Everyone Shut Up.

Be Careful, Kailee.
Hold your tongue.
Don't call.
Ignore her.
Brush it off.
Don't see him.
Don't try.
Be careful.
Be careful
Be careful
Be quiet
Shut your mouth
Hide
Be social
Don't tell them what you're feeling
Pretend you're not feeling
Act happy, like you don't care, like you do care, modest, arrogant, smart, stupid, shy, outgoing
Act
Act
Act
Don't say I love you.
Play hard to get.
Be open, but not available.
Make plans. Fake plans.
Be busy.
Just relax.
Relax.
Relax.


Be yourself, but not quite.

Some dream in October...

We were attached at the eyes. Held together by what felt like a string, from cornea to cornea. But it had to be some elastic membrane. It felt like a glob of mascara that gets left behind after washing off the night's makeup, poorly. 


He didn't seem to realize we were bound together this way. He didn't notice the pain it caused me when he began to tear at the fiber, using his finger tips to sever our tie. It was so effortless. My eyes watered, they didn't cry. It felt as though he was ripping the smallest piece of skin from a cuticle, only it didn't feel like that at all. 


We were separated. He walked away. I stared at myself in the mirror that was a good four inches too high. I glared at the reflection of my forehead.


I panicked. Why wasn't this an emergency to anyone else?


I blinked. 
Something changed. 


I felt as if pulling off a layer of tissue was the answer. Somehow I knew this to be the cure, and it was, for a second. 


Until the world dimmed, the colors muted. 


I screamed. 


"It's fine," someone said 


I didn't speak. I didn't cry. 

Title. Tidal.

Wake up.
Snooze.
Wake up.
Snooze.
Brush your teeth, keep brushing.
Go to work. Make small talk with your boss. Don't make a sound. Stay quiet. Watch him play solitaire. Make a mental list about how your old boss was so much more fun than this guy. Long for conversation. Miss home.
Remember how you don't miss home, how it doesn't feel like home, how nowhere feels like home...yet.
Leave.
See a movie you've already seen. Quote all the lines. Wish it was real. Wish the last time you saw this you weren't so disctracted by that one guy. What was his phone number again? You probably shouldn't call. You won't call.
Shower instead, for the third or fourth time today.
Let the water burn.
Lay your hands heavily against your chest while the water runs down, burning your pink skin.
Let your finger tips wander.
Try to feel your heart, remind yourself that it's still there, beating furiously.
Smear the eyeliner across your face.
Try to extinguish the fire.
Keep burning.
Wrap yourself if the shower curtain and take a nap.
Wake up shivering.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Quit your bad habits.
Stop thinking so much.
Stop quoting old lovers. Stop day dreaming about the lost ones.
Breathe.
This is normal, this is too normal.

The sun is out,

I had a lot written down in poorly formed metaphors I thought might hide the things I'm feeling well enough for me not to feel self conscious,

but fuck it.

I've been smiling more lately than I have in the past 4 years. That's not an exaggeration. I am excited about things. I'm in love with all of this.

...but

After every fit of giggles or quiet smiles to myself there is a familiar heaviness. And I hate you for that.

Little Moments That Are Bigger In Retrospect

Sometimes
you fee like
you've lost yourself
or, everyone else has lost you
and then you run into
your ex-boyfriend
and he notices your pony tail
and doesn't have to be told 
how excited you are to have it,
he congratulates you. 
You remember
that at least you were loved once
and some people remember
who
and what
you are. 

Poker Face

I was going to write something down about how much I miss you, but then I realized I didn't mean any of it. I'm just sad because I had to go to the dentist today. I haven't meant most of what I've thought or said this month, so I haven't been talking to anyone for fear of being a hypocrite. 
I'm not sorry. 
Today looks like summer, but it feels like November. I don't like the weather to be so deceptive. There's a root canal, a Full Collapse, a long night at work, a plane, a layover, and some people I've never met on the squares of my calendar. I'll feel better when they're all tomorrows. 
Maybe.
Maybe, I don't really mean that. 

The Reason I'm Sometimes Bad At Making Conversation

     I've been having a staring contest with this tree for the past 15 minutes. It always wins. My eyes usually start to water. Sometimes it makes me feel like I won. Sometimes it doesn't. 
     I visit this tree a lot. It's not the one I've written about before. I should give it more credit. I think it's the same tree I started this late night ritual with, but that was a long time ago. I can't be sure. Let's say it was. Full circle. It feels nicer. 
     It's on a street called Abbey. Fitting. This is kind of my church. We mirror each other, me and this tree. Tonight it's cold and so am I. It's bare, looks a little defeated, but it knows, like I do, that it'll seem prettier, more alive to others some day when the weather changes. We'll both remember how it looked before that though. We'll carry the knowledge that it'll appear dead again eventually. 
     This tree and I are close. We always find each other. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with company. We both secretly hate when company comes. This is our place, that's all. 
     Tonight I feel taller than this tree. I am above all the things I've heard and endured today. I'm towering over the emotions of others. Not because I'm better, no, not that at all. But because if I keep my feet off the ground I don't run the risk of having to run. Or, let's face it, of being trampled, knowing my track record. 
     I'd rather sit and look at this tree and its bare branches, white against the Halloween sky, trying to find the moon in my rear view mirror than pick up the phone and keep trying to fuel fires that will burn without me or not. 
     My eyes aren't burning as much as I'd like. That lump isn't in my throat. I accidentally play memories in my head like the melody of a song I really liked in high school, but don't remember the lyrics to. 
     I don't know how long I can live up in the branches of this tree, dangling my feet above the pavement. I suppose I'll come down some day. Probably a Sunday. It's always a Sunday. It feel better up here for now. Out of reach, not from your grasp but from my own. 

"Sleep. Don't weep."

     Your eyes open, but not intentionally. It's as if the night's anesthesia has been lifted, and your eyelids flutter open. They're heavy. You're midway between sleep's paralysis and waking's motion. Look through the spaces between the blinds. The sky isn't as black as you think. It's the type of sky that can mean late night or early morning. You're not sure which you'd prefer. Voices on the television are trying to sell acne treatments and quick weight loss tips. You don't have to look to know what their owners look like. Happy. Smiling. Plain haircuts and colors. Clear skin. Enthusiasm. You wish you could be them. Enthralled by walks through forests and afternoons on wooden swing sets. You hate them because you can't believe them. You can't sleep without the murmur of their voices lulling you into scarce periods of sleep.
     You long for these fleeting comas. The only useful distraction. How much can you write in a day? Paint in a day? Read in a day? Fuck in a day? Sing in a day? Speak in a day? How many times can you forget a lifetime only to remember it again when your eyes open, when your hands start working right? How long will it feel like a lump in your throat? A welling of tears that never spill over?
     Turn off the television. Lay in silence. On your right side. Then your left. Then your stomach, but never your back. Breathe. Count your breaths. Remind yourself to breathe. Tell you're brain to stop. It's time for rest. It's time to stop fighting. The silence is louder than sin. What is all this noise? This pounding? Stop breathing. 
     You knew it was your heart. You know it's always this loud. And everyone else knows it too.