I Am Me.

I am silly and unique.

I am loving and caring.

I care for people who don’t care for me.

I love people who hate me.

I’m unique; I’m not like anyone else.

I’m my own person.

I’m silly, doing things to make  me feel free to be myself.

I’m all these things, but I”m also tears and broken-hearted.

Sometimes I care too much, not wanting to hurt anyone.I don’t want people to hurt.

No one deserves to be talked down to.

I’m too loving, I fall too easily for the people who step back and watch me bust on the concrete, breaking every particle of me because they didn’t catch me.

Yes, I’m silly and unique, loving and caring, but there’s more behind this smile,

there’s something no one will ever see.

Unforgettable Moments.

The air felt crisp against my skin…and I start to run.

I pass the places I shared with you- the church, your grandparent’s house, and the swing you pushed me on.

I run alongside the creek where we used to talk and throw rocks in and where you used to hold me upside down and act like you were going to throw me in.

But I know you’d never hurt me.

I run to the tree where we’d talk after church, and I stand there and hear the whispers of our forgotten love.

I wish I could take these moments and put them away and forget them, but I cant….they’re unforgettable.

More Than It Seems.

“It’s just that tree.” they say,

But it’s more than that.

It’s really a friend,

something you can whisper your darkest secrets to.

It’s a giver of hope

when it blooms in the spring.

It’s a protector,

holding you up with its strong branches and roots.

It’s a counselor,

holding your tears and sending them into the air, releasing your pain with each teardrop.

It whispers advice into the wind,

giving you hope that everything will be okay.

Lessons Learned.

Be yourself,

care for others,

be brave when everything is going wrong.

Be strong when you want to become weak,

don’t cry when everyone is watching, always wear a smile.

Trust no one but yourself.

Don’t give up on your dreams.

play with dolls,

tease Daddy.

Be a friend to everyone,

sing so loud it reaches the sky

open yuor eyes to the beauty that is beyond long legs and perfect hair…to the beauty that is only yours.

And, after the end of the day…

feel like you’ve accomplished something,

that someone saw the real you,

and that you made the best of the day you had been given.

The Place That Made Me.

If you take a right at the fork in the road, you will find the people and the place that made me who I am. You’ll see the smooth roads that held me as I learned to ride my bike. You will see the tree that my best friends and I used to climb and sit in and talk until the church dinner was over. You’d see the mountain behind my house that I used to climb and sing  on when I was little. You’d sight the “garden” at my cousin’s house where we’ve played endless games of softball. You’d see me with my family outside playing in grandma’s backyard if it was a Sunday. You’d see my life.

They Think I Don’t Know.

I lay in bed as the stars shine their brightest. Tears of past nights stain my pillow. I start thinking of the good times I had when I was little. So innocent, so happy, so honest. Now, when I think of these happy days I get a mixture of angry and sad feelings. Angry because I know now that they lied to me, sad because I wish things were still the same. When I could think that everything my family told me was true. I see these families on the streets, and you can see how happy they are. But, I’m by myself, an island in the ocean of my “family.” My heart is a broken organ, worn out and cracked from years of hurt. From years of confusion, my brain is overwhelmed. They think I don’t know what my real dad stands for, what he’s like. But, I do. I know all about the sugar-coating he places on everything. He knows how to get me to believe his lies, how to appeal to my young stupid self. How to make me believe everything’s going to be better.

Irreplacable.

Her happy face is replaced with the image of her bluish-purple tinted face, with a trace of drool spilling from her mouth and sliding down her cheek. Her cheers and words of encouragement are replaced by our cries and screams, and the wails of the sirens.

This beautiful day, sunshiney with no clouds is replaced by a thundercloud, with lightning separating us from her, the thunder shaking our hearts, causing them to break.

The bats and helmets in our hands are replaced with our friends,  my cousins, her daughters. The rain comes down as tears out onto our softball uniforms.

The triumphant feeling of us beating the other team is replaced with grief and quietness as we hold each other at her casket, each shakingly signing a softball placed in with her body, once alive and beautiful, now cold and lifeless. Death has made her ugly. As our team goes on with life, each going our own way, we’ll all stay connected with the thing that we weren’t ready for…the thing that’s irreplaceable.

Just to Hide the Tears

I don’t know who’s fault it is, there’s enough blame to go around. But, it all comes back to me. I always try to smile, but only to hide the tears. I think I could learn to be better for you, but I don’t know how. Maybe if someone would teach me to be a different person that I am, maybe I’d be good enough. Maybe if I were prettier, smarter, funnier, maybe I’d be good enough.

But maybe, I’ll never be good enough for anyone, or you.

So, yes, I’m smiling, but only to hide the tears.

Love of Sorrow?

The love of sorrow…love to be sad, love to be hurt, love to have aches of your heart, love to be broken by other people. This kind of love I do not understand…

Happiness.

If I could have one wish…what would I wish for?

world peace?

happiness?

love?

money?

clothes?

a shooting star to keep in my pocket?

The wish I’d wish from the bottom of my heart is that kindness will be placed in everyone’s heart and for all their sadness to go away..the world would be better for everyone.

Bulletproof.

I’ll be bulletproof,

avoiding the looks and works that try to hurt me as bullets do. I’ll become so no one hurts me, where no words can come through to harm my heart.

I’ll become bulletproof to save my life, because sometimes words can kill. I’ll be nice to people, because kindness is a neccessity in life, but never trust anyone ever again. These lies surround my life. I’ve never walked alone, I’ve always had friends that were good,, but like a caterpillar turns into a butterfly, they changed just the same.

I’ll become bulletproof,

that way I won’t hurt people, so I won’t want to let people in, and do things that hurt others.

I’ll be bulletproof

from myself, that way I won’t be dissapointed or get all worked up over nothing. I will protect myself from all hurt, sorrow, and evil.

But, then again, who am I kidding? Bulletproof is non- existent…a figment of our wishful minds…

Flaws?

There is a girl who’s kidded because she id tiny. This doesn’t bother the girl though. She thinks it makes her unique. But, there are some things that bothers the girl that she hides behind the fake smile that’s plastered on her pale face. The fact that she only has one person she can tell everything to, the fact that her family has lied to her from day 1, the fact that couldn’t do anything right. She talked to her biological dad and suffered through everything that went with it. Her dad coming home angry and upset, hearing him cuss basically for the first time, watching her mom cry, wondering why God had even put her on the earth. Why was it so bad for her to talk to him? Is it because he’s a shadow of her mom’s past? Thoughts of running away crossed her mind but she realized she couldn’t run away from things. She wished she could go away, everyone would be better off. Nobody likes her anyways. So, she built a wall around her heart that no one could tear down, she couldn’t trust anyone anymore. All she heard were lies in her head over and over from people all around her. For once I want someone to tell me the truth about my life, every detail, every aspect.

Snow.

Snow, falling delicately on the ground, reminds me of  all the memories we made. It reminds me of all the love I once had for you, when you actually seemed to love back. But, with snow comes snowstorms, which me remind me of the fighting- the yelling, leaving, and heartbreak. It reminds me of how you don’t even care how much of me you destroy, how much hurt is in me, how I cry myself to sleep every night because I feel unwanted. Tired of the hurt that you left me with, I yearn for someone to come into my life that will make me feel like a person, the one who makes my smile real, the one that will love me for me. I want to be whole again- not a mirror shattered by your hammer of what you call “love.” I’m sitting in the darkness, just waiting for someone to put the pieces of my heart back together.

Waiting for the Night Sun.

Yesterday,

after it all came out, I wrote a poem to let my feelings out.

Last night,

I told myself I wasn’t going to do it anymore. I told my mom about all the stress that has been bearing on me. I cried myself to sleep.

This morning,

I woke up worried and looking down on the world, wanting to get away from everything and everyone, feeling like I was in another world because my world as fading away before my eyes.

I thought you were the one.

The one I could trust.

The one that would do anything for me.

The one who’d never hurt me.

But I guess saying and thinking that is like asking the sun to shine in the night sky.

Simply…Impossible.

Softball.

The field is dusty, the tiny particles of dirt hurt your eyes. With my helmet and bat, I walk up to the plate, the crowd quiets down, a hush has entered over the field, and we wait for the pitcher to throw the whirling ball so I can swing at it. “CRACK!” You hear the sound of metal against the ball, and I start to run as fast as I can, feeling the air, as a fire, burn my lungs. 1st, 2nd, 3rd, Home, taking my place on each plate as each batter hits the ball. 1st, 2nd, 3rd out, now it’s time to take our position on the field. I take my spot as shortstop, passing with the rest of the infield until the first victim of the other team decides to take a chance and try to hit our pitcher’s pitch. They come up to bat, the pitch is thrown, and like an “on” switch, it starts the working of our machine. Each of us doing a goal.

1st,

2nd,

3rd

out. We exit the field, dirty, scraped, but we come back, circle around the pitcher’s mound smiling, cheering because our machine has succeeded, it’s done its job, and we’ve won. Now all we have to do…is play like that everytime.