Please be brave enough
to love
to play
to lose
to hurt
to heal
to hold
And when it is all over, don’t forget
to dance
Please be brave enough
to love
to play
to lose
to hurt
to heal
to hold
And when it is all over, don’t forget
to dance
Of the nights that I have not slept, these are the ones I will remember most:
Lauren you are little,
but you won’t always be.
I can still remember
that time when you were three.
I came and sat beside
your bed–I’d dreamt that you
had drowned.
I wanted to make sure
that you were safe and whole
and sound.
Now I wake up in the
morning and hear your fingers
play–whimsically but steady–
they always find their way.
My baby you are growing,
it’s hard to say though true.
But when I hold your sweaty
little hand inside of mine
I know the time for growing
is not done. My dear, we’ve still
got time.
Isn’t that exciting?
We got:
4 Poland Spring gallon jugs
A tub of nutella
A box of crackers
A penguin pillow pet
2 nerf guns
It is enough.
It is enough to make us strong.
I wonder what we are meant to learn from
the nights we can’t breathe—the nights we
can’t sleep for lack of air. Perhaps we are to
realize that air is beautiful alone? Perhaps
we are to understand that to not breathe is
terrifying? So what of living? Is breathing
enough alone? To be grateful for, I mean.
Don’t eat that
You’re too tall
Don’t eat that
Your stomach
Don’t eat that
It’s a mountain
Don’t eat that
You’ll explode
Don’t eat that
When I was little they told me in church
that I was never alone, even if it felt like I was.
I didn’t understand that I would need to remember this.
I didn’t understand that they were speaking to my future self.
When I was little they told me in church
that if I was sad, I just needed to pray.
I didn’t understand that I would need to remember this.
I didn’t understand that they were speaking to my future self.
When I was little they told me in church
that things would always work out, that everything would be ok.
I didn’t understand that I would need to remember this.
I didn’t understand that they were speaking to my future self.
When I was little they told me in church
to always believe, even when it was dark and I couldn’t see—
that there was a way out of misery—that someone would always
dry my eyes—that crying in the corner wouldn’t bring the light in.
I didn’t understand that I would need to remember this.
I didn’t understand that they were speaking to my future self.
One day, when I was sitting on the drain in my shower, with my hair over my face and my arms around my knees, with the doors locked—I remembered.
I said a prayer and opened the door. The angels held me in their arms. They brought movies and tissues and chocolate and love.
The angels were my roommates.
My leg feels like a noodle
My head feels like a rock
My heart feels like a racecar
That simply will not stop
My underarms have bruises,
My back still has a scar.
My stomach feels like paper
Pushed down way, way too far.
It is November. Boy and girl stand in front of the harbor with their arms over the railing, staring at a boat. Boy is on the right, girl is on the left.
Boy: You see that rope right there?
Girl: Yeah
Awkward pause, Girl glances towards boy quizzically
Boy: We could climb up it and weasel our way in through that window.
Girl laughs softly
Girl: But how would we get to the rope?
Boy shakes his head
Boy: Well, you know, hypothetically it could work.
Girl smiles to herself, turns to boy
Girl: How much further do we need to get again?
I bought myself flowers on
The eigth of July. A no good
Mother I was for them. I cut
off their stems, stuck them
in a bottle and expected them
to live.
They died in two days.
They died and I watched them
Die—from the corner of the
room I didn’t want to live in
anymore. Then… I missed them.
I asked for more flowers.
The flowers never came.