Comas, comets; and what they have in common

Sunday morning I woke up from a coma, 

so I raced the sun to the horizon but it beat me there, so I flew to the moon and made a home in its craters. I met a man there, and we talked about earth, we talked about asteroids and I told him I was one. I was born in the belt between Mars and Jupiter and I fell to the surface, though I never really belonged with the stars born to the ground. I was a celestial body melted down and given the name "Amanda"

I told him that no one knows I sometimes cry at night, because before the morning I clear my throat and wipe my eyes. 

I told him things that make my heart happy like wind shield wipers, rose colored glasses, bendy straws, street lights and kids in snow clothes. 

I told him that I'm scared of car crashes and codependency.

I told him about the nights when I couldn't sleep and the intrusive thoughts and how I like my cookies unbaked.

So when you need to talk, point your voice upward, I promise the moon will keep your secrets.

Me You And The Moon

And you will find yourself kissing this boy, probably in the back seat of his car. It's going to be messy because your scared. It's going to be hands crawling on places they should only caress. You will not giggle you will not smile. You will think youre special because it's your first time, but the only thing you will ever be to him is pretty. Darling, you are so much more than pretty. And it's going to be a secret kept only for nights cramming yourself into boys mouths where you don't belong.  

And you will find yourself kissing this boy. And it will be you and him in the backseat of anywhere. It's going to be messy because your nervous. It will be hands caressing, and fingertips touching. And you will be giggling and smiling. And you will know you're special, because he shows you that you are. And darling he thinks you're pretty, but he also thinks you're brilliant and strong. And it's going to be a secret whispered from lip to lip and palm to palm for nights when the moon holding the both of you needs to be the both of you holding each other. 

And you will probably break up. 

But that doesn't make it any less real.

The Hubble Telescope

It's kinda strange how fast you can leave the city going 80 miles an hour. I mean sure I duct taped your foot to the gas pedal, but I also gave you a knife to cut yourself free if you wanted to. But I watched your tail lights shrink. 

This thick skin was just waiting to be good for something. And you thought your sharpest knife should definitely be that something. You lodged it into my left lung, knowing fully well that the left one was the weak one. That the left one was the one that collapsed. That the left one still had problems....and so did the right one. 

I haven't had my albuterol in a bit too long now. 

I want to know what it feels like to be the brick and not the window pane, I guess this time you were both. 

The thing is you were always both, both the victim and the antagonizer. When ever it was convenient you played victim, made me feel sorry for you. When ever you could make me feel weak you'd be the antagonizer. 

Glass shards are always pretty until the thing they cut bleeds too much. And darling I'm bleeding out,

Working faster to tie that tourniquet 

Shaking 

Trembling 

Trying to breathe

Tie it tight so I keep the red

Tie it right or I'll end up dead.  

Trying to tie an armband. 

I can't tie it with just one hand. 

You know I'm not ambidextrous 

I know I shouldn't have messed with this. 

But I guess every hate poem is rhetorically a love poem. 

So We sat in the moons craters at 5 in the morning smoking cigarettes. Which is kind of ironic because without oxygen in outer space, we were still trying to squeeze the last bits of air out of our lungs. And the spaces between your fingers were filled with, well, space, cuz that's where we were, space. We floated amongst the Asteroids and they called us UFOs, but we weren't  unidentified, we just didn't like labels. 

The sun disappeared and I forgot to look at it. The sky is just a tragically beautiful graveyard, and we're carving our own tombstones with black burnt knifes. 

Your pollution is filling my nostrils and seeping into my bones

...But I always thought pollution was pretty. It left a dusky haze over the city and made the world seem not so harsh.  And that pollution catches the prayers from the city, blocking them from ever reaching heaven. 

He throws tantrums like a volcanic two year old. 

He pokes bruises and his mouth is a fountain that spouts lies,

But I guess every hate poem is rhetorically a love poem. 

His eyes were the Hubble telescope. 

And the Hubble telescope looked down again. 

At the Stars in our strands.

Apologetically me

<To read part 1 click here>

Year of no mistakes? Well the year ended a month ago and shits already hit the fan. 

To my mother, sorry Im always such a disappointment.

Sorry about the fallouts and sorry about the.. well...

Im sorry about the broken promises and the broken hearts

Dear Cortney, sorry were not really close anymore.

Dear Milo Harrison, sorry we had to stop being friends, things just weren't working anymore. 

Dear ex boyfriend number 2, sorry we didn't stay friends.

Dear my corner of the world, i'm sorry that I tried to change this little corner, cuz I did it all wrong. 

Just put your broken pieces over there with mine and call it good.

I want to know what it feels like to be the brick and not the window pane 
but this time I guess I was both. 

Shards flying

Collateral damage

And here I am,

apologetically me. 

You hate me for the things I've ruined, but i promise I hate myself more.  

Dear Nelson, sorry I got you in trouble. Things didn't really go as planned..

Nudity

Nudity is not the same thing as porn for our bodies are made up roughly of about 60% water and 40% star dust.  

The nitrogen in our DNA, the calcium in our teeth, the iron in our blood, were made from the interiors of collapsing stars. We are made of stardust. 

Nudity is not the same as porn.  In the old Roman Empire and in France especially, artists created beautiful nude sculptures and paintings that told stories and captured emotion. None of them are provocative, sexy or inappropriate, but they are all nude, and none of them are considered pornography, but if a woman is seen nude on social media in an artistic picture that tells a story, and captures emotion, people immediately sexualized that. She is slut shamed and people say she has no respect for herself. 

Now I'm not comparing this type of thing to the actions that Miley Cyrus performs on stage, nor am I shaming her for her actions, but she fingered herself on stage, that's porn, because it is meant to be sexual, and that's her choice. And as a person I respect her choice to be sexually open. 

I think a big part of feminism is giving other women, other people, the freedom to make their own choices even if to not necessarily a choice that I would make. 

And all the comments about women  "asking for it"....    

my jeans and t-shirt were what? too provocative?...  the night gown that seven year old girl was wearing was what? to sexual?... I mean there's way too many people saying that women just need to cover up their bodies, Excuse us for having skin, but may I remind you that my skin is made out of the same things that male skin is made from. 

That seven year old girl in an ankle length night gown was defiantly not asking for it. Me, in my blue jeans and AC/DC t-shirt, I was definitely not asking for it. 

If rape was about how little amount of clothing someone was wearing, then people wearing clothes wouldn't get raped, but they do. 

We need to stop having classes on avoiding getting rape and start having classes on not raping. 

We need to stop taking girls out of class and dress coding them because their outfits are distracting boys from learning, and start teaching boys to respect that our bodies are not for them. 

We've been taught that a women's body will cause men to sin. We're told that if a women showed off too much of her body then men will do stupid things. But let's be clear, a woman's body is not dangerous to you. It will not hurt you. It will not make you do stupid things, you choose to do stupid things.  And you have zero right to my body just because I'm not covering all of my skin. 

We shame girls simply because they are girls. We are told "periods are disgusting" "sit like a lady" "talk like a lady, it's more attractive to boys" "cover your body" As if being born a girl is already a disgrace.. And do not tell me to "talk like a lady" I do not give a flying shit if it's "unattractive to swear and use strong language" Telling girls to act a certain way because it's more pleasing for guys is such a pathetic mentality. It teaches girls that their roll is to please men! Why on earth would we teach girls that their roll is lesser than their counter part the same way that we taught blacks that they are lesser than theirs. We need to teach girls to embrace themselves. All of themselves. Their Femininity and their masculinity, and their bodies and the fact that they are made out of supernova explosions. 

So instead of teaching girls to cover their bodies, we need to teach boys to respect that our bodies are not for them. 

However we dress, wherever we go, yes means yes and no means no. Maybe if we stopped being so scared of everyone else's bodies, we could stop hating our own. 

<To read part 2 click here>

Real talk: How it started

*This isn't much of a poem, its more of a thought process, and a religious look on life and death.

**DISCLAIMER: If your religion is the only thing keeping you on this planet, you probably shouldn't read this. 

(The beginning)

Winter break, I couldn't figure out what I was supposed to do with my life, more simply: what I am supposed to do during the day? Well, what do other people do during the day? Sports, tv, video games, art, music. So basically people just do things that they enjoy.

Well I like art and music, so I went to the piano but couldn't play anything well enough to enjoy it,
so I sat down an painted a tree.

(The middle)

After my religion class, I went up to my teacher, I started by saying "So I had a friend that died last year but according to our gospel, it's okay, and she's not going to hell because during the afterlife she can learn the gospel, get endowments, and get married, right?"

He confirmed this was true so I continued "So if I died today, it would be okay, I wouldn't go to hell because in the after life I can learn the gospel, get my endowment, and get married, right?"

He said "yeah that works for everybody, it's just important to do temple work so that people who have gone before us can receive it."

I asked "what about the very last person, like if everyone else died in that was one person, who would do the temple work?"

I promise I was looking for him to give me something else to think about. 

Maybe disprove my ideas. 

He said "Do you really think God to let that happen? Plus we have the millennium where everyone's work will get done."

I promise I was looking for a different answer. 

I promise I wasn't looking for this. 

(The beginning of the end)

After telling him that I was OK, I left the building and walked out into the rain. I was shaking, but not because I was cold.

I want to die, not because I'm depressed though. I want to die because I find life meaningless.
I don't have a lot of friends, I have one super close friend, but she has a boyfriend, and she's graduated. I'm not close with anyone in my family, the only boys interested in me are the manipulative boys who hate themselves. I don't want to get married, I don't want to have kids. 

Why don't we all just die and go to the afterlife, then we could work on our spirituality without the mortal distractions. 

I want to die.
Not because I'm depressed. Not because I don't feel loved.
Not because I hate myself, I love myself.
But not even religion can keep me here anymore. 

So to my mother, who always tried to make things about her, this is not about you, it never was.
And neither was the fact that clutter gives me anxiety, that was about my brain going into attack mode with me as the target, and that was about trying to make it stop. 

I wish you had more confidence.

Also, if you don't love dad, get a divorce.
Divorces are hard, but watching your parents constantly fight is harder.

Mom you deserve someone that loves you immensely. 

And that person deserves to be you.

•••

But don't worry, I'm not gone yet, I still have things to create. 

My list of things to create is cluttered with poem ideas. I want to make music, I want to be good at it.             I want to make a difference in someone's life, and I can't do that if I'm dead now can I?

So I guess I'll move that ladder from my bedroom back to my garage. 

And I'll stop closing my blinds and I'll welcome the sun,

but you know,

if the sun died, it would take eight minutes for us to know about it.
What would you consider the probability of the sun rising tomorrow?
I think most people would say 100%,
but in reality it could have died 7 minutes ago
and by the time you finish reading this, our world could be dark.

Welcome to the darkness

Its not what you thought It would be now is it

Shooting Stars

She was a treacherous beauty as violent and as breath taking as tsunamis and forest fires. 
She was as sad and as brilliant as exploding stars.
She was as horrifying and equally as wonderful as life itself, 
but with a gun between your teeth you can only speak in compliances or threats. 

She chose the latter and pointed the bullets at herself.

She tricks herself into being tired so she doesn't have to face the world one day after another and she has dreams about reality. Which makes waking up even harder because she can no longer draw the line between things that are real and things that she made up. But as she sleeps she hangs her left foot off the edge of the bed, hoping that maybe, just maybe, something will snag her. 

She has a ladder set up just outside her bedroom door hoping she can jinks herself into dying. 

Her diet itself is a suicide note, strictly limited to all the things that she is allergic to. 

Her favorite playlist is the one that makes her feel like her heart is sinking, these melodies are sliding razor blades into her blood stream as she slides razor blades through her skin. 

Shes as sad and as brilliant as exploding stars. 

Sad because the sky holds one less star tonight,

And brilliant because of the mess she makes as she destroys herself. 

But no matter how hard you try,
you can't stop the stars from falling.

And it's even harder to catch them.

Verisimilitude

The heart begins beating at 4 weeks
after conception and doesn't stop till death.

Until I met you I was only

three weeks old.

The fetal heart rate is approximately 

twice as fast as an adults. 

Yours was going 72 

mine was going 146.

Plato theorized that reasoning 

originated in the brain, but that

passions originated in the heart.

You see, my frontal lobe
was FAR from developed.

The "thump-thump" of a heartbeat

is the sound made by the four 

valves of the heart closing.

Your thump-thumps kept
getting louder and louder.

75 trillion cells receive blood from

the heart. The only thing that doesn't 

receive blood is the corneas.

75 trillion cells receive blood
unless you tie a tourniquet, 
and you tied it all too close to me.

About 610,000 people die of heart

disease in the US every year. 

That makes heart disease
1 in every 4 deaths.

While making sure you were 
one of the 3, it got me 

a lot closer to being that 1.

Your heart beat changes and 

mimics the music you listen to.

I listened to you for hours on 

end, so it was no surprise when 

my heart sounded exactly like you.

Your heart beat changes and

mimics the music you listen to,

and your heart sounded 

nothing like me.

Because the heart has its own
electrical impulse, it can continue
to beat even when separated from
the body as long as it has an
adequate oxygen supply.

xxx
(help, I can't breathe)

Nostalgia At Its Finest

I remember the first school talent show I was in.
Third grade.
Colten Simper told me I was the best one.

I remember Colten Simper. 

I remember he would chase me at recess and I would throw my shoes at him.

I remember the mornings when I was little, me and my sister would sit on the floor between the fridge and the pantry, and we would tell each other about the dreams we had that night. 

I also remember the day she got send to rehab. 

I don't remember the day she came back. 

I remember my first kiss and my first train ride and I remember the first time I saw my mom cry while she was giving me a talk about being nice to the other kids.

I remember laying in the snow for what felt like hours, watching the snow come down on me. 

I remember I was 7 when I flashed the neighborhood boys because they wouldn't get off my playset. 

I remember my aunts reading me Shel Silverstein on Christmas Eve. 

I remember crashing into a boulder on my bike.

I remember the school field trips when even the parent chaperones teased me. 

I remember my first time to the zoo.
I went with my dad and my second grade class  and he taught me how to play the alphabet game. 

I remember going to the zoo at 16 and still thinking it's amazing.

I remember the first time I cried at school was 7th grade when Garrison told me I was fat. 

I remember people being surprised when I tell them I'm not in college, I remember people being surprised when I tell them I'm not in 6th grade. 

I remember my first cheer competition and my first house and my first best friend. 

I remember back yard water fights and front porch fire works. 

I remember cuddling on the couch with my mom every morning. 

I remember forgetting to get off the bus in second grade and crying when I realized I missed my stop.
I remember the bus driver was really nice and he took me back home.

And I still remember thinking that my skin was all that I was worth.
And I still remember realizing I'm more than that.

   I remember,  

     I remember,

       I remember. 

      

          I'm scared I'll forget. 

Daniel Boone- White Elephant