the grand theft of the heart

Your thumb brushes my bottom lip and suddenly I’m crying in earnest. The palm cradling my white hot cheek is rough, worn-in. Your fingers are reaching for the base of my hairline, holding the bones of my spine in place. I love you here. Forehead to forehead, waiting while my body breaks within yours. We are the love they talk about, here. The grandeur and the painted picture and the good honest truth.

You look at me the way all women want to be looked at by a man. You press lips to the skin between my eyes, say ‘it’s ok’ with your fingers down my back. Here, I am vulnerable. I am a target that I know you will not shoot. Here, I am all yours.

I hold your fingers in mine. Let myself feel small. Trace the life-line, heart-line, fate-line of your palm. I think about us inside those lines. Suddenly your body yanks at mine. Suddenly we are two people once again. But as you wrap me fully in your arms and squeeze just tight enough, I know I am safe as myself. Head tucked into your neck, arms instinct-X’ed over my heart, body rebuilding; I let the tears hiccup and stop. I can feel the smile in your chest, the heat of your happiness. ‘Enough for us both’ I (always) think.

You tangle your hands in my hair, distance us and watch. I let a smile tease my lips. You let yours fly the coop. Then you kiss me. But you don’t just kiss me, no. This time is different. This type is different. It’s the type where you know you’re in trouble. The type you’re already an addict for. The type that people write books about.

It’s the grand theft of the heart, and no one is around to catch us.

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I feel as small as the

trees

look from my favorite spot.

A sea of civilization

freckled with

oaks,

redwoods,

pines.

I am one of these trees.

And I am drowning in the

immensity of my surroundings.

Drowning inside my body.

Drowning in the

thought of it all.

In the infinite possibility.

Yet

my legs keep kicking,

arms keep

paddling.

I feel a drought all around

but

my body is so full.

My head is so heavy.

The chemicals will

kick in soon enough,

though.

And the dams

will hold.

I will go through another day.

Holding back

the war I want to

unleash.

I will crawl into

bed; alone: tired.

And think:

tomorrow will be better.

because

you made it one more day.

And I will be

proud

of that.

And I will be

proud

of myself.

And I will be,

one day,

more than ok.

little

But sometimes, just the affirmation of time passing is enough. Because we were little. Little people living someone else’s big lives. Borrowed. Un-earned. We weren’t caviar. Weren’t hired gardeners. We didn’t tan, or say I love you with diamonds and reservation dinners. We were little. Like, picnics and hikes and scary movies half-watched in the dark. Something different. Something I cannot impose upon your senses, make you see. Something small. But something, always, unequivocally, irrevocably important.

virgin self-love

I tell you:

I will grow my own flowers and love my own self. I will be healthy and happy and you will have nothing to do with it. I will appreciate me just as you did but to me it will matter much more. And yes, I will miss you always but no I will not lose my love for myself when you do. I will water and nurture and grow my own flowers, and I will be ok when you’re gone.

you are my favorite song

We drive for hours and neither of us change the radio. Life plays like a movie through the windows. A beautiful backdrop of a dying planet. I watch you watch the unfurl. There is no love between us. There is much more, though. There are good days and bad and sleepovers and no lust and cooking and laughing and a little too much crying but a lot of a lot and maybe some love but not enough to break the surface. You smile because you know I am watching. I turn up the music.

naked

Today is a hard day. Today I can feel a tightness in my chest that wasn’t there a week ago. Today my bones are tired tired tired. Brain is tired tired tired. Today I am afraid me, of this sadness in my heart, of this sleep-deprived-unfed-neglected pile of person. I am worried. Living on my own is harder than ever imagined on days like these. Days where you need your parents cooking and someone to tell you that they’re proud of you.

This morning I sat in class and I couldn’t shake a feeling that I wasn’t going to be ok. I know I will, it’s always ok in the end, but this morning it didn’t feel quite that right. I’m trying hard here but I have not been trying my hardest and the anxiety pooling at the base of the pit I’ve created is making it a bit hard to breathe. I believe in myself, I know I can manage all of it and succeed with all of it and make the best of all of it, but I am so afraid I’ve already failed.

My heart has had a pretty hard week as well. The poor thing, I’ve put it through so much. I’ve been too open to too many pathetic promising people and it’s left my heart a bit bruised. I haven’t found the time to learn to love it like they do. I don’t know why I cannot grasp the whole self-sufficient thing. Today my heart is hurting. Today I am hurting. Today I am just bearably anxious and panic is lurking like a shadow. Today I am just a girl in a world much too big for her and I am scared. I am scared to jump and I am scared to fall.

I miss the souls at home. My family, my friends, the blessings in my life. I love it here – the newness, the pretty, the free – but I miss my mom and dad. I miss my little brother. I am so afraid of letting them down. So afraid I won’t be enough. So afraid I wasn’t enough to begin with.

Today is a Wednesday, my favorite days. Today is a hard favorite day. Writing by the river with music in my head I feel better than I did. Today I decide what I want, I control. Today I can turn this around, today I will turn this around.

x

Thank you for listening, and I am sorry if I scared you with my words. These are words for you and me. This is my heart on a page and as much as it gets kicked and picked on it will continue beating. I am a happy soul having a bad day. Tomorrow I will be a happy soul having a better day. I hope you read this and agree with my message: you are in charge. We can change this. We will change this.

Thank you for listening. Thank you for letting me be heard.

Wednesdays

Wednesdays have very quickly become my favorite days of the weeks. On Wednesdays I have created a tradition. I drag myself to Honors, I talk with people I love about things I love and I come home happier than I thought I could; and after a brief resting period I head to Business. Business, however, remains a waste of time. Usually I drown out my professor’s voice reading off of someone else’s lecture slide with the newest music I’ve come across, or I sit and write what I can. But post-bore I head to pick up a light-iced-vanilla-latte and something sweet (this part of the tradition will not hold up much longer I’m afraid, it’s amazing how quickly money flies away up here). I take my treats to the river that runs through campus, and sit on a stone wall right by the waters edge. I work on math or read or simply enjoy nature while I wait for my final class. I cannot explain in words how beautiful it is here at this time. The sun is touching the water in such a way that sparks something in my heart and gives me butterflies deep in my gut. The leaves shiver in the breath of the breeze. This is a place where you cannot feel hate or despair or lust. This is a place where no evil touches the ground and the sky seems endlessly blue and wonderful. I am here now and I cannot believe that places like this exist so simply. It is so pure, so safe. Soon I will head to class and the sun will set over the beauty here, but this feeling will last and I will hold on to it for as long as life lets me. Today is a good day and today I am thankful – for this life I live, for the people in it, for every day I get. I thank God when I can and I hope he understands how appreciative I am, even when I forget to express it. The world is a wonderful place, and wow, am I one lucky girl to be here now.

home

You let the handle go as it

slips the frame into place.

Your hands are cold,

outside-cold.

The girl in bed looks peaceful

yet you can see the war

raging in her head.

You close the distance between your bodies;

touch her cheek;

wake her softly;

her eyes flutter. You think – beautiful.

She smiles,

nestles into your hand.

She opens the comfort of her bed so it allows for two.

You smile, small, and slip off your shoes.

You fit yourself beside her.

You are not sure if the warmth you feel is from her or for her.

You touch her cheek again,

let your thumb dip to her lips.

Your eyes watch hers.

Vulnerable. Craving.

Content.

She closes her eyes as her body sighs into yours.

There is no tension, no fear.

Nothing but you.

Your hand slides to her hip, and you pull her in close.

Her head finds a crook in your neck.

A home.

The smile on her face radiates through her body.

You feel it there.

You pull her body to yours, instinct.

There is no one else.

White sheets and white thoughts and white feelings.

You think: this is it.

You think: this is home.

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A compilation of thoughts, surroundings, experiences, and everything in between. Stay tuned to watch the life of an 18 year old college freshman unfold for all the world to watch. This is my art, my heart, and it is all for you.