what are you doing? what. the fuck. are you doing? tell these people how you feel. tell him how you feel. writing has always been your connection to the world. and you’ve been avoiding it. letting your poetry sit unfinished in your notes app. so scared of the ending that you never write it. lately, life has been sweet. and kind. and good. and you’re so afraid they won’t want to read about that. maybe depression makes for better stories? it’s okay to be a little vulnerable. to admit that you might be falling in love with your life. little by little. that your feelings have changed. that you’re no longer angry. i’m not sure how this happened, but thank God it did. things were looking a little scary for a minute there. but i’m not ready to talk about that yet. i want to enjoy standing in the sunlight for a bit. allow me to brag — i’m surrounded by some of the greats. i laugh from my gut. i move with intention. i still cry, but mostly because i am terrified to lose this little life i love. God, please let me hold on to it for awhile. last year was… complicated. sure. but from inside my ribcage, i needed to hurt like that, to heal like this. this is the version of me i have been waiting to meet. the one my grandma told me i could be. the man you all used to believe in. and maybe someday… you will again. i feel rinsed clean.

i feel free.

x M

“God loves me. it still humbles me. that this force which made leaves and fleas and stars and rivers and you… loves me.” — Maya Angelou

lord hear my prayer.

x M

x M

I love you more.

x M

I just can’t seem to get it right with you. And maybe that is why I shoot whiskey. You are probably sick of my shit and honestly… I don’t blame you. Sometimes, I wish I could leave too. If only I could be honest. If only I wasn’t such a coward. But the truth is… I am deathly afraid. Afraid of what you’ll say. Or maybe what you won’t. Afraid that things will change. And yet… terrified things will stay the same. If only we lived in the worlds I’ve written about. If only life imitated daydreams. Then you would look at me like shelter and I’d look at you like art. And God would have made up for all this pain. But there I go… daydreaming again. I hope one day you read what I write. And I pray you don’t give up on me.

x M

x M

x M

I’ve been meaning to say…

Maybe it's the depression. And I'm sure the whiskey doesn't help. Maybe you all left because you knew this was coming? Or maybe that's just what I tell myself. I've lost touch with everyone I once loved... you sure did teach me how to leave. And I want so badly to explain to each of them what's going on, but I doubt they wanna hear from me. How could I let myself get this bad? I don't even remember the last time I felt ok. How is it even possible to be this sad? I don't think it was supposed to be this way. I feel forgotten. Like maybe God does make mistakes? And I want so bad to fix it, but maybe it's just too late. The way I want to be happy, but instead feel so numb. And the way I can't fully explain.... because I don't want to scare my mom. So I'll leave it at this.. I hope soon something changes. Maybe I'll get a reset someday. I hope I can survive this. And I hope you never feel this way.

I often wonder what I could have done differently. And why I think I’ve done everything right, but you feel differently. I wish I knew you better. Or before all of this. Before the world got to us. I wish I remembered our shared experiences. And I wish we were closer because of them. Maybe the pain is just too real and I am just too much of a reminder. I’ve been a pretty big letdown, huh? I want you to know that I thought I was doing the right thing the entire time. But instead of living it and being there with you… I was reactive. I was defensive. Because I was hurt. And I was navigating my own trauma and taking it out on you. Dad taught me that. I could drown myself in tears thinking about how much I have hurt you. How much better I could have been. How I started to mirror him. How I should have asked for help. It’s breaking my heart to think that maybe I became the villain in your stories, like he was in mine. And I’m sorry that I left as soon as I could. I just didn’t want to do any more damage. Now at 30, I am trying my best to reconnect, but I’ve been lost for some time. I pray to God I find my way. You are all so beautiful. So familiar and yet you feel like strangers. And that’s my fault. I truly hope it wasn’t all bad. I don’t know… I feel like maybe there’s something wrong with me. With my brain. Sometimes I want to sleep forever… so I don’t have to feel this way. I’m so sorry I became the monster. I guess I picked up where he left off. I only hope someday you can forgive me.

I miss you in ways I never thought possible. On days, most inconvenient, grief finds me and cripples me without warning. I become a mess of myself on the bathroom floor. I curse at the sky. God, this is so fucking unfair. Especially in the moments I find you. I find you in the middle of our favorite song and that note I could never hit. Then on the drive back to moms house. Somehow it feels even longer now. I find you in birthday cards.. and then in the realization that I’ll never get another. I find you in the veins that resemble roadmaps on my hands. Goddammit, I really miss your hands. Every day I find you in new ways and each of them act as a reminder of what we had. The special moments we shared. The love. Oh, the love. But on the bad days… they’re just reminders of everything I have lost. The way I’ll never again hear you say my name. The way no one said it quite like you. I’ll never again feel that safe. I search for you in every room I walk into and my heart breaks each time I don’t find you. Life can be so beautiful, but so fucking cruel. I can’t help but wonder if I am doing any of this right. Am I missing you enough? Am I remembering you enough? I guess those answers will never come. Some days I think this is all gonna be ok. Like I am gonna be ok. And others… I’m surrounded by the tallest waves. Drowning in my pain. Maybe this is a nightmare. One of those night terrors people talk about? Maybe I’ll wake up soon and you’ll be in your favorite chair. You’ll call my name and once again I’ll be safe. Or maybe I’ll just find you in another daydream. Fuck. Here comes another wave…

I won’t lie to you on purpose, but I will lie to you. And then we will lie in ruin. And while it is not my intention to hurt you, I will. Love is tricky like that, I guess. And trauma is kind of a funny thing. It has a way of changing you… slowly and over time… when you’re not paying attention. Suddenly, music doesn’t move you the way it used to. And childhood friends are just reminders of what once was. And the thought of letting anyone get that close again is terrifying enough. So I run. It feels like I’ve been running my whole life. And I am afraid of what will happen if I stop. It seems like I have more behind me than left ahead. And that scares me half to death. Maybe some people are never meant to know love. What would I do with it? I assume I’d just destroy it. My body would fight it off like some disease. Like an object alien to me. Like there’s no way that someone could actually love me. You’ll learn me and then start to resent me. I will complain about the thorns on the roses you give to me. I always make the lemonade too sweet, don’t I? And you can’t stand the way I never make the bed. I am always worried about what comes next. What tomorrow will bring. Before today is even over. I want so badly to bleed into you, but I won’t. Instead I will pick fights. I will curse your name. And I’ll prepare for the pain you will most certainly put me through. And all of that will never have anything to do with you. Maybe in another world, I let us happen. Maybe God didn’t get it right this time. I promise you I won’t mean to do any of this, but I will. And I’ll call it protecting myself. Goodbyes feel more familiar to me anyway. This is a dance I have been doing my whole life and goddammit.. it’s exhausting. I understand, if you want to leave. Sometimes I wish I could leave too.

Please don’t leave. Please tell me you don’t want to go. I know I sold you a dream, but I won’t survive another heartbreak. Please don’t find comfort in another. Even if their voice is more soothing. Their hair more full and soft. Their body less lived in and soul less broken. Please don’t find escape in their arms. I know this isn’t the forever you dreamed of, but surely we still have more fight left in us. I’m not sure I remember who I was before you. I am not sure there’ll be anything left if you go. Please don’t leave me behind. I may feel like baggage you never intended to carry, but I can make myself lighter for you. I can become a version of myself that maybe both of us can love? Please don’t be in love with someone else. Please don’t let me down like that. I know I am not blurred lines and pastel colors, but I can still be a work of art, right? And then maybe you can still love me right? Please don’t change the way you say my name. Please stay for a little while longer. Please don’t leave me this way.

Let me explain. He was always around… except for when he wasn’t. He had a really good way of making me feel safe. Alleviating pain. He was good at promises — however he wasn’t good at keeping them. I guess that’s something we have in common. He used his words like aphrodisiacs. The way they rolled off his tongue and wrapped around my body like silk. He was light, like background music. He was an old forgotten song that you still know all the words to. But he was also pain. And I spent too long grieving him, every time he changed. I guess in some ways, he was everything he wasn’t, wasn’t he? He dreamed of being so much more and on paper I’m sure he was. Yeah… he was. Until I didn’t fit into his world anymore. Until I became a distraction. Then… he wasn’t. Maybe once I took the rose colored glasses off. Once I removed the sheeps clothing. Once I realized the silk… wasn’t silk. Maybe then. Maybe before that he was. And after… well… he wasn’t. Maybe I was… until I wasn’t. Maybe we all are… until we aren’t, ya know? Maybe we are the hero. The best friend. The happy ending. Until we are the villain. The liar. The secret. The missed calls. And maybe that’s life. A series of being. And not being. Of the highest highs and gut wrenching lows. If I look at it like that… then he was just being who he thought he needed to be. And maybe I was just surviving. Maybe he was. Maybe I was. Until he wasn’t. Until I wasn’t.

x M

xM