My Star

“You’re an angel,” you said tucking my hair behind my ears.  You stood eight inches taller than me, but I fit perfectly into the crevices of your body.  Looking up at you, I gave you that look.  It was the one you used to photograph before I would try to rip the camera out of your hands, a feat which never proved successful.  You would hold it high in the air with one arm while wrapping your other around my waist, that boyish grin lighting up your face, causing my determination to remain annoyed to be dissolved into laughter.

“I’m not an angel,” I said.  “I’m just me.”

“But you are my angel,” You replied.

“I’m not anyone’s angel.  I’m just a girl.”

But you continued to grin, bringing your lips to mine. I wouldn't argue any longer.

So, I tried.  I tried to be your piece of heaven in the world that wanted so desperately to tear us apart.  I tried to say all the right things, and be smart, and funny, and beautiful, and perfect.  But somehow the things I said never did turn out to be very smart, nor were they ever very funny.  I may be pretty, but not particularly beautiful.  And perfection somehow seems unattainable to me.  Yet you loved me despite my lack of charm and you held me in your arms, whispering sweet sentiments into my ear, and I was happy. 

But one day you stopped whispering to me.  You stopped holding me.  You stopped loving me.  Your voice, which was once warm, became ice cold over the phone.  You would snap at me when I would inquire about your life and then when I would start to cry, you’d apologize before hanging up.  When you held my hand, yours became limp and lifeless in mine, but I gripped ever tighter until the day finally came when you told me that I wasn't your angel anymore.

And it turns out I was right all along:  I’m not an angel.  But you will always be my star.

"They’ll See What I’m Made Of"

[I wrote this in  teaching writing class in my writer's notebook as a response to a news story.  It is written in the voice of a very disturbed child.]

They’ll see what I’m made of.

Soon they’ll regret it all.

My revenge will come swiftly,

When they see me in the hall.

They’ll be sorry that they hit me,

Recall the times they made me cry.

They’ll take back the names they called me.

When I look them in the eye.

Johnny will plead with me.

He’ll say, “Don’t do this to my Ma’”

He’ll cry and shake, but I won’t care:

He’s had this coming since last fall.

Jenny, she will cry,

And her pretty lips will quiver.

But she told lies--humiliated me--

And I’m not ready to forgive her.

They’ll be begging me for mercy,

When I carry out my plans.

Now, I’ll be the one who’s laughing

While they beg me for a chance.

They’ll tell me that they’re sorry

That they were only having fun.

But, they’ll see what I’m made of

When I bring my daddy’s gun.

"Morning Whispers"

I whisper in the silence, but the sound passing my lips is muffled in my ears. What was it that I said? I lay still in my bed, a chill in my bones despite the thick sea of blankets surrounding me. My fingers outstretch, grasping for the lost words as if I could catch them in the air, and let them leave my lips again--those familiar syllables I once spoke tenderly and sweetly in the quiet of the morning.

What was it that I said?

The sound of your name hangs in the air as the cloudiness of slumber passes from me. Consciousness returns. My heart aches as memories swirl and I am haunted by your ghost. Come back to me, my love. Save me from these dreams.

[1/2012]

"A Distant Memory"

I look into your eyes, the shape of you filling up the space beside me. Your eyes appear intoxicated as they gaze into mine, evidence to me of your affection. You love me, who was just yesterday the little girl with matted hair and dirty fingernails from whom the little boys ran at recess. Your love has rendered me a woman, my childhood left behind me in a faraway memory. I have never beheld anyone more handsome.

 My cheeks blushing, I break the stare. Your arms wrap around me tightly and I bury my nose into your neck memorizing your scent. Your love drunken eyes bring out the shyness in me, but the hint of a smile lingers on my lips and I press them lightly to your jaw. Forever, you said. Forever.

 But you fade away as the light breaks through my window. A dream. A shadow. A distant memory. My heart aches, empty and lonely like the space beside me. “I miss you,” I whisper in the bareness of my room.

I miss you.


[12/2011]