a girl who is capable of love

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a girl who is capable of love

but

only in her head

a creator of musical conversation

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a creator of musical conversation

only after awkward stilted words have

been said

a vessel of burning stars

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a vessel of burning stars

with a plastic heart

a beautiful shining person

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a beautiful shining person

who's only just playing the part

"You are two people," she said, holding my chin in her hands. "One is the person you want to be, and one is the person you are."

They aren't the same person, she didn't say. They will never be the same.

But can you blame me for hearing it that way?

So I disguised myself as the first person, the one I wanted to be. I wore her clothes and dyed my hair to look like her, drawing on the eyelashes she had and I didn't.

I played dress up, cementing the idea that what I wanted wasn't real. This character I play-acted, this game of make-believe was all in my head. I pretended to be her because I knew I wasn't her, and the longer I pretended, the farther away any chance of ever really being her went.

"You are two people," he said, stroking my hair. "One is the person who wants this, and one is the person who doesn't."

Which one is the real you? he didn't say. Was that what he meant?

And the problem was, I didn't know. I never knew. Was it the real me, or was it the fake skin I wore, wishing it was mine? So I never knew what I wanted. I could move with her confidence out in the world but when it was time to act for myself, I just didn't know.

Who am I?

"You are you," she told me, gazing into my eyes in the mirror. She reached up to twist my blue and purple hair around her finger, tucking the strands behind an ear. "I am me. We are us."

Why would you listen to them? she didn't say. But then, she did; she whispered it right in my mind. They see two because they can't imagine one person as full as me.

We're not two people. I'm a thousand, thousand people all wrapped up in one.

I knew you once

I knew you twice

Faces change,

Emotions and aspirations rain.

I knew you once,

What happened to you?

Down came the dread,

Reality set in and priorities shifted,

Giants kept talking

Down the great vine

So I listened.

Phases of self hatred

Now I’m here,

Now I’ve succumb,

Artificial feels,

Reel in strangers to fly,

Aching chest and worried heart,

Nightly lying numb.

See what remains,

Alone, alone, and then?

Go walk around fool!

I knew you twice,

Just enough to see my regrets,

Missed conversations, friends, love, and possibilities.

I can begin again.

I know more,

Faces change.

Braver than before,

Emotions riot.

A path set,

Aspirations come and go.

I am someone who wants to change the world.

I want to be someone who changes the world.

I am someone who rides horses every wednesday in hopes I can ride in shows.

I want to be someone who rides horses everyday and does big shows.

I am someone who half writes books before I get another idea.

I want to be someone who finishes a book.

I am someone who reads a book and wants the author to write another.

I want to be someone who can finish that series.

I am proud.

I want to be prouder.

I want to be nice. I want people to come to me for advice. Without warning, send a gift. Look people in the eye without a grimace. I want to be smiling and graceful. Be present and grateful.

I do not want to be obsessive, looking for redemption. I do not want to worry constantly, finding no silver lining.

I want to be whole in my body. I want to see reality. This is no time for whining. I want to be perfect, but not superficial. I want to know more facts about politics, without being bitter with ignorance.

I do not want to be ignored, although it might be futile to implore. I do not want to be selfish, although this might again be out of my realm of ability.

I want to face the world without fearing it, and find my place to fit into all this.

I do not want to self-sabotage, reeking of the wrong prerogatives.

I want to be sane, not depressed or angry. I want to feel the sun on my skin and be happy.

Above all, I want to write good poetry, and feel the warmth of my words on the mouths and minds of others, fitting into this mess I call my writing.