just don't

we’re grasping at whispers
they’re slipping away
and the pieces are falling all round our heads
as you stare straight ahead
your words mean nothing and everything
the record is scratched
it replays the end the end the end
i wish i could replay the start
i press stop
and the whispers obey

love story

a lone novel &
a deserted - but lovely - field of wildflowers
the pages of the past are old and worn
watermarked with silent tears

endless chapters suggest
immeasurable years - reaching back through time's loosened grip
an eternity of missed chances and opportunities lost
timing was never on our side


but now we're coming to the end
the final few pages are yet to be written

my hand is shaking







lets dream some more

friend

she had everything i wanted
she was everything i longed to be

and my biggest regret is letting my jealousy
get in the way of really knowing her

one day i'll have my second chance
and we'll laugh as we fly, hands held tight



ive learned my lesson God - you can bring her back now

bittersweet

you speak to me
words bittersweet

swinging doors
reverberate through my mirror
whispering echoes
of the shadow you left behind
in your rush to escape

silence in the aftertaste

painted leaves

i like layers
because thinking is not a waste of time

the leaves are painted all shades of gold
(the magenta ones are my favorite)
and the lone tree going up in flames
if only in my memory

they're falling up

tough love

i feel like im fighting a solid brick wall
screaming
kicking
shouting
whispering
whimpering
sobbing
pleading
hitting repeatedly with frustrated fists
what can i do to get through?



don't want to give up
but i'm so tired

and my fists are bleeding

a new day

i recognize myself in your words
and it makes me smile.


sing me to sleep
tell me everything will be alright
& that we'll make it in the end.

memory

i'd like to find a place
where living and holding on may coexist

i wish i could hold on to you
but you are slipping away
like water through my fingers
and i try to remember how it feels
your hand in mine
and what we were even laughing about
pictures only say so much

slipping away
like her hair through your fingers
like the high school lover
i was never meant to keep

and soon it will be morning

for katie

her hand moves in steady strokes across the canvas
rolled up sleeves
a soft brown curl escapes and is brushed impatiently aside
leaving a red smear across her forehead
elbow deep in paint
her brush held delicately
between finger and thumb
comfortable from years of being held
just like this
as she adds the perfect final touches
to her masterpiece

a smile as she turns at the sound of a voice
her daddy is calling her home

"but daddy i dont want to go"

but it is her time
and he will teach her how to paint sunsets and thunderstorms

the sky will be her canvas
the heavens, her playground

leaving behind
her brushes her paints
the masterpiece that is her beautiful life
and the indelible imprint of her smile in my mind

he is calling her home
and so she comes
running. dancing. laughing.

into her Father's arms



for Katherine Rachelle Vaudrey
February 4, 1989 - June 2, 2008.

afloat

"i only ever write about other people"
"why?"
"i dunno.. i feel like i understand them better"


somebody hand her a mirror so she can see that
she is beautiful in every way

her eyes, they tell a different story
drawing you deep to a place you would scream to be let out of
if only she would let you in
drowning in a black well of despair..
but she hates such poetic language
because it gives words to her feelings
and words are for sharing
when she would rather be left alone

but someone is calling her name
and there is a light on at home

she's too tired to scream
and much too tired to swim
she doesn't want to be found

her eyes are closing
her heart is slowing
and she sinks with a sigh of relief

emo(tional)

this weekend, one of the guys in my small group said his frat nickname was "thug-ass-[his last name]".. then one of the other guys said his frat nickname was "emo"..

which was really funny at the time.

i don't really think there's a problem with being emo. well yea. actually. i guess there is. i dont really believe in greasy hair and boys that wear tight girl pants. but then again, i don't really believe in showering either.. and ive had a good amount of fake-crushes on artsy type musical boys that wear tight girl pants.

so who am i to judge.

and plus. i don't believe people should be judged for showing their emotions. people say it makes you look weak. but i kind of think it makes you look strong. because only the strong are able to be vulnerable enough to show your emotions in public..

right?

truth is. i could care less about everything i just wrote. but i guess ive been screwed over at some point in my "happy past" and now im damned if i show anything but happy. but who wants a calloused and unresponsive heart that couldnt feel it if you stabbed it with a knife.

so the real truth is. i havent cried in years. minus that teary feeling you get before you actually cry. and i used to take pride in that cuz it meant i was stronger than you. ha. and the real truth is im one of the top 1% of this entire world and i am blessed i am blessed i am blessed. and the real truth is i am happy. but the real truth is i am afraid. i am insecure. i am ashamed. and i hate. but mostly only myself. and the real truth is i dont give a damn what you think. but the real truth is.. i do.

but i love how i feel when i read something good. like when you can just see the author's pain. and you can see the author's tears shining through the stark black and white of the page. and it makes you feel like you know what they're going through. even though you have no idea.

but if that's the only way i get to feel these days, then i'll take it.

cuz life's too short not to feel. and i'm too dumb not to care.