Dearest Peter,

I went too far.  

And for that I can only say this: it's a burden that I carry on me.

But you were never concerned for me, were you?  You were never the one clawing at my legs, screaming at me to slow down.  And now when I'm falling out the fifth story window, all at once it feels like home.  The ground... it seems like home.  

And I'm tired, Peter.  Because you never are.  And someone has to be.

So stop asking me if she loves you back.  

Because I'm thinking about you.  I'm thinking about you like my dad thinks about work, and like ghosts think about breathing.  Like poets think about suicide; like you think about suicide.  

So what else do you want me to say?  I'm sorry I can't fix you, I guess I just don't equate.  I guess I just don't equate to you.  Is that what you want to hear?

I'm stuck on that poem you wrote last December.  You said it was about me.  And I didn't get it.  All I know is that I wish it were last December, just to remember what it felt like to be thought of like that.

Absolutely Nothing

A POEM THAT WAS NOT WRITTEN BY ME, BUT I WISH IT WAS:

Once on a yellow piece of paper with green lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Chops'
because that was the name of his dog
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and a gold star
And his mother hung it on the kitchen door
and read it to his aunts
That was the year Father Tracy
took all the kids to the zoo
And he let them sing on the bus
And his little sister was born
with tiny toenails and no hair
And his mother and father kissed alot
And the girl around the corner sent him a
Valentine signed with a row of X's
and he had to ask his father what the X's meant
And his father always tucked him in bed at night
And was always there to do it.

Once on a piece of white paper with blue lines
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Autumn'
because that was the name of the season
And that's what it was all about
And his teacher gave him an A
and asked him to write more clearly
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because of its new paint
And the kids told him
that Father Tracy smoked cigars
And left butts on the pews
And sometimes they would burn holes
That was the year his sister got glasses
with thick lenses and black frames
And the girl around the corner laughed
when he asked her to go see Santa Claus
And the kids told him why
his mother and father kissed alot
And his father never tucked him in bed at night
And his father got mad
when he cried for him to do it.

Once on a paper torn from his notebook
he wrote a poem
And he called it 'Innocence: A Question'
because that was the question about his girl
And that's what it was all about
And his professor gave him an A
and a strange steady look
And his mother never hung it on the kitchen door
because he never showed her
That was the year Father Tracy died
And he forgot how the end
of the Apostle's Creed went
And he caught his sister
making out on the back porch
And his mother and father never kissed
or even talked
And the girl around the corner
wore too much makeup
That made him cough when he kissed her
but he kissed her anyway
because that was the thing to do
And at 3am he tucked himself into bed
his father snoring soundly.

That's why on the back of a brown paper bag
he tried another poem
And he called it 'Absolutely Nothing'
Because that's what it was really all about
And he gave himself an A
and a slash on each damned wrist
And he hung it on the bathroom door
because this time he didn't think
he could reach the kitchen. 

by Osoanon Nimuss

It's So Much Worse Than We Ever Thought

Sometimes I feel like Antarctica.  And that makes me afraid, because she never loved anyone.

I am afraid.  Of you.  Of the sky.  Of the dirt.  Of the little pieces of my skull that I left behind in Colorado and San Francisco.  I'm afraid of it all.  Afraid of us.

We were made to break hearts, that's why.  We were made to let each other fall, to bury each other in the Earth's core, so deep that no thing can utter the word "forgiven," as overdue as it is.  We were made to die.  And die we shall.

And I'm afraid to die, just like I'm afraid to live.  Because the only thing worse than termination is immortality.  The only thing worse than watching your mother die is being forced to go on afterwards.  And the only thing worse than that is the fear.  The anxiety.  The death grip it has on my heart is unbearable, unimaginable, and irreverent.  And I don't even know which of those is worse.

Because when you upset God... now that's really worse than all of it, isn't it?

I am too afraid of that.

I'm afraid of upsetting my mom, also.  But I'm more afraid of her upsetting me.  I'm afraid of her telling me that I can't go to college because she spent all the money on groceries.  I'm afraid that that has happened.  I'm afraid of it happening again.  And again.  And again.  Until my grandparents close down the inn and we live in our car.

I'm mostly afraid of one day waking up and not being afraid.  Because someone like me needs the fear.  Needs to feel insignificant and worthless.  Someone like me doesn't deserve to be brave.  Because the second I'm afraid, I leave.  And I don't know what I'd do if I could stay.  I don't know what I'd do.

Happy Days.

Barbra Streisand and Judy Garland

"Forget your troubles (Happy days)
Come on get happy (are here again)
You better chase all your cares away (The skies above 
are clear again)
Shout hallelujah (So let's sing a song)
Come on get happy (of cheer again)
Get ready for the judgement day (Happy days are here 
again)

The sun is shining
Come on get happy (shout it now)
The lord is waiting to take your hand (There's no one 
who can doubt it now)
Shout hallelujah (So let's tell the world)
And just get happy (about it now)
We're going to the promise land (Happy days are here
again)

We're heading across the river
Soon your cares will all be gone
There'll be no more from now on
From now on

Forget your troubles (Happy days)
And just get happy (are here again)
You better chase all your blues away (The skies above 
are clear again)
Shout hallelujah (So let's sing a song)
And just get happy (of cheer again)

Happy times (Happy times)
Happy nights (Happy nights)
Happy days
Are here again!"

YOU'RE WELCOME.

I don't know why that matters, but it does.

"I had my teeth bared for battle, 'til love lost made me dull."

--Lisa Hannigan

I tried love once.  It left me with a flat butt and an over-abundance of See's Candies.  My favorite is the raspberry truffle.  I don't know why that matters, but it does.

That time I tried love was back when I had longer hair and he was religious.  Back when he'd pretend to be Cary Grant and sing the alphabet with a bad Australian accent.  It was a bad Australian accent.  I don't know why that matters, but it does.

He was just tall enough to change the batteries in the smoke detector, but short enough to not get caught on branches.  He mixed his forks and spoons together like it was a Benetton Ad and always laughed at Spongebob.  Sorry, with Spongebob.  He would often eat with one hand and write with the other, and he'd whistle show tunes while doing the laundry.  I don't know why that matters, but it does.

He never was upset.  Not ever.  And then he was.  I can say that it was fate, but I should've checked the weather.  

Yes, I tried love once, and I hated the after taste.

And I don't know why that matters, but it does.

Bridges

I'll take my time with this now, thinking that you wanna hear.  Maybe if I try hard enough I'll beat the fear of what they say between the kisses and the disses and the pointed looks at the people they think are queer.
You think we're different, but we've still got the same blood.  It's red and thin and it threatens to come out if you cough.  It smells like something died in here, maybe because you turned your back.
Despite all that, we all have a common goal: to get out of this place and try to win it all.  But the truth is we are waiting for the same fate: too tight of jeans, with a baby in a milk crate.

You see I try to build a bridge between these two worlds
But the Earth comes up and swallows it whole
And I stand there, dumb, foolish, and cracked
And the people on the other side just pass by

They never say

Who's over there, who's that lonely soul
Is there something I should do?
Is there something I should say?
I can see the future, and I don't think it's headed the right way.

But I'll just go on with my life the way it should.

Becuase the people in the huts in another part of town aren't doing much to me except occasionally getting me down.
I write a note, saying let's give ten bucks to a fund, and then I'm good for another year, or I'm just done.
The jig's up, I care as much as you do. 
But it's not all enough to help the children who got stuck without a mom, lost their face in a fire.  The one's whose dads sleep with guns and wires. 
And I know for a fact that it's too much to ask that we all have to feel with every inch for as long as we last.  After a while, you lose track of what is real, and you try to get it back when you kneel.  You're crying out, "Lord, I'm tryin' to save redemption.  But it feels as if I'm not a part of that exemption.  Is there a place where I don't have to sit with my hands in my pockets and my head bowen to my hips?"

And the bridge I tried to build between those two worlds
Just broke down right there, it fell into the Earth.
Now I stand there, not moving, not thinking, but weeping.
And the people on the other side never stopped to ask
Who I am, or who I was or what they need to do to lift me up.

I see the future, and yeah, it looks pretty bad.
But I'll just live my life, the way it should.

How To Understand Humans From A Cynical Lecture Given By An Older Sibling.

Elenore, little Ella.

 Ella, listen close.  
I'll only say it once.
You've got the short end of the stick, and it's looking pretty stunned.

Listen to this... this is what we're told.  And this is what we say.  It's a part of who we are, as humans, as prey.

Let me look you in the skin and say you're special, you're what matters.  But if I'm going up there, I'll use your face as a ladder. So fool, make your choice, stay in here and be used or leave and lose your voice.  Choose, but it doesn't matter 
Because in the end there's always someone with a story that is sadder.

So let's gather round the fire and have a friendly competition.  You tell me about your abusive dad, I'll tell you about my addiction.  And it will keep going like that until the fire dies out and the sun burns down, and I'll be wondering how I can feel too much, yet it's never quite enough, and it doesn't matter what I do or say because I'm not someone you can trust.  Because every word you've told me, every syllable of fear, I've put away in my mind and I'll use it in the next year.
'Cause what an actress does comes from what an actress hears, and you're not acting at all, but I am... so Cheers.
Cheers to the men who always win, and cheers to those that fight them in vain.  Cheers to the unlit neon signs in nowhere town saloons and cheers to the women who think their broken nails are pain.

Well, I'm done.  I'm going and you'll have to forgive me
Because I'm not exactly coming back, and I'm throwing out our history.
So tell my grandma that I love her, but she's stuck in the past 
And tell my father that he's worth it, but his mind is going fast.  
And take dear Ella and tuck her in tight in her bed, I really don't want this world to get inside her head.

Remember that night when all we heard was yelling, and I looked to you and smiled, said the world is probably ending.  You stared through me in response and couldn't see anything but the strangled faces of the people you called heroes.  It scared you bad, and I felt sorry.  But it was quickly replaced with worry, for you were so very little and I had no real words.  I just led you to the one room house where we'd sit on straw and eat other people's food.  
No time passed in life.
Dad promised that we'd sing another song about this strife.
But later...
But I still often think about how the rain hits the tents with as much anger as it does the castles.

I never thought that the faces in Ghiradelli Square would be present again, yet here they wait all around for the same bowl, laughing with a different nose on.  I find them captivating and bewildering, and they hold no thought for me.  
So talk to the director and step aside, because I'm really in your way.  
You've taken from me, so I'll take from him, and that will keep me safe.
I've got pieces to glue back together now, and Ella you cannot stay.

I'm telling you now that you have to be what you came here for.  I overheard you sing and grandpa telling you to stop.  He said you can't raise a family under a magnifying glass, people speculating your moves and your thoughts.
But you're better.
You're not a Martha or a Betty or a Sarah shops at SmartMart. 
You're Ella.

You're You.

And it's true that you cannot see yet the things that transpire under trench coats and manicured hands, but the day will come when you face your 193rd million second of lies... and it will all fall into place.
The dam I've built you collapses.
And you're not here anymore.

I want you to hear the praises our father leaves behind on the pew.  I want you to find beauty in a bowl of sugar in the kitchen in the spring.  I want you to take pictures of people with their backs turn to the camera and I want you to greet the mailman that brings you bills.

I want you to love what you see, and see what you hate.
That is the thing I've been trying to tell you, Ella.
Because I love you so.

All my love,
Charlotte.