L Is Dead

Gone is the girl everyone thought so little of. The one you said would never succeed. She’s gone and she won’t be coming back. Oh you might remember her. Some of you might remember her as the girl you once passed in the hallway or the one you used to get high with. Some might remember her as the best ride of their lives or just another girl who graced their sheets.

Oh yes you might remember her. But she surely won’t be missed.

There’s no “L” In Team

I will miss this. You. Them. I was never good at goodbyes, y’know. I have separation issues. I hate it when people leave.

 

So here it is, here I go. One last glance at everything, everyone. At all those things I’m moving away from. Some hands would remain familiar, I know. John’s hands gripping Red Horse bottles, Victor’s hands on spoons, Paulo’s hands on bicycle cards, Katrina’s hands spilling truth.

 

I pray YOUR hands stay familiar too.

To The Boy Who Eats Parmesan as Pulutan

You have no idea how you’ve saved my sanity over and over. How I grab onto our 1am drinking sessions and half-stoned conversations when I can’t hold onto anything else. You’re my fucked up wonderwall man. My soft place to fall. 

 

Oh I’m not saying this just because the words sound pretty. We both know you don’t need the flattery. These words are meant. They are as tested as the Red Horse bottles we cling to at night. As real as the something-just-died-in-my-mouth taste on my tongue the morning after.

 

I love you man. You and your twisted take on things and how you listen to the best music. Truth is, you inspire me. The way you throw yourself at life as though it were a lion with gaping jaws. And while everyone else is busy running for cover, there you are, frozen in awe by its beauty. Oh you’re not naive about the fact that it might bite your head off any second, but you seem to find it impossible to flea from something so real just for the sake of fear. That is who you are. And that makes me want to be like you sometimes… Only better looking.

 

I guess I’m just trying to thank you. For the fucked up way you comfort me. For the safety I find in your presence. For the weed. The alcohol. Those nights spent on songs and cigarettes.

 

And always know man, wherever you are.. You’re one of the brightest little fireflies in my jar.

I’m All I’ll Ever Be

Stray sentences over and over again. Words that traced how your hands got tangled in my hair. I’ve memorized your eyes like comets, y’know. And oh if I could have breathed you in I would have. But I forced myself upon you, pushed you away for want of something more. Pounded on the door of your chest day after day. If it had been made of wood I may have smashed my way in, but it was made of cotton sheets. Y’know, the kind that speak of lazy summer mornings as lovers roll about beneath them, with a backdrop of spinning mix CDs.

 

Oh you were the opening of a Jack Johnson song. Waking up too early in the morning with nowhere to go. You were 7am split in two. An unanswered conversation with a friend that asked if I spent the night with you.

 

You left thinking you never changed me, never made me better. But my best was already there, baby. You held it in your fingertips. Kept it in your kiss.

Busy Little Firefly

Chris and I hung out last night. Two stories up, one heartache down. We spent hours on guitar riffs and sad lines. I didn’t write though. Because I’m tired of writing about you. And I don’t trust myself to pick up a pen and not write truth. You’re all my fingertips seem to hold now.

So I just listened. Intense, how I felt the vibrations run through my chest, having it beat for something other than your hands for a few hours. 

Oh and Chris & I, we talked. Talked about girls and boys and the way they break you. The way they get in there and rip you apart. But we spared one another the painful talk, veiled it with humor and jokes about bad sex experiences. I realized then that if I could forget you like this 24 hours a day, I’d be okay.

But I don’t see that happening. Not yet. Not yet.

 

Oh I Love You

I take risks. I’m that kind of girl baby. Not for inconsequential things though. For great cliche gun blasting love like things.

 

I’m the kind of girl that will drive 2 hours to your house in the middle of the night bearing a cheap plastic rose I bought at a gas station en route just because you had a bad day. An unexpected 11pm knock at your door and I’ll put the world to rights. The light of the street lamps haven’t got nothing on me.

 

Anyone can offer you security, a million dollars and marriage. But who else can give you love like that?

I Lost All Hope That Day

The first time I saw you I didn’t know where to look. You held oceans in your hands and secrets in your pockets. There was music and laughter and endless cigarettes.

Then a sale was made and your soul was gone, the black in your eyes taking over. You threw words from your window and started a fire. I watched through jaded eyes and let hope go, into a world quickly becoming foreign to me. Because babe if you were to leave I’d lose faith in everything. I’d grab scissors and cut into leather, into arms, into clothes. I’d cut my way out of this skin and try to find you. I’d fake a heart attack and board sinking ships.

This is desperation, a prayer on deaf ears, a prayer I hope you’ll hear. I’ve been walking into walls and scratching records in hopes of finding something, anything. This isn’t love, this is everything.

You used to throw lighters and glances and words, used to break everything but promises. Those you kept. But not this time. Not this time.

Oh Come On Now

Oh you, the former me. I found you. You were sitting in my old teenage bedroom, I think. I don’t really remember. I never did spend much time there. You had big round eyes and eyelashes like dandelions. Your cheeks were rosy from concentration. Your hair was dark, very dark. And the strands were falling into and hiding your face. You were writing. Poetry maybe. I don’t know. Oh but baby you were stunning. Absolutely gorgeous with your smooth skin and pouty lips. You were sixteen, gunning for the world and craving life.

You noticed me, eventually. I looked straight at you and said: 

“One year from now i will fail you, and it will never stop. It will go on for years and years, get worse and worse. I will abandon my friends, fail my family, drop out of college, get caught shoplifting, do drugs, and try to lose myself in hard liquor and a slew of one night stands. I will become a worthless person, a waste of life. I will let you down. And I’m sorry. I am so so so fucking sorry. I am sorry for everything I will put you through.”

I had to find myself to apologize to myself for the woman I would fail to become. I had to find myself to forgive myself for the woman I would become… for the woman that I am.

And I have. And I will prove you wrong… Because for far too long, you have had the satisfaction of being right.

 

 

 

Start Over

Traveled back in time last night. Slipped through doors, took old elevators, looked up names I’d rather forget. I re-read letters, favorite books, lyrics. I looked through old magazines, old pictures, repressed memories. I was looking for something, the start of the end. Looking for some sort of twisted beginning.

It was so easy to find, really. It was in bars, at jamming sessions, under beds. It was colorless but easy to see. Quiet but oh so disruptive. It had many names,  many faces. It had many ways to bring me down.

I can blame any boy, any problem, karma, or luck. But really, it’s the liquor. I’ve always known. But now it shows in my actions, on my face, in the drunken professions of love. This drama was born with the first drink i took.

It will die with the last.

There are still a few things left though: twisted thoughts, deeper understanding. A few pictures, bad memories. Cigarette stains that won’t wash out, days I’ve already missed. But I’ve still got the skills to make you bleed, don’t you know? With every word I write, your heart still bleeds into mine. We are still the same.

May the bridges I [won't] burn light the way.

And We Whispered

Where did you come from? With all your explanations and that amazing smile. With ten thousand questions and even more apologies. You hit me like a hurricane, throwing words and hurt and heartache.

 

And though I know you from angry glance to self-assured stride, I will never know you well enough. And though I’ve held you in a million places, from your bed to mine, I will never hold you close enough.

 

You were the best time of my life. Then, even now, it’s crystal clear. You never meant to but you let me down. I deserved it. But i kept you in my pockets. Always. Always.