Tuesday, November 26, 2013

Back Again

I'm racing him west,
Only he's somewhere up in the inky night sky
And I'm chasing tail lights listening to
As I Lay Dying, August Burns Red, and All Shall Perish.
Songs for the violent emotion rolling around your chest.
I didn't know what to do to quiet the aching raw Distraught.
It was warm, alarming,
Curling and turning
Tricks for a silent audience of ribs.
So I did what I knew
And brought my homework to his room.
He said he still cared about me, we just were better before we tried to make a relationship.
Opening that door was like taking a pure hit.
Relaxed by some mysterious comfort people we feel attached to bring.
Nothing had changed.
I don't trust his hands.
not in ability,
But in composition.
Yet I find myself utterly softened, anesthetized 
Like only he can do,
Taming frantic heart chasing emotions.
Play at my strings
I'll gather them for you to pull even.
We went to our usual study spot
And hours later, when words on pages had blended together
He set his pen down amongst legal pads
Grasping keys.
"Come on."
I knew.
Flirty sarcasm was always how I knew
Something was still there.
We left the books to keep coffee mugs and well intentioned homework company. Drove his car around the block.
Back seats laid down
Crawling over to reacquaint lips.
Still smolders of need
Igniting flint paper skin.
I was just getting my fix.
Veins and thighs.
When we returned, hair a mess
Cheeks flushed as a red flare of where we had been,
He said, "Why do we make a better couple when we aren't dating?"
"I don't know. I just know that I'm always drawn to you."
Words of an addict spoken softly.
I need him.
I don't.
Need to breath him in,
Crawl from the inside out
Seemingly dependent .
Get me out.
Let me back in.
He said I'm not very emotional, can't verbalize how I feel about him if we are officially dating.
Not quite worth the investment with the little I put out.
I'm trying.
Never had I hurried more to feel than in the last three months.
January, please stay away...
I took him to the airport
Kiss through the open car window
Wishing I could quit
Knowing I would want him
Relapse into those arms if after this semester he might find it in his heart
Or somewhere carnal
To let me.
Picking up my phone for a final good bye,
Because I would practice letting him go this weekend:
"I hope you have a safe trip."
"Taking off now. You're the best, thanks for everything. Miss you already :)"
"No problem. I do too."
"Haha, we text at the same time. True love."
"Pretty much :)"
"I do love you. I hope you never question that. Just wanted to say that in case this drunk pilot hits a mountain."
"I love you too and I definitely hope he doesn't. Text me when you get in just in case lol."
Craved it.
Craved that ridiculous little phrase
Despite our short time together.
Wait January...
You can't rob me.
Because he won't chance a far.
And I already bought my plane tickets that cut our time over break in half. 
The ache again.
Brash decisions made when I thought we were done.
Non refundable tickets and time.
I hate this.
While he's right next to me.
While I still melt into him
And my touch gives him goosebumps.
Desperate pleas from a place I hadn't used, somewhere inside.
I hate moving on.

Saturday, November 23, 2013

When You're Alive

"Sun and Moon" by Ocean Lab (Evan Duffy cover)

It's strange, that moment of disconnect.
"I really think we should just be friends."
"Alright. Did something happen?"
"I'm extremely unhappy all the time."
"Because of school?"
"And you."
"Sorry. What did I do?"
"Maybe nothing. Spark is gone. We just lost honesty and communication along the way. I kept trying to fix it, but you were either oblivious or unable. Either way, I'm not mad or angry but it's over. Just leave it at that."
"I was honest with you. I couldn't always communicate but I was honest. We did what we could. No hard feelings. It was  great few months, doesn't change that you're a fun and great friend or how I feel about you."

Painfully real.
             Don't go....
and lust.
That was his riddle.
Tongue scraping the backs of our teeth.
Finding out which it was.

I want to fix this.
There's something in my chest longing to pull it back together.
Tears coming to my eyes.
That indescribable ache.
It doesn't matter in the moment,
The evidence before our eyes
That it's run it's course.

He made me feel so alive.

Scrambling to ground myself in fact:
What I learned
Memories that were good
Things I felt that I had never before
      Things I should have done differently...
          Ways I could have been different, not wasted our limited time.
She said I wasn't allowed to blame myself, my friend and I, as we talked about it.
It was two nights ago,
Laying in the dark as he and I had so many times.
"I think this will be good for you, learning to let go."
"Maybe. When you have something so good it's just hard. I want to make it last."

Just a little more time....

The first night we talked,
I was sitting against his closet,
his friend to my left against the desk,
and he leaning against the leg of his bed.
His eyes, that ruddy hazel
Hair a little past his shoulders
Air of self-confidence rooted deep
Showing in the comfortable way he sat.
The first night we kissed,
As though we couldn't be close enough.
Seductive gazes across diner tables
Hands stroking thighs under the table
Comments holding double meaning
One for now
The other for late night laters.
The first time we melted into each other.
The bruise on my shin when he pushed me against the bed.
Skin to skin
And heavy with need.
His body, slightly blurry from
Eyes that just woke up.
A kiss here.
Heart flutter there.
A succession of moments

We should be grateful for those pieces of time someone allows us to merge into.
Grateful for the lessons they plant into our stubborn skin with
Soft or
Abrasive lessons.
Let them seep between the cracks of our
All but sealed hearts.

But for now,
It burns inside these spaces I coaxed open in myself
The places I left bare,
Pain will fade with time,
Lessons we collect in youth.
Maybe I'll let it burn,
These emotions
Maybe I'll cry
Because that's what you're supposed to do
When you're alive.

Friday, November 15, 2013


He's probably not that good of a person.
More of a selfish titan than hero.
But I love running my slate painted nails down his back and watching the goose bumps follow in my wake.
I smile slyly.
My piece of power.
Then get up to go to the bathroom.
I love the way a hall looks when you look down with too much to drink.

Nothing could phase him.
I think.
Confident, self assured, delicious ambition.
The kind of person that begs to be dominated.
I wish I could.
How I wish I could.
I would make him fall in love with me
Or at least feel strongly for me
Like all the other poor souls just to show them the mirror.
Make them see those ugly parts of themselves they left to roam.
Self-appointed siren.
Masquerading as vigilante.
Shhh don't fault me.

I'm not a lady.
More of a buddy than your queen on the pedestal.
On my knees pretending I cared about delicacies.
Unless we're talking emotions.
You're not staying around
and I won't make you stay.
Wishing I could make you crawl.
Crawl across the floor with your black heart in your hands.
My foe is formidable.
The challenge I won't conquer.
But it's okay, for now.

I'm calling, calling.
Luring you in with that naive vulnerability.
Last attempt to capture you
With that net called lust.
We're a balance of too hard or too soft,
Hands flat on his chest, sitting on top.
With a little bead of sweat rolling from my temple.
Hair that hangs down my bare chest.
Where are your ribs now, little girl?
She isn't here,
and I'm playing woman.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

It's the Journey

Winter is a gradual process.
Slithering across the cool tile floor until she reaches your ankles.
Pulls herself up, legs on either side of your thighs.
Seductive frigidity.
Winding across exposed stomach up your back.
Counting each vertebrae.
Goose bumps.
Something isn't right.
Shhhh she whispers in your ear.
Gently gliding through strands of your hair until settling in your scalp,
A kiss at your temple.
Sinking in.
                       it gets quiet.

It started that night at the diner
Fifth cup of coffee
Dumping a cream and a packet of Sweet n' Low in the cup before the coffee.
Watching white swirl amongst the brown.
Liquid vitality for the hopeless 3 AMers.
Inability to focus on my readings and assignments.
A little less getting done every day after.
Words a blur
F  a  d  i  n  g

Time is often marked by the shifting shadows of the drying, dying leaves fluttering outside my window.
The sun sleeps earlier, world in darkness.
Is it nostalgia or dependency?

I guess I don't really know.
When I plant, I plant my roots too deep, hoping for comfort.

         I told you to be patient
               You asked me to be kind
                        And it's all a waiting game
                                      We fabricate in our minds

There it was, that depression, creep

I spent more hours wrapped up in the sheets of denial between my bed and his than I would like to admit.
Sleeping too often.
Eating too often.
Feeling the familiar too much and yet not enough.
Walking on the remnants of summer who had just died
Kaleidoscope dreams fading.
Holding on,
It dragged regardless.
Hope comes in April for me.
And never in the morning.

I had a good feeling about it,
Just this time.
Looking anxiously for the past week.
Entering my information in the correct boxes.
Hands knitting together with anxious anticipation.
The blue bar loading at the top of my screen with it's own careless cadence.
There it was.
My acceptance to graduate school.

You know, a lot of things lead up to where you are.
All of it a single piece of time
Of experience.
Suddenly I realized that I don't know where I'll be at in five years.
Maybe not two.
I just know that I don't want people to go.
I don't want things to end.
I want to feel
and consume
and be and I don't want to let any of it slip away.
But I have to.
Natural order of change and all.
In that moment I felt proud of myself.
I felt truly proud that I was about to finish my undergrad and about to begin graduate school.
Not everyone does.
I made it through the fire of the past.
About to close that book and begin a new one.
Pushing the depression back again with the anticipation of a better future.
I could do nothing but sigh, bring my fingers to rest on my cheek, and think.

It's about the journey.
It's the privilege of occupying space of time, minutes, seconds, hours, with someone
No matter what they become.
More like who they help you to become.
Placing pieces back in your holes where you can no longer breath.
And the pieces you place back in them.
Or something like that.

"I will have been able to say that I loved him," I thought to myself as I looked around his room.
That night I laid on the inside, closest to window on my side.
He lay on his back.
Feeling us blink in the dark through the mattress.
"When you're there over winter break it will be bittersweet because all the time we spend together is studying or working out. It will be our first and last vacation together. The only time we got to honestly spend time without school with each other. Then when we get back we part ways."
I could feel something rising in my chest, up through my throat, but not tears.
Indignant over something that I knew had to happen.
That I had planned for and understood for in my mind anyway.
"It just makes me mad. We spent all this time together for nothing."
"I don't think it was for nothing. I'm sorry, I'm just being honest."
"I know. It's just sad. I'll enjoy what we have and take what I've learned."

Monday, November 4, 2013

The Interview

I was so nervous that morning.
Probably straightened my dress at least ten times.
Crossed and uncrossed my legs.
Checked my messages before beginning.
"You're a fucking bombshell. You're gonna look great, sound smart, and crush this interview. I believe in you. Go get it. You were made for this. Don't take no for an answer."
I'll forever be grateful for him pushing me to do a better personal statement, for pushing me to be more confident, for teaching me to demand better for myself, even if it's only a semester.
A text from L saying he would be praying for me, that I would do great.
Another from one of my best friends wishing me well.

We all sat in the conference room not knowing what to expect, what to do to make ourselves stand out.
"Alright, why don't we get started? How about we get your name, which program you're applying for, where you did your undergrad, and what you would like to do."
A few people started, putting their best foot forward.
One of the School Psychology applicants tried to overemphasize that relationships with the kids was most important to her, recounting a story from the previous week.
Another girl talked about how she worked for a year for a low income housing place and felt that she wanted to work with at risk teens.
Everyone had done their undergrad at this university.
It came to my turn and I looked at each faculty member confidentially in the eye.
"My name is Eve and I'm currently a senior at the University of."
"Ahh yes."
One of them nodded and began to write notes on who I was.
I had never been more proud to go to my college than that moment, knowing that it was a Research One university, knowing that despite how much I had loathed doing literature reviews and research methods, I had been prepared for graduate school.
"I'm applying for the Clinical Counseling program and what I would like to do is work with eating disorder patients."
He looked up again, intrigued.
Half of the people who had went before wanted to work in schools or with at risk teens.
Here was a new one.
"Really? What makes you want to do that."
"It's a really difficult disorder to treat and there aren't very many effective treatment plans available and so I just would really like to work with them because there's a need."
He looked down at his notes, writing, "You know, it's funny you say it's difficult. Recent studies have found that eating disorders and OCD are the two hardest disorders to treat. There's definitely a need."
He looked up, smiling, I, returning his gaze, smiled back.
"Good. Thank you, Eve."
A few of the applicants shifted in their chairs slightly, the next few embellishing more on their stories.
I had been memorable.

From there, we moved on to discussing the diversity vignettes, what we found most difficult, how we felt doing them.
Everyone discussed race as their most difficult.
They talked about cultural things that would make it difficult to relate as well as that the state was lacking in diversity so they had not gotten to work with people of different ethnicities.
"What about you, Eve?'
"I didn't think race was hard. It doesn't matter what color someone is or what their cultural background is; they're people. The trick is to just understand their culture enough to understand what's causing them to feel what they do. People are people and we all feel the same things, it's just a matter of what context it's in."
Again he smiled and searched my eyes slightly.
"You're saying it's the individual?"
"Yes. Exactly. We have to look at it like that, not just seeing race."
Pause, both of us looking at one another again, me throwing in a smile.

Later on, we were required to role play with a graduate student while a faculty member observing how we communicated.
My randomly assigned scenario was a girl that was worried her friend had anorexia.
I passed the activities designed to observe my group and communication skills and was straightforward and candid in my answers.
I wanted it.
So much.
I haven't wanted anything so badly lately.
My dad never called to see how it went.
Maybe I'll fill in the gaps of our relationship another time.
It matters, the people that check on, encourage, and love you.
I ended up finding that I was blessed with many to make up for the ones that don't.

Everything was going well.
I was trying to be introspective and work on myself.
About to graduate with my bachelor's.
Worked up the courage and confidence to apply to graduate school.
Had a hobby that facilitated positive body image.
A temporary relationship focused on enjoying the moment and learning about self.
My home life had settled down.
My friendships were great and my relationships with the family members I was close with were good.
That's when it's best to strike, often times.
As we put on our clothes I turned around to look in the mirror.
Bending slightly to the side to inspect my ribs which were no longer prominent.
As I pull up my pants I graze my hips to feel for my bones, ever so discreetly.
They're not poking out either, just laying below the surface, but still touchable.
 None of the dorm food has been healthy and I can't spend my money on food constantly.
Sometimes he would sneak me into the dining hall so that there were better things to eat.

Spearing some steamed zucchini and carrot I said, "This is so good. Really clean. I love it."
"You have a weird way of describing food."
"Huh? No I don't. Fitness people say that."
"Yah, but you use it to describe flavor."
"Hm, I hadn't noticed."
And I hadn't, but I had noticed the way my body had filled out, shapely.
For a while I had like it, being  a woman.
But painfully aware that I was gradually becoming unable to see myself as I really was again.
Couldn't tell if I was beautiful or fat or fit.
Walking into the bathroom, staring at the little pink tiles, contemplating purging just a little.
Wondering how far I could go restricting while maintaing the muscle I had built.
That lesson in a dance that you've long learned the steps to.
Hold on.
Hold on.
Hold on.
Grasping at my own skin wanting to peel it off again.
I'm too much.
The thought rolled out from my mind and down the side walk with the fall leaves.

She sat down in front of me, cunning, hollow, beautiful.
"Why do you think you'd be a good candidate?"
"I was there when you needed me most. Emotions are intense and every time you let them out, you make mistakes. They're not big, but you have to learn to mediate yourself a little better. You're prone to boughts of selfishness and immaturity."
"You didn't help last time. In fact, you set me back."
"I know, and that was wrong of me. This time will be different and we'll do it slowly. You don't have to dive in. Just use me as a sort of moderation."
"It's never just in moderation."
"People change."
"I don't think you're the right fit for me now. I'm trying to move on with my life. I want to grow up, be happy. Be healthy."
"You're not focusing well on school these days, making poor food choices, feeling overwhelmed by all the newness. I could ease it, just a little. No one even need know. Our secret. I saw you trying to unzip yourself again, saw your brow furrow as you opened the fridge. Hating the way jeans feel and the way the sheets didn't feel as beautiful on your bare skin next to him."
"It's just a bump. Recovery wasn't supposed to be easy."
"I saw you."
Swallowing dryly.
"Saw you hesitate at the weight, check for bones and spaces, procrastinated again."
"It's just…"
"It's just a little while. You know you are't focused without me, assignments not as good. Grad school is coming up. You can't slack off like you did in your undergrad."
"Maybe, maybe I can do this on my own. Things are working out."
"And they'll be even better."
She stood up and sauntered to the door, looking over her shoulder, "Just consider me."