love is like a song

Night life. The dark mysterious, arousing night, is the only time I can sit and think. Think about how every song on shuffle reminds me of you.

"How long will I be waiting,
To be with you again
Gonna tell you that I love you,
In the best way that I can.
I can't take a day without you here,
You're the light that makes my darkness disappear."
The song drowns on and I picture it. We were gliding so carefully in each others grasp. Then I click next.

"And I saw
Pictures in my head
And I swear I saw you opening up, again
Cuz I would be heavenly
if baby you'd just rescue me, now."
I was screaming now. Shouting the lyrics by Matt Nathanson so loudly I could feel my body shake. I felt so alive. Then I pressed next when I soon remembered you.

"I live here on my knees as I
Try to make you see that you're
Everything I think I need here on the ground.
But you're neither friend nor foe though I
Can't seem to let you go.
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down
You're keeping me down, yeah, yeah, yeah."
I stop; intrigued and listen. Then they form. The tears that have been brewing in my eyes for months, finally show up. I want them to keep falling. I have never wanted to cry so hard. When I start getting a headache I stop. The blood rushing right on top of my eyebrows stings. I lay down on the floor and press next.

"In your eyes
Let's sleep till the sun burns out
I'm melting in your eyes (I'm melting in your eyes)
Let's sleep till the sun burns out
I'm melting in your eyes."
As he whispers the next note, I hum. Eyes shut, heart racing, laying on my carpeted get away, humming. I didn't know what to do. Cry? Scream? Throw my clothes around a few times? I sat on my bed defeated. I couldn't do a thing. Because nothing that was in my room could equal the emotions I would have if you were here with me.

Next.
"But somewhere we went wrong
We were once so strong
Our love is like a song
You can't forget it."
I sang it in a whisper. Eyes were shut; relaxing. Have you ever been so calm you need to move one of your body parts because you're not sure you're even alive?

Tranquil: free from agitation of mind or spirit
I felt tranquil, almost as if you were the only one able to get my heart beating again.

These words are not my home

It hurts. Their words that fly like bullets cascading out of their mouths. They hurt. Do you ever feel like if you listen to the things they say you'll lose it? I want to lose it. Just get up and sprint out of here. Run so hard, so fast, I fly right over their irritating vocabulary. But I can't. I won't. I'm scared; why? How can just a few syllabols change the entire flow of my emotion? I tell myself, "Their not worth it. Just calm down. Their not worth it." Then they speak again. More bullets flying at my still figure. I cannot move. They have me drilled to the floor as their lashing words strike me again and again, like a tattered leather whip. I think about their words every day. What are they suppose to mean? How do I take it? But most of all, how could these individuals, these once caring individuals say such things? Maybe they're suppose to be here. Maybe they're suppose to help me grow a back bone. Or maybe they were suppose to be gone, before they came.

What is inside is discovered

It's here and I can't open it. My brain isn't making the connection to my hands to rip it up. So here it is lying in my hands. Still. My eyes wont tear away from it. It's like watching the scary part of the horror show when all you want to do is peel away. But here it lays. Clasped in my palms, the edge of the envelop starts to get warm as my palms begin to sweat. They're clamy and I hate it. I hate the feeling of sweat almost as much as I hate not being able to open this envelop. But what if they reject me? What if all of the preperations I had went through to get this one ready, fails? What would I say? The envelop shakes in my trembling hands. Deep breaths and short breaths pass the time and it still sits there in my hands. Open it. I'm screaming in my mind to just open it. But I don't. Then I second guess. My poem wasn't that great. I should have choosen another one. I should, I should, I should. Then the top tears. I'm doing it. I smile. It's happening it's opening I stop. I can't do it. I just can't. The blood rushes to my fingers, and they're hot again. And I hate it. One more piece is torn from the top. Adrenaline. Then another then another. It's opened. My hand slowly rests inside it's smooth interior and I feel it. I rub the pads of my fingers along the paper. It's gold. I rip it out of the envelop. I just can't wait and before I know it, it's opened fully exposed and I'm reading.

Dear Miss Kaila Beckner
Congradulations! You are now featured in the top ten of our. . .

I scream. Louder then I should have. Louder then my throat could take and I cough. But with the excrutiating cough I smile.

Yet again another envelop to be sent

Do you ever have that feeling where you are so ecstatic and overwhelmed by accomplishment that nothing can take it away? That's how I'm feeling right now. Most people don't understand the importance of this envelop but for me it's like having 1,000 Christmas's hit you all in a matter of five seconds; or realizing your parents are giving you extra money to buy all the new things you have been fantasizing over for the longest time. For me these envelops hold more significance then any kind of gift wrapped sweater or cardigan anyone has ever given me. These envelops are notifications from certain publishers notifying me my poetry will be in the top ten of their new book. How amazing it is to come home from an irritating day at school, walk through all the snow while soaking your feet in its ice trap, opening the mailbox to find that one thing that's so important you will remember it forever. Right now I'm waiting on my fourteenth poem to come back. The wait is like seeing all of your Christmas presents and waiting for days to open them. So far I haven't had a negative response from a publisher and lets hope I wont for number fourteen.