My tattooed angel gives me a hug, his aftershave making me feel safe
and always giving me the strength to make it through the day
"Sweetie are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Hartley chuckles. "You're a liar."
He knows. He's watched me shrink, stable out, shrink againWorry over countless restaurant tables with only a glass of water in front of me.
Always watching, standing behind me, in case I fall. Giving me silent signals that things will be okay.
His physical scars shine, while my emotional ones are revealed.
"I'm stuck on two paths. One life, and one death. Right now, I'm closer to death." I whisper.
For the first time, fear in his voice.
"What are you doing?" He's suspected it, I confirm it. He is silent.
"Well, you can't go out and be a social puker. Just as I can't go out and be a social drinker. I'd drink myself to death. I've watched you for months, lost and hurt and feeling like no one understands."He holds back tears. The stars and clouds are holding their breath.
"I need you to know that you're not alone."
He gives me another hug, and a different kind of acid rushes up my throat.
Rachel comes over and holds me, her hand brushing my hair away from my face.
She starts praying, whispering in my ear. AnDrew and Hartley, surrounding us . "I want to fight with you. I want to fight for you, when you can't do this, I want to fight.
We want to fight."
I am so weak. I give in, the tears flow and these angels hold me tight.
"I'm not going to be your boss anymore." I look up in shock.
"That means we can get tea, go on walks, hang out.
That means I can teach you how to eat."
I cry harder. I know right then, they aren't going to let me die.
Opening up. Begining to trust. Letting them hold me. Being honest.
Respecting the process. Fighting through rough waters. Keeping my head above.
A week passes.
Random phone calls that three people lie through, just to see how I am close to midnight.
"It's Rachel. Josiah told AnDrew who told me that I needed to call you, is everything okay?"
I used to pray to God, to send me an angel.
To help me out of this self created hell.
He has sent them just in time
as the harsh reality of the last five years, are realized
and are taking their toll on my nineteen year old body.
Something is breaking, years of chains and addiction
coming off of these hollow bones
I've been submersed in an ocean of several things
of light, of hope, of love, of wind,
of people fighting for and with me
reminding me of the hope I thought I'd lost.
The darkness that clung to my frame
is being replaced with a new days light
my wings slowly begin to grow
as I take back the life that is rightfully mine
and with a small smile on my pale face
I'm ready for my life to begin
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Paper Walls
she built a newspaper city on her wall
to create a new world for herself.
where everyday
the clouds and sun and wind
smelled like hopes and dreams
coming back to her
after floating aimlessly down
an empty street
when the rain fell
it only helped to nourish
the creativity in her head
and to help the paint brushes move along.
she would borrow ink from the midnight sky
and use the stars to light her paper
in newspaper city
tin cans connected by stretched string
were ways to say I love you
and she’d never have to pay the bills
because life is simple
smelling of apples
time passed and she grew older
and the white clouds turned to grey
and the sun didn’t always shine
the empty streets were just that, empty
and soon enough the string broke between the tin cans
and mailmans only stopped by to deliver bills
she sat outside her newspaper city
as it crumbled down around her
and the tears slipped down her cheeks
smearing the ink and ruining the tape
that held her world together
years later packed away in a box
were lost things of tape and newspaper
she cleared everything off of a wall
called in sick to work
and became a kid once more
to create a new world for herself.
where everyday
the clouds and sun and wind
smelled like hopes and dreams
coming back to her
after floating aimlessly down
an empty street
when the rain fell
it only helped to nourish
the creativity in her head
and to help the paint brushes move along.
she would borrow ink from the midnight sky
and use the stars to light her paper
in newspaper city
tin cans connected by stretched string
were ways to say I love you
and she’d never have to pay the bills
because life is simple
smelling of apples
time passed and she grew older
and the white clouds turned to grey
and the sun didn’t always shine
the empty streets were just that, empty
and soon enough the string broke between the tin cans
and mailmans only stopped by to deliver bills
she sat outside her newspaper city
as it crumbled down around her
and the tears slipped down her cheeks
smearing the ink and ruining the tape
that held her world together
years later packed away in a box
were lost things of tape and newspaper
she cleared everything off of a wall
called in sick to work
and became a kid once more
Green Beans and Cello Strings
with Zoë Keating blasting in her ears
if you have the right to blast classical music
for she had the right to do this(and more)
she steps out of her car
and approaches the neon sign
her feet timidly carrying her closer
to the cause of anxiety.
this must be conquered.
Zoë plays faster and faster,
the music swelling up in her ears
her haunting cello setting the mood
with her head held high,
she walks in, and grabs a basket
noting how beautiful it looks empty
the glare of the lights on the tile
and the brightness of the vegetables
almost blind her
with fear
peoples wandering eyes
(only on groceries)
must certainly be focused on her
she becomes lost in the strings
lost in another world
and reaches out for a handful
of green beans
how much is too much?
she wonders, mumbling aloud
quickly tying up the bag
she throws it in the basket
before she changes her mind
and with her body trembling
walks towards the checkout
she sits in her car a moment
looking back at the neon sign
stunned as the song finishes
whether she liked to admit it or not,
progress had been made.
if you have the right to blast classical music
for she had the right to do this(and more)
she steps out of her car
and approaches the neon sign
her feet timidly carrying her closer
to the cause of anxiety.
this must be conquered.
Zoë plays faster and faster,
the music swelling up in her ears
her haunting cello setting the mood
with her head held high,
she walks in, and grabs a basket
noting how beautiful it looks empty
the glare of the lights on the tile
and the brightness of the vegetables
almost blind her
with fear
peoples wandering eyes
(only on groceries)
must certainly be focused on her
she becomes lost in the strings
lost in another world
and reaches out for a handful
of green beans
how much is too much?
she wonders, mumbling aloud
quickly tying up the bag
she throws it in the basket
before she changes her mind
and with her body trembling
walks towards the checkout
she sits in her car a moment
looking back at the neon sign
stunned as the song finishes
whether she liked to admit it or not,
progress had been made.
Sweet Dreams
the man in the moon
looks down at the ships
being rocked to sleep
on the edge of the world
he lets out a sigh
wishing he could close his eyes
and rest, if only for a second
in the oceans arms.
looks down at the ships
being rocked to sleep
on the edge of the world
he lets out a sigh
wishing he could close his eyes
and rest, if only for a second
in the oceans arms.
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