not having fear, it meant having it but pushing through it. It meant having fear and using that fear as fuel for determination. It meant being afraid to do something and doing it anyway. For the first time in my life I felt fearless, like I could do anything and like I was free to have fun while I was doing it!

 

 

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The Love of a Motorhome

This afternoon we drove the motorhome around for a little while. It had been sitting all winter at the next door neighbors (they were gone for the winter and let us store it in their driveway). It was time to move it to its new spot and make sure it still had some life in it. It has been empty for months, alone, bare but not forgotten. It could be seen from our yard and every time I left the house I looked over at it and said hello. I wanted to make sure it knew we were coming back for it.

We drove it only 30 minutes or so, sitting in the passenger seat, as I usually did, brought many feelings with it. I could barely get myself to look over my shoulder, not wanting to acknowledge its emptiness. I miss this home. That is what it was, a home for over a year. Our first home we bought together. But it was much more than just that. It provided more than shelter, more than a way of getting around. It even smelled of emptiness. It smelled cold, damp, and musty. It smelled like a camper, like when we first bought it. Its walls were stripped of magnets, no cork boards pinned with pictures and notes. No keys dangling from hooks. No pots banging around in cabinets. No colorful pillows on the couch. A naked mattress on the bed. Our clothes were not in the closets and drawers. It was hollow. And it felt hollow. I started to feel as though I could cry. I missed it so much.

It is hard for me describe what living in that tiny space did for me. It gave me so much, I feel grateful to it. There is a connection like I have with no other space I’ve known. Initially, I admit I was a little afraid of it. I had rarely ever been in one except for checking out my father-in-law’s when he would come to visit. So owning one and living in one was somewhat scary. It was unfamiliar. There was a lot to learn and we didn’t exactly give ourselves a ton of time to do that. So, at first there were many holy shit moments. Like, holy shit I just bought an RV and holy shit this thing is huge.

The first weekend we ever spent in it was a test run. We spent two nights at an RV park on the Cape. We had no clue how anything worked, what anything should look like/sound like/smell like. And in just a month or so we would be living in it full time. It was also a way of testing the water as far as space went. Meaning, the lack of it. What would it be like physically living in this tiny rectangle for an extended period of time. Would I hate it? Feel claustrophobic? Keep bumping into things? Would it literally feel like I was living in a shoe box? After we hooked up the water hose, sewer hose and power cord we had some time to just chill out, have a beer and eat some snacks.

There is one moment that stands out to me. I remember as if it happened yesterday. There I was, sitting on the toilet (whose pedal flushing system I was leery of) going pee in the bathroom which was also the bedroom (unless you closed the accordian-like partition door). I was looking around, at the cabinet door which would serve as our closet, the little sink across from me, the bed which was bigger than the one we slept in at our condo, the fridge which could be seen through the doorway to the left. I was so happy I could have cried. I believe I said to myself out loud, this is your new home, you’re gonna live in this. I could not wait to have all our stuff in there and live in it for good. I absolutely, without a doubt, loved it.

I continued to love it. And it continued to kind of scare the shit out of me, because we were learning as we went. Every time we set off to a new destination I was nervous. Checking the side mirrors to make sure nothing was flapping around or little doors were swinging open. Turning the rear camera on to double check the Jeep was still attached and the tires were rolling. Trying to decipher between a tire about to blow or a bumpy road (harder than you would imagine). Hoping a pebble wouldn’t hit the propane tank and cause an explosion. Every little thing was nerve racking, because we were driving around a friggin house! With a Jeep towed behind it! We were in charge of 50 feet of moving vehicles. It might as well have been a tractor trailer truck. It was insane and amazing.

We could go wherever we wanted to and be home when we got there. We had our own bed to sleep in whether we were in a campground, RV park, truck stop, rest stop or Walmart parking lot. I felt so safe inside that shoebox. It sheltered me through my fears and nerves, rain and lightening.  It was my cocoon. It was there when I stared in awe at the Teton mountain range, when I cleaned up bloody legs from a day of mountain biking. It was there when I could barely move after a full day of hiking and then missing the shuttle bus in Zion National Park; we had to walk an additional 8 miles in pitch dark back to the visitor center. It was my house and my car all in one. It kept me in place and on the move. It was like magic. Like a best friend that you have no matter what, a pet that’s always happy to see you. It was everything for me and it did it all so well. Never complained, never rebelled. The peace I felt sitting at the kitchen table (which was also in the living room) drinking a cup of tea after dinner or having coffee in the morning was unbeatable. I wanted for nothing.

We left behind so much and found that we still brought too much with us. Most of the clothing we brought we didn’t even touch, the extra “just in case” stuff sat unused in bins. What was unexpected to me and what felt so incredible was realizing how much I didn’t need. Things that I held on to for years. Things I thought I cared about and loved. Things I thought I would miss. I needed none of it, wanted none of it, I didn’t even think about any of it. Clothes, shoes, knickknacks, coffee mugs, makeup, hair products, fancy kitchen gadgets. None of it fit, none of it had a place and none of it mattered. I was the happiest I had ever been. In that small shoebox of a house on wheels, I was the happiest I had ever been.

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The girl who….

In my last post I mentioned how I had shed some skin while I was traveling, A.K.A. my past. Now I want to shed some light on what I meant. Living in the same place your whole life, while having many advantages, has many disadvantages. Friends I had growing up LOVED the idea of staying put. They wanted to be “townies” like their parents were. To be honest the thought made me throw up in my mouth a little. That was the last thing I wanted. Also the last thing I wanted- to be labeled. I felt like I was walking around with a bunch of labels stuck all over me. Everyone knew too much about me. Everything from my past felt so present.  No matter what changes I made, I was always going to be the girl who…

I was the girl from Chelsea. The girl who lost her belief in God or any higher being for that matter when she lost her grandmother. I was the girl who failed gym because she was too shy to run.

I was the girl who got shoved in the locker room in seventh grade by a beastly eighth grader. She had heard I called her a bitch (I hadn’t). For one, I was the new girl in school and didn’t really know who she was and second, I was the new girl in school and wouldn’t call anyone of that size anything for fear of exactly what was happening. I was saved by an equally massive eighth grader just in the nick of time who I believe was friendly with my sister.

I was the girl they called anorexic.

I was the girl who got shunned and bullied in eigth grade by a group of kids. Led by two girls I once was friends with, I was tormented through the halls, called vicious names and was afraid to leave my classrooms. All because I was liked by a boy. I cried every day until I refused to go to school and my parents had to talk to the principle.

I was the girl they thought was a snob.

I was the girl who finally got taken in by a new group of friends in highschool only to end up losing them after highschool. What made this loss so devastating was that after my terrible experience in middle school I lost a lot of confidence and self esteem. This group of friends gave a lot of that back to me, I felt accepted, liked and important. They gave me a sense of worth that I was lacking. It appeared as though the friendships I built with these three girls would last our whole lives. When I started losing those relationships I realized they weren’t  just taking their friendship away, they took all I got from it with them. I lost friends physically but mentally I lost much more. They signified so much to me and that loss was so traumatic that till this day I struggle with it at times.

I was the girl who cut herself.

I was the girl who went crazy my senior year over a breakup. I flipped out at parties, screamed and cried. I called my ex’s new girlfriend and begged her to leave him unless she truly loved him which I knew she couldn’t possibly. I left all our prom pictures in his mailbox, I sat around the corner from his house crying hysterically in my car. I threw out everything and anything that had to do with him. I sent him the poems I wrote about him. I wrote him letters. Years later I still wrote him letters. Years later I still could not move on. I went to therapy specifically to help me get over it.

These trajedies and losses were hanging over me like a storm cloud, they followed me everywhere. When I wasn’t thinking about them I was dreaming about them. Everywhere I looked I was reminded of them between houses I drove passed and people I bumped into. While in reality those people probably weren’t thinking about it ever, I felt every time they saw me, they were remembering-that’s the sad girl, the depressed girl, the crazy girl. Deep down I knew it was my own perception of myself that had to change. Nevertheless, I couldn’t escape it here. This was where it all happened. This was where those memories lived. Now, I should say that it isn’t as if all these years later I am still walking around with anger built up inside me. I am not holding grudges against an ex from when I was 17 or mean girls in middle school or old friends in highschool. I am not thinking about this daily, weekly or even monthly. I worked hard to be a successful adult who isn’t seeking revenge on a 12 year old brat. But in the rare moments when I am reminded of them there are still small pangs of hurt.  I surprise myself sometimes with the feelings that bubble up after over a decade has passed but then I remind myself I suffered through these events and their aftermaths for well over that.

As a 32 year old I feel a little embarrassed to admit that these things that happened to me so long ago still effect me. I should be able to let them go, they should be old news- silly, insignificant, typical school drama.  Like, grow up already! But it took me years to be able to talk about these events without crying not to mention a ton of therapy. They will always be old scars however shrinking and faded.

Living back here I am reunited with the person who endured those hardships. When I was on the road I felt weightless without the heaviness of those labels. I felt like I finally had a chance to be myself, the me I was without all the clutter of being something I didn’t want to be. I wasn’t the pathetic girl who lost all her friends. Twice. I wasn’t the girl who couldn’t get over her heartbreak for years. I wasn’t someone ‘s old best friend, or an easy target. I wasn’t the underdog or athletically challenged. I wasn’t tragically damaged. I wasn’t the hairdresser or the wanna be writer. On the road I wasn’t depressed, I was happy. I wasn’t crazy, I was calm, I wasn’t timid, I was bold. On the road I could be known for being fearless, adventurous, and brave. I was a mountain biker, a camper, and a hiker. I was a minimalist and free spirited. I was optimistic and funny. I was undaunted, uninhibited, and liberated. That’s who I was. It is who I am.

 

Leaving the hurt behind

Grey skies turned blue
Small skies turned big
Dark skies turned starry
Straight roads began to curve
Highways gained elevation
I got further and further away from you
Mean words taunting
Calling me out
Calling me names
A child in a mean girls world
You didn’t follow me there
Green turned brown
Brown turned red
Sun got stronger
Nights grew quieter
The air was cleaner
You didn’t follow me there
Best friends turned enemies
You made me feel accepted
Then you left me out
I left you back there along with my lack of worth
States grew fewer but larger
Rivers and lakes were clearer
Mountains were taller
I achieved new heights
You didn’t follow me there
First love
Worst love
Heartbreak is too tender a word
Heartbreak does not last eight years
That’s depletion
I didn’t need therapy, I needed saving
Too stubborn to leave me
I left you

You didn’t follow me out there
You wouldn’t have lasted a minute
In the bare bones of solitude and minimalism
You require too much
I was reborn
I left you where you were conceived
And you didn’t know any routes out
You couldn’t read the maps
You needed protection
There wasn’t any of that out there
The wide open scared you
Mountains made you feel small
Uninterrupted skies made you feel insignificant
Made you feel less than
The journey made you feel weak
The journey made me strong
I traveled further and further away from you
I climbed higher and higher away from you
I drove faster and faster away from you
I set my eyes on a new horizon
I found peace away from you
I grew taller and taller away from you
I stood on solid ground away from you
I was fearless away from you
I found myself more and more away from you
I was myself
Away from you

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New poem-New life in my old home state.

I am still sifting through this new life in my old home state. I miss being on the road so much. I miss everything about it. I miss living in the small quarters of my motorhome. I miss opening the door and overlooking the La Sal Mountains in Moab, Flathead Lake in Montana or the waterfalls of the Columbia River Gorge in Oregon.  I miss the simplicity of it all. I felt I had shed all that made me who I was and suddenly I was nothing more than  girl in a motorhome. I could have been anyone, from anywhere. Finally, I was not the life I had lived. I was just me.

Living back here I am reminded of the many struggles I have faced and how far I have come. I am constantly reminded with flashbacks of my childhood and of the depression I endured as a teenager that lingered into adulthood. I find I am still battling these monsters as a grown woman even though I have done everything in my power not to be a victim of my circumstances. I expected to write everyday on the road but I was surprised to find it difficult. I was not inspired to write, I was inspired to do.  Now that I am back from my travels I am overflowing with words. I think sometimes being in something can be blinding and it isn’t until you are out of it that you can truly see. I can see now and I am writing it all down.

Here Is one of my latest poems. Hope you like it!

 

Rabbit hole

I had to come back to feel it
Had to retrace my steps
Close my eyes
Arms reaching out in front
Hands spread
Fingers feeling
For something I recognized
Would it be everything
Or nothing
Time away can change a person
Sending her into a galaxy of unknown stars
Circling in beautiful confusion
Swirling around in the brightest darkness
A miraculous discovery
New vision
Is this a new me
Has my heart grown bigger
Or are the beats just getting stronger
The pounding making my chest feel smaller
My whole body in a subtle tremor
I am light as a feather
I am blowing around amongst the telephone wires
My face damp with the mist of cumulus clouds
An overcast of reflection
Old meets new
How do you do      It
You are too big for these shoes
Bulbous knuckles turning white with grip
You cannot hold on to these pieces of you
They are cracking, slowly chipping away
You will fall with them
Keep falling
Rabbit holes
Infinite space
Infinite release
Keep falling
Screaming
No one will hear you
Voice swallowed by depth
Let it out and it is gone
No echo
Keep falling
Where are you going
Will you ever get to the you you are running to
Is she down there
Arms reaching out in front
Hands spread
Fingers feeling
I know this person
I know this smell
It fills me with remembrance
She is a child
She is pretending in a world of ambivalence
She is growing up
She is getting angry
She is looking for words angrier then angry
She cannot find them down the rabbit hole
She is a teenager
She is easing her pain with sharp objects
She is losing her belief in a greater being
She is growing up
She is getting angry
She is looking for words angrier then angry
She cannot find them down the rabbit hole
She is a woman
She is running away from the life that was created
She wants to know who is responsible for this
She wants to know how to fix it
She is growing up
She is showing her age
She is looking for words angrier than angry
She cannot find them down the rabbit hole

 

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A poem: the struggle of being someone new when everyone and everything else has remained the same

Being back in Massachusetts is more of an adjustment than I was expecting. I am not sure what I thought it would be like but I feel as though I am merging different versions of myself. One, who I was before I left. Two, who I became while I was away and lastly, who I am now. The last version is still in formation. Coming back to the place I grew up as a changed person creates so many mixed emotions. Everything has remained the same, but I am different. Figuring out how to work these different aspects of myself into the life I once knew well and the people who are part of it is more complex than I was prepared for. Trying to explain what that feels like has been very difficult for me. Recently my best friend hosted a girls get together, it had been a year and a half since I had seen our friends. On the drive home I found myself reflecting, reminiscing and a little out of sorts. Finally this poem came to me and as I wrote the last line I felt exhilarated, relieved, weightless and liberated.

 

 

Things are not right here
I am broken into different pieces of myself
Blown apart
Each piece landing out of reach of the other

I am a sister, I am a daughter
I am an island

I am a friend, I am a wife
I am a mountain

I am spread thin like ice melting on a pond in spring
I am as tight as the corkscrews of my hair
I am confined by these walls
Not able to break free from the tracks I am setting
I want to go back
I want to be out there with no assumptions
No ties
I want to be out there
I want to go back

Back but not backwards

Who am I here
I am too many different pieces

I am an enemy, I am a confidante
I am floating in space

I am sinking in the ocean
I am a wave

These words do not reflect me
These thoughts are not my own
I have no say, I am mute
I do not relate to this world
This world of need and want
I cannot shake my head in agreement
But I do
I laugh and contribute
Adding to nothing
I am too much when I am here
And not enough of anything

I am depressed and troubled
I am a storm

I am strong and independent
I am a mudslide

I close my eyes and I am floating
Out into the open air
The clouds carry me
I am floating
Out from these power lines of restraint
These chains of ordinary

I am not this confusion

Blurred barrier of skin

It is too thin for this
How many people can I be
I am unrelenting rain
Filling up with unfortunate circumstance
I am a body of impersonation

How can I be so unsure
Surrounded by what is most familiar to me
It is too close
Too close to the origin of what tragedies made me
The aftermath still echoing in the air
Bouncing off the buildings and billboards
Flying like a ping pong ball
Threatening to strike if I stand up too tall
I should duck
Out of the way like a little girl crouching from her father
I should run
Faster than the fear of a belt to my fragile legs
I should scream
Louder then the sound of heartbreak at 17
I should dig
Deeper than the scar of a razor to a wrist
I should hit
Harder than the ground of burying depression
I should stand
Taller than the height of expectation
I should fight
More forcefully than the hands of violation
I should hold on
Tighter than the embrace of scared siblings
I should resist
Like the urge to disappear in the face of torment
I should worry
But worry is what got me here
I should be so worthy
To remember and not relive
But all too often they feel like the very same thing