old bear

i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
i don't know you
and he was right,
she was right,
and i never knew a thing.
i don't know you
and i never really did.

moon comin' in

your song is on repeat, and the strumming of guitar makes me wanna cry.
the way he moves his head when he sings and everything you can see in his eyes.

i took out my first loan today.
it's weird to think about growing up, and how this is a portion of it. how this is me doing something huge. by myself. someone told me the other day that i was growing up fast. and i did everything i could to not panic about it. i've always been this sort of old soul, but i'm a child. i'm this child who still flings herself around and grumbles when she walks through spider webs. but i'm paying for my own school. i'm watering my own plants and sustaining life of two animals. i drive everywhere on my own, and i make small, everyday choices on my own. i make my own schedules, and i have my own dollars? though they are few, they are mine.

it's weird, and sometimes i wanna step back and breathe while i watch myself do things.

can i do that?

shining like my sea

Remember getting on the first plane, opening up the book you're beginning and plugging into my old black machine. I'm engulfed in every emotion that my music is sharing with me and at one point, I'm convinced that the voice isn't in the speakers, but that it's standing behind me whispering life into my left ear. I turn pages and sip on ginger ale like I always do 36,000 feet in the sky. Above you and me and anything that would connect me to the things I'm used to. 
I'm new. 
The trees are a new sort of strong, resembling things I can relate to. I've realized that in most senses, we do not learn from things, we compare ourselves to them like mirrors. They're reflecting me, those little trees. Shining back, and I look away. 
I'm in awe in this town, but I'm taken to a new level as my sandals are lost in tan grains. My long hair becomes tangled and is whipped by the wind which gives the aroma of my heaven. This is my earth. My crystals my rocks and my safe place. I'm drawn to the sea, just being near it. I step in and it stings my skin from all of my clumsy nicks and scratches, I'm always injuring my poor legs like a child, but in the water I'm full again. I collect each shell like it's golden. Like that's what I came here for. I hug my moms neck and my sister can see my gleaming. It's written all over me; this is home. 

my ocean

It was the orange sun setting with the patches of purple and yellow sky peeking through and setting around it. It was the still water, and the longboards. The sand casting your skin and the wind tangling my brown hair. My skin burned when I got deeper in the ocean because of my clumsy nicks on my legs. It was my green skirt covered in sand and dipped in the salty water. It was the calcium formed shells in my hands and it was my brother. It was my italian family, and it was the moon. 

timshel

is it bad that i want to become something so new to everyone that i don't have to explain my past? i want to be so far away sometimes that no one even cares anymore. i don't want people to refer to times in my life as "when you and collin broke up". whoooo issss heeee, i don't even know. i rode my bike past his street today and didn't even look down the stretch of it. i feel so disconnected from him and from junior year's greg. i don't know any of them, and you don't know me either. get me out of here. i'm starting to feel like the moon, and you're becoming the ocean. or am i the ocean spitting salt into every open and wounded area of your skin? i'm stealing your life, and collaborating with gravity. i can't help it.

i'm not alone in this. god, this is my first night alone. my bed feels so big, but it's mine and i've lost touch with it, and this keyboard. with all of this music. this feeling of drifting, this feeling of hanging on.

i can feel the tide turning. i'm the one pushing and pulling.

rice bread and cookies

the journey began that monday -

after seeing off my girl to Boston, and driving that three hours that have become second nature to me. we picked him up that night at the airport, and the journey began.

We were so excited, always planning what we were going to do next, always on our feet, always together. Nothing's changed, except we now have negative dollars.

The rough patch has passed, thank the Lord, and now it's weird to comprehend that he'll be leaving for Holland again in less than a week. He told me a few days ago that he probably won't be coming back next year because he'll be saving for Australia - where he'll be living Spring 2012. That's weird too. I've never travelled out of the country, and especially never by myself. It's weird to think that within the next few years, if I want to see him, I'll have to fly over seas. I'll have to buy the tickets, and it's going to take a lot of saving and planning. Both of which I am awful at.

That all can change.

Just like the breakdown I had in my living room,

just like your breakdown.

Just like that friendship that's blossoming, and the ones that are fading away-

that all can change.

I'm making rice right now because cookies and bread aren't good, sustainable food. Especially for someone who is hypoglycemic like myself. Just drinking my ice cold Diet Coke, and enjoying this little inkling of solitude I have at my kitchen table.

numbers no paintings

i don't even know what to say or where to begin. i'm sorry;

those words have sunken into clay,

and they don't even make sense anymore because you are light like a feather.

you don't believe me. you never believe me, and you put on this face

then erase it away. you shake it because it's me.

because it's you. it's all you and i guess instead of paint and colors;

dreams and visions and braids,

i need numbers. i need words, i need touch.

but i haven't had any of that until a few nights ago.

about the mountain man. the vegetarian. the Buddhist meditation.

you came back and i put us in this room together

with blue walls,

a huge lotus and we are birthed in the same room.

but i push that away because i forget that you

have fallen for a rose. a delicate,

blood thirsty rose with fresh squeezed lime.

and you. you keep adding onto your art

and your small little body.

all i want to do is road trip with you.

but you don't hear me.

you can't hear me,

i can't even hear myself over the visions of waves.

i picture myself by the sea, with layers upon layers blowing

with my curly hair.

it's always moving

moving away to different states.

different states of mind.

i'm flipping, but i'm finally steady.

i'm steady and can you evennn hearrrr meeeeeeeeeeeee.

please hear me

because you kept my hand guided.

you kept books in my bag,

and those delicate, intricate things tucked gently away.

away from my cave.

away from my state of mind.

you kept me pure.

when did i become so reliant.

i just really want to go back to the ocean.

back to the guitars and the music,

back to my books.

drown me in words, i used to stay under.

shine in meeeeeeee

and please hear me out that you are my blood,

and i don't mean to hurt you.

i have to do this for me.

please.

please.

hear. me. out.

pour me some tea

and let me get lost in my

peace of mind.

my chest and heart have opened further than ever,

but you're lost in your colors and paintings.

open your chest

and breathe me in.