Thoughts

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What can be said for a girl who wants to save the world when she can't even save herself?

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You don't need to love me

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Just a little disclaimer, this post was inspired by my best friend Ardon, who was inspired by the song "You Don't Need to Love Me" from the musical If/then. Basically there was a lot of inspiration. Anywayyyyy. You don't need to love me. Let me rephrase that,  I don't need you to love me. And let me tell you why, There once was a girl with the forest trapped in her eyes who fell in love with a boy who had the sky in his. So the forest within her reached out to the sky within him, with stretching arms desperate to stroke the sky.  And so she stretched and reached and let herself believe that she was the one who held up the sky and he was the one who kept her warm at night wrapping himself between her branches.  And he told her that he loved her whether her branches were decorated or barren. Because he was in love with her skeleton, the things she was built from. But he changed and so did she. We often do. He fell in love with her green, her liveliness.  Winter came...
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 There’s a line by Shakespeare that I think about often, “Hell is empty. All the devils are here.” It’s from the Tempest. God has been evicted from the corners of my mind, His rent was long overdue —10 percent paid with no return  Called upon over over over again, Only to collect on my pleas but abandon me in my need. I knew he was gone long before I was 17-years-old in the backseat of a car. Maybe religion is a pyramid scheme. Even as he’s abandoned me, I still dial his number often — perhaps testing his inbox’s capacity. If the number still goes through, or if it’s just a dial tone. This is something I’d never admit to anyone who’d bother to ask. Holding up one of the devils with one arm and helping him smoke a cigarette with the other, Another told me “The only thing stopping you from crossing over into atheism is fear.” Fear has been bedfellow since my stepfather had moved into our home decades ago, But I do not tell him that — this is a party after all.  The cigarett...
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And any I love yous offered   Have become as empty as his apologies As the doorway   The space in the bed beside me The lines in my notebook  As I search for an inkling  Of his sincerity but find only myself lingering. In my mind I practice slamming doors closed, Instead of throwing open bed sheets Shroud every mirror. Reaching for my anger beneath the floorboards of a home that has a resemblance in both our wavering childhoods, But only finding his. It’s cold in my hands —  Like the tin cans we’ve tied to another, stretching across all this time. I cannot tell if the whispers in the dark a re between the boy who used ride his bike to school afraid it would one day vanish — And the girl who pretended she had a magic wand to make the nightmares disappear. Or if it’s the poltergeists, Drug in with the antiques of our adolescence .
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