I'm trying to remember

I remember the day I turned 8. I remember the day my older brother came home from his mission. I cried, even though nobody else did. I remember the first day of 10th grade, second period American Studies, because I thought the classroom looked like a prison. I remember when my whole family was convinced I looked exactly like Hermione Granger. I remember when I cared that my sister had a tattoo. I remember wanting to grow up exactly like my sister. I'm glad I didn't. I remember when my mom didn't let me paint my fingernails because it was too "grown up" and I was only 7. I remember not being able to comprehend that there were words worse than "I hate you", and that people actually said them to each other. I remember the day I learned one of my best friends had anorexia. I should have figured it out sooner. I remember feeling sick in Washington D.C. because I missed home so much. I remember my old house, even though I moved away when I was four. I remember the first Christmas we weren't a whole family. I remember when I straightened my hair every day. I remember feeling too young to go to sophomore prom. I remember regretting a lot of things from middle school. I remember feeling jealous of my sister for getting out of the house ten years before I could. I remember the year I stopped playing in the snow. I remember eating dirt when my backyard wasn't finished yet. I remember chopping off all my hair the summer before 7th grade and pretending to like it for my mother's sake. I had side bangs I had no idea how to style. I remember the birthday I told my parent's to stop buying me books. I'm glad they didn't listen to me. I remember only wearing a skirt to elementary school twice. I remember the first date I went on. I was just barely 16. I remember the days all my close friends moved away. I missed almost all of them.

Mockingbirds and Slam Nerves (AKA Atticus Monet)

Well, I had Atticus Monet for my white elephant, and I chose her poem At Least I am Trying. I think it's beautiful and I hope I do it justice.

at least I am trying

I am never full
I am a human garbage disposal

and I absorb everything in my path 

So please excuse me for being busy all the time, I'd rather soak in things for myself then gulf down empty hello's and distant meetings that I wasn't invited to because sorry I am busy all the time.

I walk down tile floors under florescent lights and dreaded parking lots constantly thinking

    this isn't going to last forever

            this isn't going to last forever

                   this isn't going to last forever

then snap I am daydreaming

in the meantime, people try to throw their fists down my throat and scream into my absent eyes

but please save your breathe because my soul matured way faster than my body and 

I am just growing still

but not really growing still, I don't want to live like that
                  staying still I decided isn't an option for me 
and raising your voice isn't going to make things more clear


we have been moving since the day we were born

so please quit telling me to sit down 
there are things I have not disposed of yet
if you would just let me find them or allow me to let them go
please let me try 
 then if I fail, I promise I'll keep my head up right so that I won't grow into the ground


but bound here, so far, I have dug tunnels to avoid the way some things make me feel, and secret walls to avoid the empty stares that make me feel less,
bound by time I would regret wasting
I am not a time traveler
 my tunnels just lead to better places, better times, better me's 

I am a human disposal but I do not intend on wasting 
only sprouting 
always growing

I didn't realize this post was 3/4 death.

My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood

I have a confession to make. 

My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood.
But before I tell you who I am I feel like I should say some stuff about myself. Like the stuff 99% of people reading this won't know about me. 

I listen to dubstep more than you think I might. 

I love my sister more than I love anyone else on the Earth. 

As hard as I try to convince myself I'm not, I'm still a hopeless romantic.

I've read Harry Potter upwards of 14 times. 

I made both my Prom and Preference dresses. 

I've always wanted to get a pixie cut but my dad tells me I'd look too butch.

I haven't been kissed yet. (VL game still going strong)

I want to live in New England or on the East Coast when I move out. 

My favorite store is Barnes and Noble. 

I get really bad road rage. 

I've been told I have a killer glare. 

I found Paris on page 27/42 of my journal. 

My name isn't actually Susan Greenwood.

My name is Emily Running.

(That's me there on the right standing next to my best friend, Megan)

1. 

P.S. I actually do like running. Sometimes.

Things you are and things you are not

You are the first ray of sun as it comes up over the mountain. You are the bright yellow of a school bus and the satin gold of my skin in the summer. You are deeper than the black dots in my left Iris. Somehow, you are every leaf that has fallen off every tree. But you are not the branches. I am the trunk. You are the rough rock of prayer on my kitchen windowsill. You are not the stop sign, but you are red. You are not the dull color of my eyes. You are the soft smell of my perfume. You are the green egg in my basket. Although you are not the spiderweb in the corner of the attic, you are the darkness that resides there. However, you are also the window light shines through. You are the friction that allows me to skate on ice. You are the constant readjustment of my hair, and the smell of warm things. You are the last sip of hot chocolate, when it's only lukewarm and your stomach is full. You are the state of mind I get into when I am about to fall asleep. You are the ricocheting echoes when I yell in a tunnel. You are the unbound dreams of little children, and the discarded advice of teenagers, and the heavy feeling in adults. You are the soft lead of my pencil. You are the pain felt when cold fingers warm up. You are the scent and touch of brown leather. You are the sounds heard when it snows. You are the in and out breathing of the earth, so faint, only I can hear it. You are not the lamp post in front of my house. You are not the starched collars of my dad's shirts. You are not my doll eyes. You are the water inside a cactus. And you are the sky during rainy days, and the sea on stormy ones. Supposedly, you are a mallard but I know you're more like a penguin. I am the ripples in the water and you are the rock that makes them. You are the coarse wool yarn of my favorite scarf, and I am the knitting needles that made it. You are the lack of anything in space, and I am the red eye on Jupiter. You are bent pages in the books I own, and the mistakes I find when I read them, but you are also the letter "i". You are not me but I am you,

 and together, we are the number zero. 

Dear Future Husband

Hi!

You probably don't know me yet, but my name's Sue. I hope I'll meet you soon! I think I dream about you sometimes. When I wake up from a nice dream with someone else in it talking to me or holding my hand I try to remember the face but it always seems blurred out. I like to think it's you. I see little pieces of you places, like when Parker got up and bore his testimony in seminary and nobody was expecting it, or when Spencer's shoulders shake when he laughs. In the way that Carter's eyes scrunch up when he smiles or in the way that Tyler used to look at me out of the corner of his eyes and half smile mischievously. I see you in the way Mr. Manson talks about his wife, and how she grows more beautiful to him every day. 

I hope you know that I just want to be held when I cry, and I'll try not to get too many tear stains on your shirts. I hope you're not scared away by my weird family (you probably won't understand half the dialogue unless you were born in the early 90's). 

I like to debate in my head whether you'll have green eyes or blue ones and if you'll have curly hair or not. I wonder if you're the oldest or youngest or middle child (I'm almost the youngest) and how many brothers and sisters you have. 

I like to think about you at night while I'm lying in my bed and if you'll want a big family or a small one (I hope you want a big one:) I like to imagine the scene where I announce to you I'm pregnant and your eyes get all big and you have to sit down, because we're having twins. I like to think about when we're young parents with three or four kids and we're putting them to bed and you read them a story as they sit in your lap. After you tuck them in all snugly and kiss them goodnight while I sing the song my mother always sang to me and kiss them too, we'll leave together and just peek through the crack of the almost closed door until they're all asleep.  

That's a long time from now but I can't wait for it. 

I hope you're out there thinking about me once in a while. And I really do hope it really is you in my dreams. 

Love, 

Sue 

Locked Out

I found myself this morning, eating toast in my jumper and pajama bottoms. I was missing for a while this time. It's like I'm locked out of my own mind. I'm locked out of creativity and locked in this mindset 

of you're not thin enough

you're not smart enough

you're not pretty enough

you're not good enough

you are not enough.

But I am good, and I am healthy, and smart, and pretty, but not enough. 

And I will never be enough in this point of view.

I need to fight it.

Pick the lock.

Talk to strangers,
knit a sweater,
wear it to school,

stand naked in front of the mirror

long enough

until I love myself enough to tear these interlocked chains from beneath my skin,

and bury them next to my closed mind.

Dear Carolina Liar

I said hi to you in the hall the other day, and you smiled at me. Out of courtesy I think. Isn't it sad how it's come to this?

I still remember the first day we met. Mrs. Jolley put us in our seating arrangement in choir and we ended up next to each other. I'm pretty sure my coy 9th grade self broke the ice by saying something like "omg who is that boy over there?", pointing at Hunter. I dimly remember you asserting yourself as childhood best friend, and future girlfriend, which I took as a challenge to win his affection. Right then and there was when I think we became bff's. I was thoroughly convinced I would win (after all (my detestable ninth grade self thought) I was attracting all the boys left and right) and I think we were both hurt when he chose my sister, although we tried not to show it. I remember playing it off when they held hands at my house, and trying to be as nonchalant as possible, even though I'm pretty sure we wanted to kick her out of the picture. I eventually gave up when I realized I had no chance, but we were better friends than ever, having bonded over our mutual jealousy of my sister and our uncanny similarities. I'd never had a friend like you before. I was feeling rejected from my former best friend after she decided a different girl was going to be her new best friend (oh how petty we all were then) and I was looking for someone to replace her, and you came along like my second self. We had so much in common (I sort of recall your want to escape from your friends at the moment but maybe I can't remember right) and it was a new door for both of us. And nothing bonds two girls together more than a friendly war for a boy. There's a blank space after the first innocent weeks of our friendship in my memory, possibly because I've tried to forget how much of a relief it was to have a true friend because I ruined it at the end. The only thing I can remember is being happy and choir, until I confessed my attitude of not caring if one of your friends didn't get the boy I currently liked because he chose me. And then I remember the rest after that. You know if that really is the reason our friendship came to a stop I'm sorry. I'm just sorry for the wasted potential that we could have had, and really, I'm sorry I hurt your feelings. I may have meant to at the time, but I certainly regret the heck out of it now. I was so blind by the want of shallow revenge, I didn't even give one thought about it. 

So, sorry. 

I'm sorry we didn't talk at lunch anymore, and I'm sorry I didn't talk to you in Seminary. And I'm sorry I said mean things about you to other people, and to you. And I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when Hunter died, because I know how much he means to you. And I'm sorry this is so long, but I didn't have the guts to tell you all this when I talked to you for the first time after 3 months at the black light dance. So I guess this doesn't make up for any of it, but I just want you to know that my heart hurts a little when I think of what our seemingly best friendship turned into. And I hope you'll forgive me. 

How to Distract Me

I can only imagine falling softly

your warm embrace as I relax and place my forehead on your chest.

The light is rosy and glows gently through my eyelids as I rest in your arms.

Everything is peaceful.

Everything is safe.

Your hands draw snaking spirals on my back

slowly

lightly

and I sigh because I've never felt relief like this before.

Just to be loved.

Just to be held.

And told everything's going to be ok.

Because here's in your arms

I believe it will be.

In this infinite moment of serenity

I don't have to think about anything

and I just listen to your breathing

and your heartbeat

and focus on the benign touch of your fingers brushing through my hair.

It's nice to find the cure for the anxiety,

because when I'm touching you

it all melts away.

And I feel like myself again.

The only two things I'm afraid of.

I'm afraid of being afraid. And I'm afraid of pain. And although those are only two things, they encompass pretty much everything. I'm not afraid to get my heart broken. I'm afraid of trying to mend it. I'm not afraid of trusting people. I'm afraid of getting hurt by them. I'm not afraid of the haunted forest. I'm afraid of the dread and anxious exhilaration I feel when I go. I'm not afraid of heights. I'm afraid of falling and breaking all the bones in my body and living through it. I'm not afraid of living. I'm afraid of not being noticed. I'm not afraid of doing something wrong. I'm afraid of trying to right it. I'm not afraid of people. I'm afraid of being so beneath their notice they don't even give me a chance. I'm not afraid of you leaving. I'm afraid of you not coming back. 

Alive

Alive is when we're driving to school and the windows are down and the cold air is freezing us to our seats.

Alive is when we're in the car blasting the Killers or Third Eye Blind and singing until our throats are sore. 

Alive is when the air is rushing past you on a zip line going 10000 miles an hour and you feel like you're going to smack into the ground or a tree but you stop just in time. 

Alive is when I dropped you off after Preference and wanted more than you gave me. 

Alive is the feeling at the top on Mount Timpanogos when you're freezing while watching the sun rise and your bones hurt but it was all worth it. 

Alive isn't just living and breathing. 

Alive is when your heart is beating so fast you feel like you're going to throw up. It's when there's adrenaline instead of blood pumping through your veins. Alive is living life to the fullest and knowing you only get one shot at it. 

So stop living life afraid of what people think, and crawl out from that rock you're living under. Do something that scares you. Ask that girl out. Make it to the top of Angel's Landing. Try out for the team. Wear that crazy turtleneck to school. Because before you know it, life will be over, and you'll have to look back and decide for yourself if it was all worth it. 

-ick

You are so thick like a brick and my heart pricks from you. The wick of our candle has gone out because you no longer pick me up when I fall. Quick save me I say and you watch as I kick the ground with my body, not moving. You make me sick he says and walks away. The girls in every clique known to man talk and talk and time ticks and I'm still on the ground and the crick in my neck becomes unbearable. So I grit my teeth and stick to the fading hope I have and start my wicked ascent up. My head dimly hurts as I take my licks but I stop and look at the chick you picked up when you clicked out of my life and she's everything I'm not. But let me just say I liked you better when you weren't such a 

I See Dead People

What if we were all dead and we didn't know it. What if instead of living our lives right to attain glory after we die, we live our lives right in order to be able to live? What if everything we've experienced now doesn't matter, because all it does is give us a chance to start over? What if when we die, if we haven't been good enough, we start this life over until we do?

But then the words of a previous teacher come to mind.

"What if aliens came and sucked out your brains?"

So I stop thinking about it.

Love will take your heart out and stomp on it and then sew it back into your chest with it's eyes shut

I called you yesterday to talk about another boy.
I know you don't like it when I do that, but I needed someone to talk to. When you answered the phone I caught my breath. I didn't realize I'd missed your voice that much. I told you about him, all the while feeling more and more treacherous. After I finished, you didn't say anything so I asked you about that thing you said you wouldn't tell me until we were together next. I knew you couldn't resist telling me when you heard it from my lips, and you did. I wish you hadn't. You told me the very thing I dreaded from you.
But I so desperately wanted to hear it.

"I keep coming back to you. Everything about you draws me in. Your emotions, energy, looks, all of it."

I didn't know what to say.
I still don't.
I swear the only emotions I've displayed to you were doubt in myself and fear of what others think. But I guess you saw more than that.
So thanks.
And I'm sorry.

I wrote this while eating peanut butter and wallowing in self pity

I am a slave to my emotions. 

The vain imaginings of my disobedient  head.

I tell it to knock it off, but it just laughs at me and tells me to shut up. 

My brain sends unwanted, but so desperately wanted images to my eyes

And I cringe. 

Because all it does is hurt me. 

I can understand why Oskar bruises himself so often. 

Because I want to. 

Because maybe that pain will feel worse than the made up real pain I feel in my treacherous head. 

And maybe gate theory will work this time. 

I know it won't. 

But that won't stop me from trying again. 

And again

And again

Because anything to distract me from this is a blessing. 

Because nothing hurts as bad as this. 

If I were a robot I wouldn't feel this. 

Because robots are hard wired and cold metal. 

Software. 

Devoid of creativity

Unable to feel love

Or pain. 

So maybe there's a way I can lock my heart up where no one can find it. 

Remove it. 

Plate it in gold. 

Throw it to the bottom of the ocean. 

Anything to stop the pain.

Nothing Gold Can Stay

That feeling you get when you're on top of the world and you can do anything and you fall for the only guy you shouldn't fall for because he's too skinny, and he's paler than the moon

And he has a girlfriend. 

But his hazel eyes and dimples make you disregard everything

And your brain tells you to stop

But your heart doesn't care

And it wants what it can't have 

And you beg it to reconsider because pain is all that's forecasted for the future. 

But love is supposed to conquer all. 

And then your head deflates a little,

And reality kicks in,

And you try to forget everything you've just felt in the last half hour. 

Yeah, I've felt that feeling. 

Twists and Turns

life is a maze.

confusing in the moment,

but clear in reflection. 

A Haiku For You

the brief autumn air

refreshing and comforting

soothes my sufferring soul

Don't read this if you're happy

It's Saturday night.
My phone is completely silent.
I haven't been called in weeks.
My friend tells me she's surprised I don't have a boyfriend.
I'm not.
I tear myself down as though I were as strong as a house of cards.
Acne.
Socially inept.
Brown eyes.
I mean, who likes brown eyes on a girl anyway?
Isn't that a guy thing? Tall dark and handsome? Girls who have blonde hair and blue eyes?
Isn't that the perfect combination?
I guess I'm far from perfect, because that doesn't describe me at all.
Least noticed by the company I keep.
Least noticed by the company they keep.
Until I am no longer noticed by anyone
and I fade so drastically I am transparent, opaque only in the hopes that someone will see me.

Don't worry about me though.
I'll be OK by tomorrow.

Things Seen From the Refrigerator

Do you remember the time you got stung by a bee? I do. Your mom set you on the counter and put some salve on it. I watched with paper eyes from the refrigerator, my drawn smile in place, frozen next to my stick figure family. We all wanted to know if you were ok. After a moment your crying quieted and you smiled, even though there were still tear stains on your face. You leaned forward and hugged mom and looked at me. I waved at you, but you didn't see. We were all glad you were all right, and continued waving from our perch. We've long since been packed away and forgotten, but I just want you to know I still remember.

Cowboys and Indians

I remember Preference

The hat you wore.
I'm pretty sure you were the only one wearing one
but it suited you.
I remember the date we went on to the rodeo
you wore it there.
You told me to keep it upside down so your luck wouldn't leak out.
You moved away.
I'm sure you wear it there too.
I'm sure you tell another girl to keep it upside down.
I'm sure you stay longer than you should talking to her.
I'm sure you sneak out with her friends.
I'm sure you won't come back.
So stay if she makes you happy.
But don't forget you almost kissed me
with your hat on. 

Shamelessly Forthright

I don't try to be mean.

Sometimes it comes across that way.

I'm just trying to be honest.

I guess honesty isn't the best policy when you're supposed to be nice instead.

Nice in this society where everyone is a winner, even though all you did was show up.

Nice where things have to be politically correct, and it's wrong to refer to black people as black instead of African-American, even though nobody calls white people Caucasian. 

Nice where there is no distinction between excellence and mediocrity, because it's rude to classify people according to how we perceive them.

Nice to where our hearts bleed for serial killers and rapists because they were dubbed psychologically insane from childhood.

I just can't be that nice.

I can only be honest in the most deplorable candid way.

 I guess that's wrong.

But I'd rather be wrong than regular.

Origination

I am from the sun. I was literally born from hydrogen and helium, bursting forth from the depths of the molten core. I was plucked from my resplendent home,
my glorified hiding place,
my exalted heaven,
and set here on faltering feet. I stare at my birthplace, memories fading into obscurity, until no amount of psychological probing could retrieve them. I feel jagged stones beneath my feet, and the air splinters around me, smooth and sharp. I furrow my brow, perplexed at my solitude. I see mountains lining the horizon.

I am from the sun, the soothing solace felt when it touches your skin. I glow like the source I sprung from, although it fades with time. Time is different here in my prison. My movement and thought processes are unclear and become slower as it washes over my body.
I close my eyes.

When I open them, I am blazing.