Missing you: a poem.

Four years, past to present

Yet you grace my latest dream

Unsettling, your kindness torn away

An understanding nestled in your eyes

One you ignore and I

Lean in toward

Four years, past to present

Your voice has left my memory

Your words that used to haunt

Have drifted away with the dandelions

In the unbearably strong wind

I cannot call your voice back to my mind

And mine is lost in the distance

Four years, past to present

All we shared

Severed

You thought it was a clean break

I have tried, desperately,

To control the bleeding

Left to manage the frayed ends

Four years, past to present

To the day

Reminded of the date

A heaviness rested upon me

Upon every limb

Upon my face

My chest

Dragged down to the deepest parts

No energy, no reason to fight

Not today

Tomorrow

Tomorrow the sun will wake me

And I will dance through every moment

I will smile and laugh and embrace

But today, I remember this

Remember you

Four years ago today

Of all the days I have been alive

That was one of the worst

Followed by months and months

And months of heartbreak

Today I feel the continuing effects

Like a wound that never properly healed

That still smarts when it rains

And today the clouds are covering

Four years, past to present

With not a word from you

No appology

No excuse

Not even an explanation

Still

I feel you missing from me

Missing you.

-Melissa

Wind.

A string, a rope, one building

Stretched

Then to another

A tightrope

The cool stone under my feet

My toes curled over the edge

A dare to walk

One foot now

The rope denting my skin

Each second, an hour

Slowly now… slowly

Aware of every muscle in my body

Trying to be light, able, and stable

For fire heats one of my sides

Water cools the other

Neither death would I

Prefer to face

So balance is essential

From the distance I hear…

Just beyond…

What is that…

A breeze

I stand

Halfway there

Between buildings

Between fire and water

Each begging me to lose it

Lose it all

And fall

And yet, stable I stand

And yet…

I hear the wind

-Melissa

Three.

Once.

You had me at hello

Once

I can see the moment

Perfectly held

Perfectly preserved

Once

To stay indefinately

Oh, honest?

Much longer

But he, in that image,

Ceases to be

And me, in that image,

Long gone, my dear

You have become merely a whisper

Of worry once held

Laughter now is laced with freedom

Once, it was with longing

Once

But yesterday is more distant

Today is tomorrow

Once is a memory

And once was enough

Refuse.

Just a whisper

Not heard, but seen

I embrace anxiety like an old friend

Warm and inviting

Your pain filling my chest

Spreading through each vein

Until every bit of me is shaking

You ask for words

I have none

Nothing to ease this moment

Nothing to stop your pain

Or this shaking

My breath soon leaves me

Unbearable worry to blame

I refuse to be consumed.

So I fight for breath

I fight for words

I’ll fight for you

Your pain as an effective fuel

Helpless in reality

Nothing to offer but presense

Nothing to offer but prayer

(And I’ve heard prayer moves mountains)

Fool.

I’m so f***ing invincible

Because I have to be

Powerful, able

I can’t be overcome

Strong, I stand firm

Unyeilding

Able to lift and then

Carry along the weight

Of the world

Without breaking

I don’t even come close

Nothing can hurt me

Nothing can touch me

I’m unreachable

I am quite aware

I’m not fooling you

I’m probably not fooling

Anyone

But let me fool myself

Let me believe I can’t be broken

The hope is when hurt

Surrounds me on every side

I won’t feel it when it hits

-Melissa

Blue.

I don’t know how to be anyone but who I’ve pretended to be. What if she’s not even me? How is it that lying is easier than the truth?

You know how it’s said that the truth will set you free?

They never said the implied.

Deception will trap you. Trap isn’t a strong enough word. It will ensnare you. It will shut, lock you in. It will make you it’s slave. I have somehow, amazingly conditioned myself to not give a single thing away when I’m lying. To not give away any emotion without my full consent to do so. Shock isn’t betrayed on my face unless I want the person I’m talking to to know I’m shocked. I have learned to wear a mask so realistic it isn’t questioned. I have learned to be indifferent when everything inside me is screaming.

And that is terrifying.

On one hand, I could make an excellent spy and am still blatantly confused as to why I have not been contacted by the CIA or FBI or The Lightman Group to harness my natural abilities.

On the other hand, how useful are these ‘skills’ if I can’t control them? If they control me?

It’s not that I live a lie. I am truly the person most people see. But it’s like the tip of the iceberg. There is so much that has shaped me, that has defined who I am, that is miles and miles below the surface. And… I can’t bring it to the surface. I tried today. I tried to talk myself into it.

What are you so afraid of? I asked myself over and over.

And I had no real answer. When I’m asking myself that again now, I feel…. surrounded by something. I’m stuck. There’s something inside of me. Metal jaws. Two doors intricately intertwined, never meant to be broken.

It’s like I’m a mime; there’s this invisible box around me and I try to bang on the walls and it doesn’t even make a sound. The walls don’t shake. And I’m just here in the enclosure with nothing but my spinning thoughts. And goodness, how they spin. I’m dizzy trying to think straight.

How have the defenses I’ve built up become so strong that even I can’t break them?

I’ve said the words before. How can I not say them now?

I painted over my blue skin

I trained myself to be green

Then I snuck into the forest

And did my best to not be seen

I met other green people

Others yellow, red, even blue

At night, I painted on a new coat

I didn’t know what else to do

I got used to being green

I learned to fit in my new skin

Every once and a while, I wonder…

What would it be like to be blue again?

-Melissa

Reading

I like to read. I like to let myself melt into the pages. The words become my own. The emotions of the characters grasp me- they take hold of me, invade me, and pour out of me. With every word, every phrase, I’m drawn in. And then, the story is mine. The breaths my breaths. The fears, my fears. The loves, my loves. And the pain all too familiar. I love to read because I myself am lost and so many others, so many other parts of me, are found.