In Between Innings

You have three seconds,

So you better make an impression. 

I'm just laughing at my life.

While I sit on the bleachers; In between innings.

The sunlight falls on my face,

Just like a million baby kisses.

I have just enough strength left to pick up a knife,

I am too weak to reach for help or pick up a phone.

I am simply leaving; checking out for the day.

Maybe I will return..

I'm just adrift at sea.

The sea of my thoughts, but that's ok.

Someone get me out of here.
Because all of my bridges burned down.

Don't look down on me because I'm a cutter,
In a sense, that isn't fair.

What makes me so different?
I'm just like you.

You have no right.
I don't have any either.

Look me in the eyes not my wrists.

Don't think I'm not listening.
That's all I do.
At least I'm worth talking about, right?

It's human nature to judge.
You can't just breed it out.
The eye is trained to see "different."
Everyone wants something different.

I managed to box up all my memories for so long..
I hid them away in a corner of my mind,
But now they return.
Old habits die hard.

I'm just happy simply to be alive.

Everyday I wake up and think,
 "Today I'm going to be happy."

Everyday I kneel and pray to God,
"Dear God, please let me be happy."

Everyday I look in the mirror and say,
"Please, girl. Let me be happy."

But when I lay down in bed at night,
I laugh at myself and all my stupidity.

Because when your sitting in the bleachers,
You can see yourself, and your mistakes.

And you think about all the things you should have said,
Or should have done.
And it just breaks my heart.

I'm just laughing at my life;
In between innings. 

Going Under In The Waiting Room

Everything is fuzzy.
Like a Holga camera shot; sunspots in the centers of my eyes.

Everything makes my head hurt,
Just keep walking..

Dress out, no one notices how off-balance I have become.
But neither do I.

Make it to second period.
Try to focus on the nothingness that you have scribbled down on the pages.
I walk on out.

Make it to the bathroom, and watch my face.
Lean over the toilet.
Look in the mirror.
I can't make it out; it's too faded.

Take out my phone,
"Hey it's me. Can you bring me Asprin?
I think I hit my head."

I am bombarded by questions.
It's all just faint white noise.
But I can make out two words,
"Nurse. Go."

I'm too disoriented to make a good argument,
I hate having to ask for help.
Somehow I manage to make it to the office.
I tell her my story about what happened. 

 I lay back in a chair, and the attendant warns me not to enter the actual sick ward.
There is already a pretty sick girl throwing up in there and she doesn't want me to catch what she has.
Turns out, that girl was having a reaction to her medication.

The lady tells me I'm overreacting and asks for my guardians phone number.
I can barely manage the first three digits, "878---"
And I'm dashing for the bathroom.

I keep my head in the toilet for about 40 minutes.
I have a black out.
The other girl finds me, and I make it to the couch.

There is only one nurse for our entire district.
Her pictures line the desk; the desk is dusty.
And I'm laying down trying to block out all the light thinking,
"I could sue this place."
Yeah, honestly.

Me and the other girl take turns throwing up.
My head is literally throbbing.
I remember asking her, "Do you need to puke or can I?"

She gets picked up, and I am left for another 2 hours of intense Hellishness.  
Everything is fading in and out.

Going under...

I dry heave endlessly.
And eventually my sister picks me up.

I am taken to doctor after doctor...
They can't find out what is wrong with me.
Great.

Emergency Room time.

I'm fuzzy.
And I wait what seems to be an eternity.
I'm laid down on a bed and asked more questions.
I have not the strength nor patience to repeat it one more time..

I can't stand on my feet as I grab for the walls.
None of the doctors really care as they type prescriptions and papers.
 I fall into a wheelchair and take numerous scans..

I can feel myself going under again...

Thin sheets separate me from the others,
I never want to go back to that place again.

They hook me up to a heart monitor and give me pain meds,
Thank God for pain meds...
To entertain myself, I quicken my breathing; making patterns on the machine, like a game.
I hold my breath.
So the machine registers my untimely death.

Then, I feel myself slipping away again...
I think to myself, "It must be the pain killers.."
And then,
I go under.

Holding Out For A Hero

 Between the linens and old perfumes,
I found a journal from my grandmother's teenage years.
 I told of all her dreams,
And her siblings.
And it told of how she wanted a man to come and sweep her off her feet..

She married my grandfather almost 50 years ago.
In a church; forever pledged to each other by God.
  
He can barely hear anything now; he must read lips.
And because of this he doesn't go to church anymore.

But for Mother's Day this year,
He surprised my grandma by getting dressed in a suit; flowers in hand.
He would end up going to church with her that Sunday morning.
First time in almost 10 years..
I believe that my abulea got her hero.

I was never told why I couldn't open my mommy's dresser.
I just knew I couldn't.
But one day I decided that I needed to curb my curiosity.

I found diary-after-diary.
Love notes and unfinished thoughts..
It told about lost loves and friendships.
And the boy she thought she'd end up marrying.

It told of heart break.
And how she would deny him until marriage.
She was holding out for a hero.

Young love.
And it was beautiful to read in my mother's neat, precise, looping cursive.

I found a picture, tucked between the pages, of the boy's Mustang.
I could just imagine them laying on the hood at a drive-in,
Or looking up at the stars.
Just something  that would take my mom away from her crazy world..
If only just for the night.

My mother many years later, married my father.
They met at the same Boys and Girl's Club of America; right near the ocean.

I've heard stories about how my dad one brought my mom a rose for Valentine's Day..
He told a little boy to give it to my mom.
My mom smiled and told him to go put it in water.

That little boy then ran back to my dad.
This gave my dad an idea..
"Go give it to her again."

He did this a dozen times.
A perfect dozen roses.

Until my mom realized that it was the same rose over-and-over.
She laughed it off and thought it was cute.

I knew that there was a reason she fell in love with him..

And then there is me...
I am not without story.
 This whole blog is my diary; my story.

My children can only speculate.
Maybe they will think me odd.
Or maybe they will think I was an incredible young lady.

They will try to piece together the tattered memories that unwind my inner heart..
But I will know.
I will see all the dots connecting.
And all the memories coming back to me..
A replay button in my mind.

And maybe the one that I love with look over my shoulder and see this...
And see me...
And realize,
I need a hero.
 

Peaches

Kisses are sweet.
Just like peaches.


I would walk thru the halls and see people hugging or kissing.
And you know what?
I felt like the freaking hulk.
I was just so...
So...
Angry.

"That's my secret.
I'm always angry."

It doesn't feel good to be a monster...

I love skin that is soft, like peach fuzz.

Someone gave me a tip...
"Just laugh and say to yourself, 'Ha. You guys are going to have a really nasty break up.'"
I tried it.
I'm not proud to say this but,
It worked; I laughed. 

I don't know if I told anyone this but..
My nickname used to be peaches.
I really don't know why..

I think it is because of this one incident where I dropped all the peaches in the cafeteria in 4th grade.
You can call me peaches if you like.

I don't know why but, peaches hold a special place in my heart.
Even though I think they taste disgusting.

There was a time where I wouldn't eat..
And when someone found out...
He brought me a peach.
"Peaches for peaches."

I thought it was cute..

I know I've told you this before but....
I want you to eat.
You need to.
You pinky promised..

I've always felt like maybe; someone is watching over me.
I'm just trying to watch after you baby girl.


 You know that feeling you get when your sick?
That "I think I'm dying feeling" ?

And you just praying to God that,
If you could just get better you would never take another healthy day for granted.
You would run outside or change the world.
Maybe even end world hunger.
But your just praying and praying that you'll be OK.

All you want to do is be OK...
That's all I want..
Especially for you.

So if I have to recommend something to eat...
Your first bite in 6 days,
Even if it is just a nibble..
I would suggest a peach.

Because the kiss of a peach is just as sweet as any other kiss I've tasted..

Wrap Me Up..And Unfold Me

How did he know?
He found you.
Lying on the floor.
Do you think he was scared?

Wrapped up in a blanket of his warmth..
You can only manage a weak and halfhearted, "Thanks."

You could have made it look like an accident.
So many possibilities.

You could have jumped out in front of a car, made it look like it was the drivers fault.
But I guess you couldn't have lived (or died) knowing that you would be giving an unfortunate burden to an unfortunate victim.
I know I wouldn't be able to.
No one wants blood on their hands.

I doubt no one would notice if they found your car..
They will say that you just kind of drifted from the lane.

Maybe you just took one-to-many Aspirin for your headache.

Wrap me up...And then unfold me.



You could tell the police.
That you were raped.

But it's too late for that.
You have a daughter now.
She thinks you are her sister.
Because you'd rather her believe that mom "died" than have her think you didn't want her because you were raped.
She is your world.

You could stop taking those painkillers or lighting up.
But your addicted.
And all you can think is, Who'd wanna stop?
I guess it is your choice.

Hold me..

I lost myself again...
And I feel...
Unsafe.

The Hardest Part Of Living Is Just Taking Breaths To Stay..

I'm trying my hardest...
But the hardest part is..
I can't see you.

This world's a bitch.
I don't even get to just see you walking by just once more...

People say I'm lucky I don't have to deal with him anymore.
But, our relationship wasn't about, "dealing" with each other.
..At least not till the end?

All my breakup songs are on repeat.
Even my little brother is humming along now..

I don't blame you..
I guess.

I'm just going to sleep...
Forever if that's alright with you...

I'll curl up in my miseries. 
And I'll wrap my legs around my bear.
And hope to find peace somewhere between my dreams and solitude.

Damn..
I thought I was going to be OK.

That's what everyone was telling me..
Right?

Someone help...

I saw a picture of you.
I almost dropped dead.

I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I'm a wreck.
I really did try to be fine.
I tried for you...

Were you happy in that photo?
Or were you faking a smile?
Just..
Like..
Me.

I bet your happy.
I want you to be.

I'm still starting at photographs..
Memories..
And notes.

Keep breathing..

I can still hear you in my head,
Like your coaching me thru this.

"Stay calm baby."
"Everything is going to be OK."
"...I'll love you forever."

I should have known..

But what can I say?
I loved you.
..I love you.

I can still feel you rubbing the small of my back.
I can still feel you eyes on me, like you were actually looking at me.
I can still feel your breath..
..And your lips.

That makes me all the more angry.
I feel so abandoned.
Like someone stuck a white flag on me and called out,
"Abandon ship!"


In my mind I knew.
But I didn't say it aloud.

I couldn't see you.
Because if I did..
I knew...

I knew I'd fall right back in love with you.

Grey Is My Favorite Color

So..
Unsure.
If I could pick one word to describe me at this moment...
That is what it is.
Unsure.

Grey is my favorite color.
I just get so confused..

Have I ever told you I wanted to become a model?

Sorry I'm only 5'6".

I would be a glamor model. 

You know, the ones that get to wear a ridiculous amount of make up?

 They always portray things so well.

I love the seasons.

Not just one in particular; all of them.

I've never written about seasons.

I feel like it is a childish thing.

The easy way out.

You know when a teacher says to write a poem they list simple topics like: 

Friends, sports, and seasons?

It makes me mad.

And it is such a simple topic; yet so complex that I don't think I can do it.

It is too hard to capture all that the seasons are.

All the beauty, and when people try..

I feel like they don't do it justice.

Because everyone has a different perspective.

And there is always going to be someone that says,

"No. That's wrong. That's not how I see it."

I feel like models appreciate seasons.

It's just, a 180 change from summer to winter.

It is a chance to be different, that's what I like.

No one expects you to wear the same clothes.

It's a metamorphosis.

I love fashion magazines. 

But I hate them too.

I envy the girls.

But maybe they envy me too..?

I love the way they look.

I wish someone would write about me;

Want to take a second look at me.

Want to be me.

But who knows..

I miss summer..

I miss you and I can't even tell you.

Winter, that is my life.

My life is but a hazy shade of you.

But the seasons change.
And that is all they are,
God's creation given name by man.

I wonder if God even wanted time measured.
 I think he would want us to just live every moment.

Grey is my favorite color.
Everything is so confusing.
So lost, but so spellbinding.

It changes just like the seasons.

Just like my life.

So, my friend,
I will not even try to capture the beauty and all that the seasons bring.
I will leave it soulfully to your imagination.