wondering words

a 21-year-old writer with a constant humming in her head; these are the remedies, even if they go unread.

[wonderingwords]

I Don't Remember Last April

Spring me into a feeling

with the season

The rain that confuses is what I aspire to be

every droplet looks like tears to me

the happy kind, wash off those worry lines

I fall from fluffy tufts

curtains of clouds

draw me in smelling of shower songs

the sound and the sense

are one.

One part rational, two parts ballad

which came first, color or number

you were green

I was a four

and even then we loved each other

[wonderingwords]

can't contain chaos

I struggle to find my voice

because I took the hardest hits there.

absorbing damage with my one advantage

if I find the right words, I know I'll recover

but eloquence is not bliss

and the most massive destructions

start from inside a bottle

an open wound has incredible potential

(easy to imagine when you're on fire)

what else can you do but build while you're burning?

[wonderingwords]

self-induced

quickening breath

curling toes

tightening muscles

twitching

releasing

gasping and giving in

euphoric

smile instantly

laugh at the incredible feeling

I knew my hands could make music and stories

for the first time I've

made my body sing

instinct

plus fingers

equals

ecstasy

[wonderingwords]

Mouse Trap

A twisted body wriggles against glue.

attempting desperately

to escape,

lungs expand rapidly

it squeaks hopelessly.

I'm sorry; this was never what I wanted

My lover sleeps peacefully next to me

he doesn't wake at 4 AM to this agony

and the kids on my street resist their Christian schooling

but can't change their parents' minds yet

the grown humans in Kansas who learn they were never meant to be born

mothers admit they didn't know what abortion was

Chicago homeless just aiming to make it through the night

women throughout history restricted, beaten, raped

temperatures rising, tropical storms intensifying

we send ships to the moon and mars because anything's better than the chaos here

our grandchildren try to clean up our clusterfuck

polar bears have long since died off

Red Bull sold by the gallon to 12-year-olds

teen girls associate empowerment with blowjobs

"I am woman

hear me ignore"

My daughters will never be safe from danger

I'm sorry; this was never what I wanted.

Lost souls around the world searching for songs as inspiration

sifting through the club beats and misogyny for love stories in symphonies

finding none

we all sleep between narcoleptic nightmares and insomniac insanity

the never-quite-successful getting along in a world of light bulb extinguishers

a toddler with two moms wants to be sunshine for a living

his heart will break when he learns that doesn't pay the rent

unless we've evolved to that rationality--

God, I want to make that happen.

when love is the only way we can fight against darkness and adhesive

I start with poems.

[wonderingwords]

how I want to see when I grow up

pushing backward + forward with my legs

wind rushing past my face

eyes closed, alone, feel the energy pump through me

the chains within my grip shudder at my momentum

tip my head back + open my lids

clouds enchant me

how is this, upside-down, so pretty?

the sun hides behind, cooling the sky

Away on this swing I could fly like a bird.

in awe of the beauty often above me

mind reeling with questions of meaning

Some day I'll be an optimist

because I always look up.

[wonderingwords]

proximity

I have been neglecting you.

We can be so close, only three feet away

but I'm stuck in my head

contemplating

school

the future

my music

excuses

Denying the touch that I want so much

because when we start, I get lost in us.

So I bottle it up.

Pushing the thought to the back of my mind

until I find the perfect moment in time

But here's the contradiction:

I don't believe in perfection.

I believe that you understand

Because you tell me so and prove it when you tuck me in.

Or when I'm already out when you get home and you gently nudge me awake again

"Gotta take pills, babe" is met with resistance

I hate to admit and make you deal with my weakness

yet you know me and love me with all of my asterisks

I've gotten to know you over the past year

but I knew I'd love you the moment I looked over

and saw the tears in your eyes

and realized mine

as we sang along to our favorite band live.

Yes, it's timing, not time, that counts

and happiness can't be measured in amounts

because I don't have words for the number of times

I've felt this way with you nearby

as we both close our eyes

and exist in the now.

[wonderingwords]

because you didn't say goodbye

All I can do right now is write.

All I can do right now is write.

All I can do right now is write.

I cannot speak because the words will shake + break in the air in front of me

To continue trying will either bring the tears to ruin your night

or the shouts to door slams to end it.

And I can't swallow the sour taste of guilt --

clearly.

If I were able, I could have gulped down my pride. 

Knowing that I lashed out as punishment for my perceived slights --

accounting not for

your excitement,

your special day,

your beginning buzz,

nor anything but my

selfish needs.

I spend this time brewing in rage + jealousy simultaneously self-inflicting hateful remedies

Stumbling to fix the mistakes I've made by diagnosing the symptoms as permanent deficiencies

The medication isn't working.

I will learn this time

[wonderingwords]

one day at a time

My dad stopped drinking when I was 14

Yet to this day

I cannot smell beer

without wrinkling my nose

and frowning slightly.

Resenting every other Tuesday

that my mom and I would sort the recycling

and the echoing sound

of all those bottles

clinking

against each other.

The Saturdays when he'd go running

then come back with his friends

and empty a few bottles

before going to work

for the rest of the day.

The Fourth of July's I never looked forward to

(the bugs, the heat, the food)

but mostly the loud noises

that increased as the day went on

my dad had more to drink

and more fun with fireworks

as I covered my ears

and hoped that he'd be safe.

All the nights he worked late

of course, going out with clients

is working--

my mom would mention in passing

that she wished he

were home more

I of course wished the same thing

but after she tucked me in

I could only lie in the dark

and wonder

how long she'd stay up

waiting for him.

And that night

when I felt the most afraid

and utterly helpless;

Mom and I were up late watching a movie

the doorbell rang

I let her answer it

as I stood in the hallway

in my oversized t-shirt.

Some man she seemed to recognize

was helping my father walk in

Dad was smiling simply

unfazed by the cut on his forehead

She thanked the man

after he said it was a slip on the ice

then guided her husband up the stairs.

I stood by in horror

because I was the only one

besides our dog

that seemed worried about the situation.

Dad was silly and unbalanced

Mom, only tired.

I followed them quietly

she was helping him undress

and go to the bathroom.

She closed the door behind her

then readied his side of the bed

and I frantically asked

"Mommy, what if he falls in the bathroom?"

"He won't. He'll be fine," continuing with her task.

"But Mommy..."

It could've been the sound of my voice

or the look on my face

but she paused, sighed, and took me in her arms

I didn't know what was going on

just wanted to stay comforted by her forever

So I went to bed as she helped him into theirs

and thought to myself,

Maybe she wasn't scared like me

because she's seen him that way

more than once.

I don't know if worry was born with me

or simply nurtured at a young age

but after worrying about my parents

for so many years

and knowing what that did to me

I told myself I'd never give them reason

to worry for their baby.

It doesn't work that way

They certainly worry

but for almost five years

I've watched my dad go to meetings

and my mom believe in him

They're so much happier than they used to be

Whichever Step says "make amends":

my dad did that,

on a car ride,

he promised me, "Never again."

[wonderingwords]

Where have you been all my life?

I have never asked myself

this question

And yet it’s considered orthodox

for those who fall in love

I don’t know if you’re perfect for me

All my life isn’t even

very much time

I don’t know if we’ll grow old together

or simply grow

a little bit.

But I’ve always had trouble

with finding the sun

I am most comfortable

hidden in my covers

during the darkest night

I’d say my heart doesn’t like to smile

because it’s cried so many times

But it’s been that way

for much longer

than my interest

in love.

The sun can be abrasive

and the light

does not come to my mind

easily.

So when you enter

bringing with you

your own night and daytime

and as if a window has opened

out of character,

I frequently

smile;

The question I ask

myself is:

Where have I been all my life?

[wonderingwords]

tricky questions have simple answers

Do I still have

feelings for you?

Have I moved on

at all?

In much too short a time

(or maybe too long

from your point of view)

I regurgitated all the sadness

into lost words

with no intention of

comforting others hurt

I stewed in my smug satisfaction;

I knew this would happen.

I knew this would happen.

Crying was critical

to my survival

And with a sweeping static

I decided to

be okay.

I was not relieved or

released

but my heart had the freedom

to open itself back up

Now knowing

that yours has

done the same

something stirs within me--

Jealousy?

Surprise?

A hint of old feelings?

No

Quite different this time;

I'm happy for you.

And I didn't think

I could ever be again

[wonderingwords]

the ones that stay with us

He said to me,

"Does it bother you,

me writing about other people?"

Yes.

It does.

However,

I have written about so many other people

loved ones

lost ones

and ones who never knew how I felt

All the sentences penned

that I never said out loud

All the frustrated scribbles

and "what the fuck" couplets

So many poems that now seem absurd

because I never made my words heard.  

So what bothers me

is that I read your words

of unrequited affection

and it breaks my heart

to know that you've

felt that

too.

[wonderingwords]

I Love the Way Your Brain Works

There must be thousands of stories

written on scrolls

and told by elders

both legend and truth

illustrating journeys through the ages

in search of man’s most desired object:

the affections of a lady.

Quests (in vain) have sought the compliment

with the power to enchant any woman

males who long for a female counterpart

will traverse great lengths

with the purest of intentions

to find the she

to complete his destined We.

Scholars speculate that chivalry

was born from missions like these.

Men will continue in this pattern

for centuries to come

just as most women

will wait to be found.

Us on the receiving end

are expected to be well-mannered and complacent

while our possible partners

make fools of themselves

But in a subtly sudden turn of events

after putting a halt to pursuing the pretend

then—

I stumble upon the he to my We

and take note, because I know firsthand

he has confessed to falling in love

with the impossible,

the darkest part of me.

[wonderingwords]

We've both been liars.

In an instant of intimacy

I realized a similarity:

He used to lie a lot

I used to lie a lot

and we're both done with that shit.

It's only when I write it down that I comprehend the irony:

He writes stories and I write poems

exclusively truthfully.

Enough is enough, I rebuff

yet he is the one to first claim love

and it hurts so bad that I've said it before

because this may be the first time I've been sure

but honesty is a trust we both believe in

and a month has been a damn good start.

We've been learning for 18+ years

now is probably the time to make the most of it.

[wonderingwords]

contradictions, inspirations, exceptions

another love song on the radio

I feel the need to fly my feminist flag

especially that one "The Only Exception"

I put my squiggly romantic poet feels into a box

and rage on principle.

then my choral conscience swells in three-part harmony

"Hypocrite"

(I hear that sound a lot

but it never gets less beautiful)

You scoff at other women for their love songs

yet love poems are all you choose to write.

How do I explain myself?

I think my parents started it all.

my mother and father have been married for 31 years

I've barely lived half that long

Dad used to drink a lot

Mom never gave up on him

She lost her job

He lost his mom

They raised five kids

with their own unique problems

and not once did I doubt that they were in love

If a ballad can inspire me like that,

I will listen.

I write about sadness and clouds

and wondering why I'm here now

I've spent most of my life so far

learning how to love myself

so if I've found someone who's there at my 3pm worst and my late-night mania

who can write at his computer while I sleep mouth open on the couch

who leaves me notes with drawings of Pokemon

who gives me a ride at eight in the morning and sings the whole time

who gets me to hold two snakes and lets me type his personality

who gives me a pet rat and shares responsibility

and he can hold me or be held;

he might find himself in a poem

or two.

[wonderingwords]

the chronicles of the crux

when I was six I fell in love with a boy

he wore sweatpants with elastic at the bottom

his hair and eyes were the perfect shade of chocolate brown

my definition of love was simple:

one who makes me laugh consistently

coupled with a struggle to speak.

I think he had no interest in girls

so I waited.

Then when we were ten an amazing thing happened

and we became friends

and I could talk

and I made him laugh too.

Eight years later I'm playing Pokemon Sorry

(his gift for my seventh birthday)

with a boy that has the same middle name

my definition of love was simple:

a friendship that pulls me out of my comfort zone

coupled with opportunities to wear dresses

not fleeing at the sight of my unshaven legs.

We rode the bus together

I was sad and tired

and he started talking to me

and for eight months he got me outside

and I tried to hold him in.

He saw me cry an uncountable amount

endlessly I yearned to comfort him

but I always ended up needing comforting.

It was long after I first saw it in his eyes

that he realized his change of heart out loud

there was a pain I'd never heard coating his voice

my definition of love was simple:

a distraction from being sad and tired

that fades eventually.

Five days before I start nineteen

still writing and fighting to understand

not frightened to talk

or admit that I have nothing figured out.

My definition of love will be closer this time

at least, it will be simple.

[wonderingwords]

The Story of Fi, part three

Ellen used afternoons as inspiration

walking home the long way admiring the season

each time passing the tumbling boy Fi.

Her footsteps slow and her gray eyes widen

converting his motion to a geometric equation

writing paragraphs of what could be his story.

[wonderingwords]

fickle fire

Am I awake yet?

I didn't mean to fall asleep, but it's been known

to happen

without my knowledge.

While horizontal the chaos looks less critical

a change of angle can do wonders

but I've come to the choice

between emotion and movement--

lie there and burn

or get up and

walk through the fire.