I Don't Know how to Title This.

i don't want to write today, but i feel like i should.
i really want to admit that i have a "writer" mind.
because that's what i've been told.
i try to tell myself this as well, that i have the excellence and contour of a writer, that calm, peaceful way of thought that they have.
i wish i could say that my mind is unique and wise and different; that i know so much because of the way i can fit my sentences together and because of how i use of words.

when i think about all of that,
i just want to cringe.
because i don't find myself to be the "all seeing eye".

i've been fighting so much to be the "writer" that people find me to be.
not to copy a sentence or letter from someone close i know, but hey, writing is all just reiterating circumstances, just with a different hand and pen. it's the same stupid words on the same stupid paper, and like all writers, i will do the same.

Dear Fight,
i'm not used to having my eyes open, so please stop tormenting me and let me rest.
let me be held instead of rushing around me like cold air, burning out my flame.
i'm sick of crying.
i'm sick of people trying to help, when in reality, they just keep making me remember something that i'm trying to distract myself from.
i don't want to admit the side effects to this.
but i already feel like this empty feeling, this always near tears, and this odd feeling of helplessness and hope at the same time are only a few side effects to this odd elation.
so fight, please just stop punching at me, hitting, scratching, torturing and playing with me.
because i'm tired. i want to be happy so stop preventing me from reaching that.
Sincerely,
The Pen without the Ink

i'm just a girl.
a girl that is going through the same difficulties that many have gone through.
even difficulties that her best friend has gone through.
i'm a girl that has reminders, similar to others.
reminders of the yawn when waking up in bed.
a long blue dress and a suit and tie, the tie half done and the dress at the thigh.
making giant pancakes.
watching countless episodes of The Office, but technically listening, not watching.
"frolicking" in the park around a beautiful lake.
laughing because we kept getting "gutterballs".
the butter hands.
and many more reminders still ringing in the ears of my mind.

i'm so tired.
but the most exhausting thing is waiting.
and as much i don't want to, as annoying as this is,
those reminders just make me sit.
and the future makes me stand.
and i want to believe that in 9 weeks,
i'll be able to lay down.

with the thing that really makes me happy.

We Are Not Perfect.

sitting up against the fire makes me feel warm.
not like the sun on a hot, humid day,
or the tingly feeling from taking sips of alcohol.
but i feel cozy.
i feel warm.
safe and comforting.

i feel that way with you.
i feel warm when i think about you,
and safe when i remember you holding me in your arms.

i was asked today by someone who has loved me for years,
"Do you really think that way?"
what way?
that i want to feel that same hand trace the outline of mine,
that i want to hear those same whispers in my ears,
years and years to come?

meet me there, bundles of flowers
we wait through the hours of cold
winter shall howl at the walls,
tearing down doors of time

i sit here by that warm fire,
drinking gulps and gulps of earl grey tea.
i don't want to think about the scary parts.
i want to just remember everything that made me confident,
instead of the things that make me scared.

remember when i said, "i have faith in you?"
i still do.
even when we are apart, i still know how you feel.
i remember they way your jaw shook when i held your face in my hands.
that was real.
not fake or embellishment of splitting apart.

when i hear that someone grabbed that arm,
those scary brown eyes full of love and fear pop into my brain,
leaving everything else behind.

promise me this;
you'll wait for me only,
scared of the lonely arms.

surface, far below these words

and maybe, maybe i'll come home

we talked.
i listened while you droned on,
about something i didn't want to hear about.
my heart thumped in the rhythm of every one of your words.
when my mind told me it was nothing,
my heart screamed in defiance.

yet i am still not scared.

because i know who you are.
and who you are not.

even with the stupidity, i am still reeling with feelings,
and thoughts,
about the person i know you to be.

i still have faith in who you are.
and i know He does, too.
so don't fret love, i'm still here.
through the tears and the fears,
i'm still here.

waiting for you to come home.

Cracks in the Mirror.

some might agree that it's nuts, but
have you ever walked down the street and passed a window,
and couldn't help but look at it to see your reflection?
or to look inside?
you probably didn't catch a good glimpse of how you look,
so you keep walking, hoping that there's another window,
so you can see yourself.

i just noticed myself doing that today.
i guess i didn't have enough time to look in the mirror before dropping my mother off at work.
but as i clacked each step, i looked through the 4 consecutive windows of some shop,
i saw myself.
i had this feeling of familiarity when my reflection walked alongside me.
an annoying familiarity, but recognizable all the same.

i wondered to myself if this was normal.
"am i vain?" i asked myself, hearing the clack sound against the brick sidewalk.
but i don't feel like i look in vain.
i feel like i look because i'm aware.
aware of what i myself look like and aware of other's glances.

i feel like people always need a mirror in order to see through people's eyes.
how they see you, what they think, and what you need to change about your appearance in order to change their opinion.
why do you think they say cracked mirrors are bad luck?
i feel like the crack should be recognition.
realizing that changing yourself for just appearances should not be the most important thing.
people's opinions do matter in this world.
but not solely on appearance.

they matter on dignity.
they matter on respect.
they matter on trust, individuality, and uniqueness, i bet.
so don't fret on the jeans and the hair, love
just be aware that staring at yourself only increases the number
of eyes on you a day.

i just found it weird that i keep staring at my reflection.
i never do at home.
i guess appearances matter more to people than they think, huh?