I take the long breath out,
I take the long breath in,
wondering when this thing will end.
This pile of uncertainty,
This puppet game,
with tangled up strings.

Surely you knew me well enough,
to know that though it would have been tough,
the truth would have not broken me,
I don’t know why you act like you can not see
me now, but I hope you do.

I hope you see me in the stars I wish to travel to,
I hope you see me in the summer sky, bright blue,
I hope you see me in the waves crashing on the sand,
I hope you see me in the towers, tall and grand,
I hope you see me in the books that line the shelves,
But I curse you to see me when you see yourself.

When I see myself, there is not too much good,
you brought that out in me, like you should.
But with you gone, I struggle to see
the kindness you brought out in me.
The kindness,
the politeness, how can’t you see,
that I’m exactly who you thought me to be.

I gave you every single part,
gave you access to every scar,
unlock me with a given key,
and you will see that half of me is missing,
gave to our hundred “new beginnings”

I hope you see me in the words I strive to write,
I hope you see me in the ceiling on your sleepless nights,
I hope you see me in the earth beneath your feet,
I hope you see me in the echo of every thing you speak,
I hope you see me in the clock when it hits the twelfth,
But I curse you to see me when you see yourself.

I’ll sit front and center,
on a cold metal chair,
fog machine blowing in my face,
sound too loud,
lights too bright,
just to see you on stage.

I will choke back my tears,
and instead scream your name.
I won’t sink back in my chair,
I will stand and applaud,
even when I want to die,
because I know you’d do it for me.

I won’t complain about too-late rehearsals,
or copying my homework,
or staying with the cast and not me.
I’m not part of it all,
not even a techie,
so you can stop loving me for the season.

But I will never stop loving you.

I will bring you flowers every night,
stand by the cast door,
hug you tight,
and hold you as you cry
about it being the last show,
until you do it all over again.

I will support your dreams,
even when they are mine too,
even when I want to be on that stage,
so bad that it hurts to breathe
when I see it.
But it’s your spotlight,
so I will stand back,
and let you take it.

I will give you the rides
and the late night dinners.
I  will help you with lines,
and listen to you sing.
I will give you the flowers,
and bake you the cookies,
because I love you,
and when you are happy,
I will pretend to be.

little girl, little girl,
look at you now,
wrapped up in blankets,
in a cradle,
with people holding you,
and smiling,
but just you wait, little girl.

little girl, little girl,
look at you now,
crawling on the floor,
banging pots and pans,
with people looking,
and laughing,
but just you wait, little girl.

little girl, little girl,
look at you now,
on your own two feet,
with a backpack on you,
with people coming over,
and playing,
but just you wait, little girl.

little girl, little girl,
look at you now,
with a pen in your hand,
learning how to be smart,
with people teaching,
and praising,
but just you wait, little girl.

little girl, little girl,
look at you now,
everything’s a little bit harder,
learning how to grow up, but it’s better,
with people helping,
and caring,
but just you wait, little girl.

little girl, little girl,
look at you now,
in front of the mirror,
hating everything in you,
with people whispering,
and wounding,
but just you wait, little girl.

little girl, little girl,
look at you now,
fractured on the floor,
never ever good enough,
smart enough,
pretty enough,
perfect enough,
E  N  O  U  G  H.
with people hating,
and mocking,
but just you wait, little girl.

little girl, little girl,
look at you now,
you made it this far,
and there’s still more to go,
with people loving,
and cheering,
but just you wait, little girl.

The title goes there, and
YOUR NAME GOES HERE.

And then you just write something.
You sit down and
w o r d s   s p i l l   o u t .
They bend and twist,
jump and dive,
fly and fall.
on the page
under my fingers
under my pen.
They exist because of me.
They are inside of me.
t h e y  a r e   m e

The idea of writing can be traced back,
years and decades and centuries,
with millions and millions of writers.
School boys
and Shakespeare
Writing connects.
Writing protects.
Writing destroys.
Writing raises.
Writing is everything.

And you start with 3 words
on a blank page,

TITLE GOES HERE.

You could destroy me with everything you know.
You could tear down my careful reputation
with the secrets I willingly told you.
You could set fire to the comfortable life I’m living,
and have the flames engulf me too.

I don’t think it was healthy,
to  tell you that much.
I don’t think I should have told you
every one of my  d r e a m s
s e c r e t s ,
and  w i s h e s .  

But what was I supposed to do?
Every sign pointed that we had something real.
You helped me plant a garden in the shade
(it failed)
We ate popsicles on my front step
(they ruined my shirt)
You went swimming with me in the creek
(we hadn’t meant to get wet.)

You teased me when I slipped,
We both shared awkward glances at my sister’s questions,
I tried to get dirt out of your hair-
-you know, every time I see hair like yours I freeze.
It could be anyone, any length, anywhere, and I still stop dead.

I think you’ve ruined me without even whispering a word.

You never cared to much about my words, actually.
You didn’t care for my poems or my songs,
not more than politeness needed.
Politeness is one of your main qualities,
And like most polite people,
Honesty is not one of them.

I don’t know how I told you everything about me,
and you still didn’t know that the hard truth
would have hurt me less than the uncertainty
we’re now dangling in.
If you had just told me the truth-
I would have been okay with it.
Do you understand that?

I would have been more than okay with the truth.