All I know is Apologizes.

I know my mom too.



I already wasted my words,
she doesn't want to hear it anymore.

All I can do is nothing.

She doesn't say what she wants.
I don't mean to hurt her.




I said that I was sorry, as much as you don't
believe me when I say those words, you've
always cared about being sorry; never doing it again,
or making up for it. I never seemed to do that part,
you've always noticed.

It never came to mind, no one seemed to complain;
selfish, I know to assume that they didn't care,
or that they weren't hurt, and to make in convenience
for everyone involved.




Words were always enough.




I don't know what to say anymore other than just
repeating that I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I don't know you.
I can't read you.
I can't understand you as I do my friends.





It's just a jacket. It was just perfume.
I should have been happy.
I should have been greatful.
It's not worth defending myself.



You're right, and I won't do it again.

Hold my Hand as I’m Lowered by Noah and the Whale

there’s moments where I miss you;
so deeply. Not to where I want to
spend more time with you so much
as just go back to when you were my best friend.
When we were kids,
when we would blow bubbles in
your brother's car. When we would
go for walks, and watch ghost adventures.



I still have the habit of moving my hands down to my sides whenever I sit beside you.



I can so easily be angry at you.
and I am, but it never lasts for very long.
I hate writing about you,
But I could go on forever.

...I hated being your friend,
or atleast being called it.
Just one of your many friends. 

Why didn't you say anything?


Why did you let me feel so
small if you cared so much?
I don't know anymore.


I feel like the ocean is pouring out of my chest;

I need to stop.

If I find an envelope in the
cuboard; and a stamp under
the couch.  If I remember
how to spell your city's name.

If I ask you questions,
then answer my own.
If I say the things that 

I'm sorry if it'll make you cry,
If it won't make you smile.
I'm sorry if it won't make sence.
But if it makes it to mailbox
and into your room.

If I write, if I write.

Will you write me back?
Will you write me back?

Voices.

Yesterday and this morning I was flooded by the feeling of hopelessness, fatigue, and fear.

The words of my mother rang in my ears "there is no rest for the weary"

This means to me that if i don't feel ok, then I'll never feel ok again.

I can't handle being not ok for very long, I panic and end up crying loudly in public settings.

I don't know what to do so that one day I can be proud of myself for doing something great.

I can't be a teacher. I can't speak to people and have them listen.

I can't be in a band. I'm not good enough for people to feel the feelings I do when I hear a song that I love.

I can't write a book. I'll never finish it.

And I don't even know what happens when people die anymore.

I can't even blog about certain things anymore because it'll make my mom sad.

All I want to do is just lay there. I haven't gone to the park on my own in months.

All I wanted to do yesterday when Clare came over was just sit in my basement and sleep.

I haven't gone outside to go for a walk in months either.

I can't even finish this blog post without forcing myself to.


"My life has been too happy; so something bad is going to happen to me or someone I love when I'm older and it is going to be devastating, because that's how God and the world works."


That has been in my mind since I was thirteen.

I know it's just paranoia but this thought still comes back sometimes.


 And then there's the thought that this can and will all be dismissed because i'm making a big deal out of nothing because I am. So f*** everything.


I'm sick of being ashamed of my age. I'm tired of feeling small.



    

I've gotten to the point in life where I actually have secrets now. 


As small as they are.

how selfish of me.

Even now I still get jealous when I look through pictures that I'm not in.

Ha, not because I was exclued; that was my own fault, and I know that now. 

________


I wanted so badly to not be seen as a child by you.



I held your secrets so tightly! And with so much pride; as if they actually were my own to bear!


___________________


I wanted so badly for you to be ok that killed me when ever you weren't.

You knew that.

At least, that's what I've come to realize.

LISTEN!

Listen to me! please!  I wish I could tell you to your face, but as if you would listen as if you would care.



She's so young, she misses you, she misses all of you.
You all left her, there by herself. Yes she knows it wouldn't come back but understand that she is young.
She cared for all of you, she cared, please understand.

Yes she spoke against what made you happy, and spoke against you and her sister. But she knew that that would tear it apart. She knew that it would fail.
She was trying to hold on to what made her happy, what made her feel whole.

Please understand, she wanted to keep you. She cared for you all.
She loved you all. Why can't you see that?

How dare you forget her. Did she mean nothing to you?
Was she nothing to you?! Was she only a friend?
Was she even that? What were you to her?!

_________________________________________


A month attached to the hip, broken after a slip of tounge.


"I needed to know why! Now I know and I feel at rest but broken a new!"


"you should have left it!"


"I needed to know!"


"You needed to leave it be!"


"I couldn't."

_________________________