“It Wasn’t Me, It Was Definitely You”
I write about you as if you'll see it
Or as if you'd even care
We were comfortable
Hot chocolate and lipstick stains
My heart was full
In a desolate place
I opened myself to you
But you just dragged me under
Your eyes were on her
When your lips were on mine
I'm ice and you're fire
But you never intended to keep me warm
Happy Songs
You write about your friends and killing yourself
But I write about you
About the deep purple creases under sweet, tired eyes
And gentle fingers running through my hair
Maybe we both write about our madness
Depression verses obsession
You claim you can't write happy songs
But maybe it's just me
Little Moments
We pile into the back of a worn out Chevy through the right side (the left door is broken). The lovers in the front seat are screaming along to a song that the rest of us don't know. I'm plastered against two almost strangers, the back road wind buffeting my cold face. I'm laughing at nothing, my stomach empty of dread.
We're walking into a park, an old friend and I. The air is hot but not oppressive. She's telling me about a movie she saw the night before, her giggling contagious. The playground is crowded, but we find two isolated swings. I kick off my shoes and soar through the air. I feel light. Limitless.
We're working on a project in German, neither of us having a clue what to do. We muscle through the problems, guessing all the way. Whispered puns and jokes bother our neighbors, but we don't care. He hits me playfully with his hoodie string. He tells me to fix my necklace, the clasp is showing. I glance at him, 5 years of history between us. But we're close. Closer than ever. I'm smiling for the first time in a long time.
Happiness is most real in the smallest of moments.
Growing Up
Dear Erica,
I'm laying in bed under that tie-dye blanket you ex-friend gave you many years ago, practicing answering questions for your interview with your top choice college. I hope you worry less now. I hope you know it isn't worth the stress.
There's an unopened text from the first boy who broke your heart in my inbox. I hope you have recovered from what he did to you. I hope you are still friends because he's the only one who ever got you.
I just got those test scores back, and I am disappointed in myself. I hope you take yourself as you are. I hope you think you're good enough.
The boy you met at that concert has barely said a word to me in weeks, and it's tearing me apart. I hope you are putting yourself first. I hope you have found a love that betters you.
There are fresh scars on my thighs, and I think about adding to them a lot lately. I hope you've overcome your demons. I hope you've found a way to live with yourself.
I hope everyone was right about things getting better.
Much love,
Erica
Fading Out
My memories are growing darker
They have a black haze around fuzzy edges
I watch them like 50's sitcoms
Unfamiliar and staged
I almost expect to hear a taped audience laughing in the background
It's probably drunken nights drowning them out
Like a novel dropped in a puddle
But I like to think that it's me moving on
My memories just don't grow with me
Colorless
Everyday is a blur
Hazy and gray
Smog encapsulates my mind
There's no difference between
Night and day
You brought me to life
Everyday was an adventure
But like a magnet to a television
You took my color away
Words are not enough
To describe the way I feel
And they are not enough to say
How much I wish I hated you
As much as I hate myself
Coffeehouse Blues
Most people drown their sorrows in a bar at the mercy of a bartender. But here I am in the corner of a Starbucks, silently watching young girls laugh and aspiring writers type away in their own worlds. This is my fourth black coffee, the bitter taste barely registering on my burnt tongue. I'm not sad. I'm not angry. I don't feel much at all. The colors in this shop are turning gray in my eyes. I imagine him here with me, drinking an iced coffee and whispering silly stories about the people in the shop. But I only see him in my dreams, and now I don't even have that. Because it isn't sleeping that I fear; it's waking up with nothing to look forward to.
I'm afraid of the nothingness I've become.
Dreaming
I dreamt about you last night
It was nothing special
But it felt like so much more
I woke up guilty
Sad and cold
I hate the thought of you
I want to forget your voice
But I've always thought
That dreams were a sign
That your heart shows you
In your resting hours
I don't love you
And I don't think I ever could
But there's something about this
That I just can't ignore
Marionette
I watch her carefully
A painted smile
Dimpled cheeks
Laughing on command
She lays limp at night
Inky tears in her eyes
While her puppeteer sleeps
His snoring blocking her dreams
In the morning he lifts her
Her body coming to life
He repaints her melted face
And she smiles like all the rest
But I can see it in her eyes
That she can't breathe
She controls nothing
She never gets a say
She moves along a course
In her marionette way
I reach out to touch her
But I can't move an inch
Because the mirror is far away
And my puppeteer is once again asleep
Cold
You held my hand
I felt fire in my heart
Sweat pooling in my palm
But I couldn't let go
It was dark and quiet
All I could see were the stars
My lips quivered under yours
Happiness bursting inside
How could this ever end?
I haven't slept in three days
Remembering how your lips tasted
I'm colder than ever
My heart is freezing over
It's been months
But I'm still so cold
Without your touch
I'm lost and shivering
Since you left me alone
I was never the same