Friday, December 31, 2010

I Am Wrong

The facts: It's New Year's Eve. I'm home alone. I woke up to tornado sirens. I decided to see what I wrote this time last year. And I found one of my favorite poems, that I wrote December 27, 2009. I thought I might share it.

So instead of posting a list of meaningless resolutions or whatever, here's the poem. I guess my goal for next year is to go back into writing things that I love this much.

Regrettable thought, but they do betray.
One could have guessed at them anyway.

Talent is not earned, but it comes with a price.
Or maybe it's only how you roll the dice.
Either way, you've got me beat.
Either way, I face defeat.

I wish I didn't have to compete.

Or rather not, because there is no far as you know.
You are blind, but also correct.
It's hard to compete with the perfect.

For a moment, I'll pretend you have my respect.

For an instant of time I was outstanding.
That came down with a crash landing.
The crash brought an end to my marvelous thrill.
My dreams are too complicated for me to fulfill.

Be still.

Yes, I am jealous, but it's more than that.
It seems we are fighting in a fictional combat.
I can't win. You are better than me.
You are something that I cannot be.

Everyone knows this; they agree.

You fought a good fight. You won the race.
And I? I am nothing but a disgrace.

He will hold you in his embrace.

I am erased.
I am replaced.

And you? You have stolen my place.
I leave without even the littlest trace.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

December 29, 2010

And I can't see you, but I know you're around.

Tomorrow is your birthday, Justin. 
And I just wanted you to know that even though we weren't the greatest friends in the whole world, well, we all miss you here. No, more than that. Our hearts ache in your absence.

Sometimes I forget. Sometimes it doesn't feel real.
And then I get a flash of moments, of memories of you.

If we're being honest, I don't think you ever really liked me very much.
In fact, I always got the feeling that I really got on your nerves. Haha. I think you may have hated me just a little bit.

I wish that wasn't the case, but it's okay. It's okay.

I'll remember the smiles you gave to me, the laughter and joy. How you were the one person in marching band that I always, always looked for because I knew you were the best. I'll remember sitting next to you in Algebra II, the only person I knew on that side of the room, until you ditched me to sit by Eric. Haha. And that crazy awesome clock that you drew. And sitting diagonal from you during lunch every day. Gosh, there's so many.

Anyway, happy birthday. Our hearts are with you.

December never felt so wrong. Because you're not where you belong.

Monday, December 27, 2010

One: I have completely lost hope.

This poem will be untitled. It speaks for itself.

Two days later and I'm feeling fine,
if fine means one of dozens in line.
And here's the secret, the one of fates:
I am the one who waits.

And while you wait for me in vain,
I am there taking full reign.
I feast on hearts and letters known
of those who wait all alone.
I steal hope from the lingering soul
of the one who is no longer in control.
That self-pity, the depression
remains now in my possession.
And you know you no longer own
the heart that's apart of those unknown.
Your secret thoughts are now in my hand
while your grasp on life is but a strand.
I came into your life long ago,
and you are incapable of letting me go.
Although I steal the life from you each day,
it kills you to think of casting me away.
I crawl in and latch on and suck out your love,
but somehow I am all you can think of.
You love me, you fool, though I kill
slowly, like poison, in your free will.
And you shall die in line, bound in chains
while I feast upon your loving remains.

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Heavy Heart

Oh God, my heart hurts.
It's a mighty burden.

And I just want you to say
Can I get through the day without feeling broken hearted? Can I live in your love for a day, or even just a moment? And he was here. He used to be here. I hope they're right, when they say we'll see him again. I hope.

I don't want to be the one in heaven, the one that hears the cries of loved ones from below, but is unable to help them.
And if there was anything that I could ever physically do to save the souls of the ones I love, my God, I would do it.

I believe.

This is the kind of burden that weighs on my heart, the kind that cannot be lifted without Your hand. The kind that plagues my life, my love, my determination for a better tomorrow. The kind that lingers over my head all morning, the kind that follows me like a shadow. The kind that makes my soul cry out for help.

He was here for a moment, and I missed it.

Merry Christmas.

Wednesday, December 22, 2010

Response and Characters

Just so we're clear, usually what I'm talking about in writing isn't what people think it's about. And 9 times out of 10, the subject changes from about three different people in one post.

And when that doesn't happen, then I'm talking about someone but actually referring to myself.

Don't assume the worst. Okay? Okay.


I've been developing a story for quite awhile now, and the following is just me trying to get inside the heads of two of the characters. It's not at all finished, but I figured I'd post it anyway:


 I was murdered.

It was on Halloween, and so cold that I could see my breath. I went to my friend's party, dressed as Minnie Mouse. I thought about going as an angel, but I figured that something was bound to get spilled on the white dress and I just didn't want to go through that. Besides, those wings just looked uncomfortable.

Polka dots are much more friendly.


It was sudden, almost instant. I can't distinguish the time between me sitting, playing with my doll, from the moment I was in the arms of another person, flailing in the air. There was a hand over my mouth that covered half of my tiny face, another hand gripped firlmly around my left thigh.

I was shoved into the bathroom door with a force that knocked it open, and then dropped to the floor. I landed on my wrist, which I didn't really feel until afterwards. My lip was bleeding. I could taste it.

Feet went to the bathtub and started running the water. I looked up, slowly, and saw that it was my mother this time. My pulse slowed a little. At least it wasn't Daddy.

"Clothes off. Now!" She yelled. I had no choice but to obey. I told myself it would all be over soon.

That's all I knew to do. That's how I survived.



I entered through the back door, which led straight into the kitchen. It was completely trashed, cups and bottles everywhere. The contents of the trashcan were pouring onto the floor.

I kept walking towards the music that was blasting from the living room. I passed a side room and caught a glimpse of my boyfriend, Garrett, completely attached to some other girl. A blonde, of course.

I was used to this. I would deal with it later.


It was Ashlea, the brains behind this operation. She was dressed as a vampire, although her costume looked like something straight out of Playboy. It was red and black, with a short skirt and a corset top that showed off her cleavage nicely. She wore fishnet leggings with it and four inch black boots. Her hair was pulled back in a high ponytail and fell into curls that reached her lower back. Her makeup was a little too dramatic.

"Hey, Ash. So what's the word?" I said as we lightly hugged.

"He's here," she whispered. My heart soared.

"How'd you get him to come? He hates parties."

Ashlea smiled. "Sierrah, by now you should know that I am a master of the opposite sex. Now, go find him. I last saw him by the stairs."

I started walking, trying to look inconspicuous as my heart worked overtime. He was here. He was here.


I stood there, absolutely naked.

Mommy turned around and grabbed me by my waist. I didn't try to struggle. I knew what would happen if I struggled. She dropped me into the steaming water. It stung, especially at my toes. It wasn't long until my skin turned blazing red.

I must have winced, because she slapped me hard across my face. "You've got to be tougher than that!" she spat at me. Then she snatched a fistfull of hair and forced me under.


Tuesday, December 21, 2010


Oh, that laughter. It's always the same.
It doesn't have to be taught, or learned, or forced.
It's natural. And it's lovely.


Oh, how he loves us.
He loves us all.

My dear, my friend,
that means you.
I won't say I'm sorry, though I am,
but rather, I say things in spite of myself.

And I love you with the day, and night,
And because I know it's right.
You just might, you just might
be the light.


I know that you have your suspicions. And I'm letting you know now that they are all true. I gave you a lie, and for that I apologize, but I could not see another way out without admitting something that I did not want to. That it's true, I follow your footsteps, and I assume answers and words that remain as half-thoughts. I couldn't say the truth and come out and say that I did something, I said something, that I shouldn't have. That is cowardly, yes, this I know, but I never said that I was brave.

You? You run with lions.
How can I compete with that?


We fell apart, you and I.
But my heart still goes with you.

Friday, December 17, 2010

who do you think you are?

"...and this is how the world makes sense, all of us behaving like men."
-For One More Day page 119


Who was I trying to fool? I remember that time, and now it all seems like all the whispers and days, the minutes and hours, the fire and laughter, the secrets and avoiding talking about what each other already knew, all of that was a waste. I wish it hadn't happened.

To me.

And oh, how my heart searches for a decent second to hold on to.
And oh, how the path has altered.

Tag, you're it.

I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to feel as if I have to watch over you, or speak to you, or check if you're alright or not. I don't want you to be important to me anymore. I don't want that responsibility. I don't care. Don't care. Care.

It's time to leave.

You've spent all this time trying to fill your heart, trying to find some way to get through the day. Trying to find love, to be content. Trying to find happiness. And you failed. And who are you to tell yourself the truth? A lie? Why couldn't you stop there? Let. it. go.

Here's a hint:
This isn't about you anymore.

And I know I was never even remotely important to you. I was just a piece.

Warning: death or serious injury can occur.

Oh God, please. It's time to give up. She's not coming back. She's not waiting. She doesn't care.
He doesn't care. He doesn't know you anymore. He doesn't even remember your name.

Besides, you can never compare to the beauty that they so desperately cling to.
You can never be her. You aren't even close.
And you? Why did you even allow yourself to hope? Surely you knew she had better things to do.

He doesn't even want to sit by you. He doesn't even want to be seen with you.
You aren't friends. He doesn't want to remember you at all.

My name is Emily. You loved me once.
How could you forget?

And you know, you were never fooling anyone. She always knew of your feelings. She didn't draw attention to them because she never felt the same way. She just didn't want to hurt you. All this time, wasted. What are you going to fill your heart with now?

Do you even know who you are?

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

a letter to the boy unheard.


To the one who is silent, to the boy who does not know words, to the one one who cannot raise his head long enough to see a horizon. Are you cold?

My God seeks out your heart. Do not throw up your hands.
Wait. Breathe.

Silent one, you have realized that you are not where you are supposed to be. And as such, do not fear. There is light. There is hope on the way. There will be words.

My old friend, do you not trust me? I would have known. I never expected this to be easy for you.
There is much you need to learn.
You are not alone.



Tuesday, December 14, 2010

if I should go.

I've been suffering from nightmares lately. They typically include a murderer, chasing me, killing my friends along the way.

This is most unusual.
I mean, yes, I have had crazy murderer dreams before. But never in a series like this.


You wear your heart on your wrist. Add one to the list.
Well, I've never felt so dead before.

And here's another song that I owe to you,
The kind of one you like to listen to.
The kind of one that says, "I was right."
I was right.

How can you be someone else
when I know you better than I know
- 7SF


I hope. I hope.
And that smile meant everything.
It meant everything
to me.

Today, I lived.


I won't rest until you finally breathe,
because I still love you more than
- We The Kings


I know I'm on thin ice.
I'm playing with fire.
Possibly at the same time.

There are bigger plans for you
that don't include me.
And likewise,
if I should go,
I would be blessed.
But know that I would always
want to be right here.

I would always wonder.

And I would always hold your name
in the palm of my hand.
And keep our whispers
tucked in my pocket.

I know I cannot stay.

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Questions without the marks.

I won't be the one to keep you from having what you wanted,
but I wanted to be right next to you.
- The Getaway by 7SF


I still believe in hope.
I still believe in joy.

Sometimes, I have to keep reminding myself.

Why am I jealous? Why do I fear? Why must I stay during a time of motion?
Why do I question, and not simply say, "This is for the time."

And why do I linger on a word, a phrase, a written text that held no mention of me whatsoever, but latched on to my brain and held itself there for awhile? Surely, you must know. It started with an idea, which you may mark as passive, but it grew into more. It grew into hope. False hope, which serves no purpose except destruction.

I shall guard my thoughts from now on.
But this one moment got me to realize that I'm not as stable as I thought I had become.

But as for now, I need you to listen. I need you to stay. Because living means more when I have you to look forward to.
I'm not leaving. I never leave.

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

The Past and Hope

Dear Father,

It is a privilege to be called Your child, and to no longer be a slave to sin. You are my heavenly father.
And I believe Lord, that no matter how destructive everything around me is, You remain constant. I believe that You can bring beauty from pain, shine light through darkness, and hold firm in your majesty even in the midst of everything else. I cling to You, as your child, as your servant. My hope is in You.



That's been on my heart today. Now, I'd like to post some of my past writings.

From a poem entitled "The Fine Things," written on October 3, 2010

I've been dying and living, once again
to tell you, to say...[Oh, where to begin?]
These words are bottled, they have been
hiding inside, hiding within.
Hiding beneath my very skin.

And I confess to you today
[I have so many things I need to say]
[I'm trying not to sound cliche]
[I think about you throughout the day]
[you're my best friend and I want you to stay]
[I love you in every single way]

And I hope that was fair
[if not, I don't care]
It's over; it's there.
And you're completely unaware.

And I swear, I swear
that it's too much to bear.

[Life is unfair.]

From a poem "Coexistence" written July 16, 2010:

Beating against the rocks and hearts
is not where any of this should start.
It starts with a day and a life to live.
It starts with a willingness to forgive.
It starts with a way out, and resistance.
It starts with compassion from a distance.

And coexistence.

From Moments To Remember posted June 15, 2010:

I'm searching for that sound again, for the match of what it was before - before the music got engraved into my head. I'm searching for the time when it was the first time. I'm searching for a way back to the beginning, before things could be compared. When there was that snow and that silly laughter. Who could have thought that those are the times that I would dearly miss? Who could have guessed that those are the moments that I would be desperate for?
From this is my life. posted April 11, 2010:

Will it be lost forever in the depths of my memory? It's hard to say. It would be one useful defense mechanism, that's for sure. Still, will it be neccessary after tonight?

Answer: i hope i'm stronger than that.

I'm pretty sure that I sense a twinge of fear in the pit of my stomach. In the shake of my bones. I'm nervous, I'm insecure. Or maybe it's just cold in here. Yes, that's it. That's what I'll let myself believe, anyway.

Now I smell something false...I think it's a lie. With a hint of loss.
Or hope in a diguise.

From Infinitive, posted November 29, 2010:

Who are you to decipher it? Who are you to say that something is absolute, that it should be this way or that? To dismiss an idea, or recover the lost. To walk by an aching heart, to push the standing line, to reject the hands that stretch towards your face? Who are you to say I am wrong and you are right, or that someone's ideas are not remotely proportional to your own?

Ah, the light goes on.
Now you're thinking.

From "R" is my favorite. posted October 5, 2010:

I hope I remember that rain. That straight rain.
The rain that came for two solid days,
the mist that clouded the sky the next morning.
How the day itself seemed exhausted,
seemed so overcome with grief that
its only outlet was that miserable, straight rain.


Just so you can get a taste of the kind of things I write.

Tuesday, December 7, 2010

Sometimes, I can't breathe.

There's an art to breathing, one that I've learned so well.
Inhale. Exhale.
It's simple, but it's easily stolen. When I'm gone, when I'm vulnerable.

I shall write it this once, but I doubt I'll ever write this openly about it again.
I knew a boy named Justin Parker. Justin Parker.
Today, you'll associate that name with suicide.

He killed himself on September 8th, 2010.

We weren't best friends. But I knew him. He sat at my lunch table every day last year. Diagonal from me. I was in band with him all through high school. In fact, he was the best of us. The band. I looked at him when I needed guidance.

I want to remember his life, not his death. But the world will know him as the boy who killed himself. I won't.

I write this now not to stir emotions, but to give a taste of life. I titled this blog "To Be Real," based upon something that my youth pastor said to us a few weeks ago. He told a story of how he got a promotion in his job and instead of having to work in the cold, he got to be inside a heated office. After awhile, he let it go to his head. And he said to us, "I forgot what it was like to be working in the cold. I forgot what it was like to be real."

I never want to forget who I am, or what I'm working for. I never want to be content enough to tell myself to stop striving to be something more. I never want to be able to give up. I want to be real, I want to be alive. I want to remember how to breathe, even when surrounded by tragedy that threatens to steal my breath away.

My eyes are lifted towards Jesus. There, they shall remain.

New Beginnings

I've recently realized that I write far too much to not have a blog. And so, I have finally made one. When MySpace was cool back in the day, I would use that one. I have over 600 posts there. When I started using Facebook more often, I would post there in the Notes tab. I currently have 139 posts there.

However, Facebook Notes are just not cut out for blogging purposes. It's not designed that way. It doesn't serve me well.

I must warn you, there will not be a constant pattern here. I will not write every day, or every week. I will write whenever it comes to me. And I assure you, it will all be different. Sometimes, it will be in blog form, as this post is. Other times it might be poetry, free writing, quotes, overwhelming thoughts, or maybe a story. Expect the unexpected.

With that being said, here's who I am:

I am Emily, I am seventeen. I am greatly interested in photography, books, music, Jesus, food, and wearing comfortable clothes. I work at a pizza place and I drive a yellow VW bug. His name is Haven. And I could go into other little "About Me" types of information, but what fun will that be? If you don't know me, I think you will as time progresses. And if you do know me, then I don't have to repeat the facts.

First entry: done.