I Can Take It

Spit it out.

Don't cover it up.

Don't coat it in sugar,

I am tough.
I can take it.

This soul has been 

through the ringer

twenty times over 

and LIVED to tell the tale.

I've been battered

and bruised.

Used & abused,

downhearted,

downtrodden,

scraped,

even lacerated,
I've nearly bled out.

I can take it.

I'm sick of seeming

fragile.

Don't get me wrong,

I am gentle,

On occasion.

I've even been called

sweet.

I'm not coarse,

just weathered.

My point is this:

There is 

NOTHING

you can tell me 

that will be 

too much for me

to handle.

I can take it.

I'm tough. 

I'm...grown-up-stuff.

(Poem inspired by the following image.)

Where Do I Even Start

Sister:
Noun;
a female who has one or both parents in common with another.

I was nearly four
when you were announced.
"You're gonna be a big sister!"
I was excited,
(because everyone else was)
but confused.
You see,
I had no idea what that even meant.

But in a few short months,
I knew.
Oh, I knew.
It's impossible not to.
An entire new human addition to the family?
That's kinda hard to miss.

And you are impossible to ignore.
You have always been
a ray of sun.
The light in the room.
Everyone loves you.
And thus,
we were friends from the start.

Then I gave up half of my room,
and the conflict began.
Mountains of clothing would come and go.
Tears would be shed.
Heartache would be had.
Our bond was impossible to sever,
even by each other.

I gave you your first tattoo
when I stabbed you
in the arm with a Sharpie pen.
I slammed a door-knob-sized hole in the wall.
I have damaged and hurt and destroyed.
And you forgave.
And you forgave.
And you forgave.
Thank you.
I love you for that.

Sister:
Noun;
a girl or woman regarded as a comrade.

We had more in common
than we ever ever knew.
And all of the crap
that we'd been through
seemed only to strengthen us.

I embarrass you,
annoy you,
and even cause you pain.
I know that I'm stupid.
A lot.
When it comes to you,
I always act first
and repent later.
But I can't help it.
Some faces just need to be smashed.
Some of your "friends"
will remain unforgiven,
because making you cry
is an unforgivable crime.
No punishment is enough.
Trust me:
I let them off easy.

You tell me I'm beautiful
when I know that I'm not.
You ask my opinion
when I know that no one really cares what I think.
You tell me what I need to know
not what I want to hear.
You stood up for me
when I was falling apart.
You knew who I really was
when catty girls said otherwise.
You loved me
when I proved to be more imbalanced
than any of us had even guessed.

How do I repay a lifetime of love?
No gift is enough.

Just know, above all
one definition
will always
hold true.

Sister:
I love you.

(Dedicated to Addison Denise Austin, my forever best friend.)

Forever a Family

In another world,

people are waiting.

They sit, wondering

when their gift will come.

This thing they desperately need.

This work they anxiously seek.

But they cannot achieve alone.

I enlist my help.

My mind, my will,

my body, my fingers,

It’s all that I need.

And it’s more than they have.

They simply can’t do it

without me.

This task is not hard.

And every “Thank you,”

from beyond

reminds me of that.

But the greatest reward of all

will be to go back home

to the arms of my Father,

and hear from Him:
“My child,

You’ve brought so many

back with you.

I am so proud.

Well done.”

IHATEYOUIHATEYOUIHATEYOU

Never.

NEVER

EVER

will that be true.

Not for you.

Not while your motive

is so very clear.

Interruption.

ANNOYANCE.

Roiled.

Perturbed.

Get out.

Go away.

Unwanted.

Unbeneficial.

Superficial.

Vicious.

Scathing.

Venomous.

Cruel.

Malignant.

Contemptuous.

Spiteful.

Virulent.

INTOLERABLE.

The world does not hang

on your every word.

Do you even see

the way that your actions

FEEL to 

EVERYONE AROUND YOU?!
No.

You don't.

You won't.

You REFUSE.

I hate you.

Quite sincerely.

And I know

that I'm not alone.

I know for a fact,

because others (yes, plural)

have shared 

similar thoughts.

But you don't know.

Or you pretend not to care. 

Because you would.

OH, YOU WOULD.

Catty.

Malicious.

Malevolent.

Rude.

Make me suffer

FOR FUN?!?!

But I get it, I do.

No one alive

has it quite as bad as you-

Because it's hard being the CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE.

True?

I WISH I DIDN'T SUCK AT FEELINGS.

So... This is not a poem. This is me letting off some steam, which I tend to do from time to time. I just haven't done it yet in blog form. And tonight, I felt like doing so.

I hate boys.

Correction: I love boys. I hate when boys get together and come through the McDonald's drive thru and hit on me.

I am a vicious flirt, but never in seriousness. It is really easy for me to pretend I'm in love with boys that I'm not at all interested in, and they always know that I'm not actually interested.

However, if I am actually interested in someone, they terrify me. And ditto if someone's interested in me. If either of these are true, I tend to avoid them like the plague. Because I'm awkwardly shy about these things. I don't know why. I just always have been.

This is easily the #1 thing that I hate about my personality.

So tonight, a couple of boys came through the drive-thru.... and this embarrassment ensued. And I just hated it.... And I didn't really understand why, until I wrote it down.

These were not unattractive boys. These were decently attractive guys with a crapload of confidence that scared the shiz out of me.

In the Drive-Thru: (After I'd taken their order.)
Boy #1: Dude, that girl sounds hott.
Boy #2: Dude, do you think she's mormon?
Boy #1: Hey, yeah, you should ask her!!
Boy #2: -laughter- Do you think she can still hear us?
Me: Sorry, what was that?
Boy #1: Crap. Guess she can!
Boy #2: Dude, pull forward!!

Later, at the window:
Boy #1: Hey, you're really cute!
Boy #2: Yeah, especially when you talk!
Boy #1: And when you smile!
Boy #2: Hey, are you Mormon?!
Boy #1: We'll be back later for your number!
Boy #2: Or you could just give it to us now!!
Me: - Turns bright red. Then, turns around and pretends not to hear.-

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm single.

Responsibility

It's even heavier
than it sounds.
It is necessary.
It teaches us
to grow up.
How you handle it
really says a lot
about your character.
About you.
About who-and what
you are.
What moves you.
What you care about.
What you stand for.
Whether you stand
for anything at all.
In any case,
it matters.
Take it seriously.
Otherwise,
screw your future.

Nothing But Everything

I wish I could just tell you.
I wish.
But I can't.
Nothing is stopping me,
but I can't, all the same.
Because actually,
something is stopping me.
Nothing really.
Just... everything.
All of me.
Every fear,
every inhibition,
every insecurity,
practically every fiber of my being
is screaming
"YOU CAN'T."
And I believe,
because this has always proven
safe.
That and you scare me.
Not you per se,
but the idea
of you
(or anyone, really)
knowing too much.
But mostly
you
knowing... anything.
It terrifies me.

And why?
Who are you?
What would it hurt if you knew?
Nothing would change.
Not really.

But everything's
already different with you.
I've changed,
thus my whole world has.
There is a newly realized
possibility
which I hadn't even
considered before:
Letting you in
might be okay.
But how long have I
known you?
I shouldn't feel
this way.
But I'm adjusting.
I'm growing, changing,
learning how to be
here.
You showed me,
simply through being near me,
that I really didn't know
myself very well.
And so you mean nothing...
Yet you'll always be
so much more
than nothing
to me.

I wish, I long, I ache
to tell you.
Everything.
But nothing's what comes out.

Unreasonably,
I want so much  more than nothing
with you.
It makes no sense.
I'm silly.
Maybe, after all this,
I'll tell you.
I'll explain.

And when you know,
hopefully you'll understand.
And maybe you'll
forgive me.

You were so awesome,
so sweet,
so nice.
And I treated you
like less than
nothing.
But only because
it terrified me
to make you my everything.