She always used to love hide and go seek. She would look in every knook and cranny for the people hiding, peeking in the most impossible places.

But now all she is looking for is herself.

I’ve always loved hide and go seek. Folding myself into tight knots, waiting silently to be found. But now I hate it.

Because I have been in this knot too long, and no is going to find me.

Rachel Platten’s Fight Song is playing on the radio.

Pasta is cooking, and I’m dancing.

Old chacos, slick Nike pangs, t-shirt full of holes

Maybe I’m not as happy as I was a few months ago. Maybe I’m still finding myself. Maybe I’ve had a lot of bad days recently.

But I can dance

And I can sing along

Nothing is guaranteed for me, and maybe is all I have to grasp onto…….but I know that is is enough for me.

I still know I can be happy.

I refuse to write about you. Aside from the fact that I have already written about you. Poems. Songs that I will never have the voice to sing. But, now I refuse to write about you.

I don’t take friendship……….and maybe more lightly. I pour myself into, 110%, letting you see my dark corners, and the words I say when no one is listening.

But, after all that, you left.

So I refuse to write about you.

A flag came back instead of her daddy,

And a police man for her brother,

So please don’t leave her all alone,

She doesn’t need another.

For D.

 

I have finally realized why every poem of heartbreak is written by a girl. From her point of view. The broken girl. The tired girl. The sad girl. The lonely girl.

I have not once found a harshly sad destroying emotion poem of heartbreak by a boy……….and I realized why.

Girls push out their heartbreak, expelling it from their bodies. It comes out like song lyrics, rhymes, awe-worthy art, and true creative form.

Boys absorb heartbreak. They pull it into themselves and curl themselves around it. And their pain pulses like a mock heartbreak……..why? Because I have yet to find a boy who loves half-way.

Say I’m young, but no boy I know loves half-way. And so when they love, they give you their heart.

They entrust it to you, and even when you break it, you still hold it in your hands as you try to throw back the love you said you wanted.

But they let you have it, and you push it away. You expell their love, and then sing a song of heartbreak.

And they only get their heart back, when they are truly over you. That is why my brother, has two gaping holes in his heart………and those are only the ones I can see.

Boys don’t write poems or songs. They don’t expell the love and let it form beautiful things, because all in all, it is still love.

No, boys whisper it. They laugh and coated on the edge of the laugh like sugar to a string, you will find the heartbreak. The split-second memory of her, with green eyes and curly blond hair.

It’s in his bedroom, where all their hushed phone calls took place, and all the selfies he sent her.

It’s shadowing the school, and all his classes, memories like dust particles in the air.

It’s at the softball game where he stares her back, wondering what he did wrong.

Boys don’t expell love, or at least my brother didn’t, he held it tight to his chest and whispered to her, but all he saw was her back. “Why?”

 

Maybe she expelled his love, or maybe it wasn’t love at all, at least not from her……….but my brother thought it was love because that is what he gave her.

 

Explorer

“How to be an explorer”

The book my aunt gave me said,

But didn’t she know,

I’m already an explorer in my head.

 

It’s miles of untamed forests,

And mountains as tall as the moon,

Full of people I said I had forgotten,

And loved ones gone too soon.

 

Rivers that are deeper than the sea,

And animals scarier than nightmares,

I’m an explorer in my head,

Fighting the evil of “No one cares.”

 

Old friends live in moments,

And faces make me cry out loud,

Surrounded by so many people,

That form an endless crowd.

 

There are places I once lived,

And picket fences I use to play by,

But one thing this explorer knows,

Is that it is all a lie.

 

I’ve explored the sunny parts,

Of my dark and dreary head,

But in the darkness I can’t go,

Full of people and things better unsaid.

 

I’ve tried crossing the border,

Only to run back in fear,

Because only the scariest things,

Can make in the darkness here.

 

There are people I want back,

And words I never said,

All encased in the darkness,

Inhabiting most of my head.

 

It’s a jungle tangled and tall,

That is best left all alone,

With my dark thoughts and words,

Hidden and overgrown.

 

Maybe one day I will tell her,

My aunt who gave me the book,

That if she wanted a place to explore,

In my head she only needed to look.

 

But she will stop at the edge,

As they always do,

And my dark jungle will grow,

Until no light shines through.

 

I may be an explorer,

But they still can lose their way,

Just as I have started to lose myself,

In the dark of my head where there is only gray.