Tag Archives: reality


Her front yard was always scattered with blossoms from the neighbors tree. They often offered to rake them up for her, but she always declined. It was like seeing a sea of white and pink, she told me. It was like being in a dream.

Her eyes were always lidded and I think that was her way of living in a half-dream state. The real world was never really her friend. I’m not sure if I really ever was, either.

I remember driving up to the vast white yard, her front door wide open. I found her sleeping in the filed of blossoms; she had been laid out like an angel. I got her back inside but she never seemed to wake up. She was half-asleep. Like always.

It was surprise, of course, but somehow not very surprising at all. She looked just like she always did, like a sleeping angel on the ground, surrounded by her white flower petals. I could feel my chest constrict when I saw her as though I knew before I even touched her. Before I saw the blue tint to her lips, or how her skin was pale, so pale.

The tears took a while to come. So did any emotion, really.

The ambulance was silent when it rolled to a stop. The whole day was like a silent film. I wanted to change the channel but I couldn’t. I stayed seated by the snow angel of blossoms when people entered and exited the house.

They said they had found an empty pill bottle.

I just wish she would wake up. I’ve always been waiting for her to wake up.

Wake up, I pleaded in my head.

Please, wake up.



We tear our skin off so that our souls are bare and when they touch it feels electric. I feel the pulse of my heart and I wonder if you feel it too; I swear it takes up the whole room.

Your hands are on me and I try my damnedest not to think of him. My eyes fight to stay locked onto yours so I don’t lose myself in dreams of the past I can’t seem to shake off. I don’t think you see it that way.

You tell me things so sweet it make my eyes water and I try so hard not to hear his voice. I know I can’t say them back. I know you know it, too.


I haven’t been able to understand why you accept so little.


We dance like lovers do and I breathe you in to the best of my ability. In, out. In a little deeper. Hold. Exhale. I pray this silent wish is granted.

Side by side we lay, our limbs intertwined and mixed like they were meant to be that way. We look like an art piece and I think it looks a little sad. I wonder if you see it, too. But I don’t ask.

I could never pry my lips open wide enough to make anything in my mind a reality. I ignore the beat of my heart and try to get lost in yours.

I sink into you and I’m so glad you pull me closer. I empty my lungs in a desperate attempt to let myself be pulled so far in I melt into your skin, into your bones, into your life. I want to let you breathe for me because I can only seem to find toxicity every time I open my mouth.

When your eyes close and your breathing evens out, I whisper my love for you until my throat runs dry. Maybe if I say it enough it’ll find it’s way into reality. Maybe if I wish hard enough, it’ll come true.


I love you I love you I love you.

I’m just… Me.


I can’t get it out of my head; everything I’ve ever said or done like it’s one big ink stain on my reality. Like I’m the only reason why there are fall backs and hindrances.

I swear I’m not a huge fuck-up but I see everything pointing back to me and even while I know it’s false that’s the only thing that sounds right. My head can shake in refusal and nonacceptance but it still presses further and further into my being like once it makes its way through, that’s it. It’s written in stone. It’s truth.

Everyone tries to twist my words and my actions, they try to twist what kind of person I am to fit their lives. Of course then when I can’t find it in me to let anyone in, it’s my fault and somehow I’m still the one fucked up.

These bonds people place on my wrists to theirs feel brittle while they look like diamond to everyone else. One jerk in the other direction and we’re both let free, but somehow they don’t see that.

I’m not the bad guy. But I’m also not the hero.

I wish everyone would understand that I am not their hero.

I am not a hero.

Something’s Wrong

With all the missing children, who would care about another no-face gone off?

Wheat hair, freckle-faced, and copper eyes. She wasn’t even the starlight girl she dreamed of. Her hands twist the wrinkled, old purse strap hanging on her shoulder. It used to be her mothers. She found a pile of old purses in the back of a closet and liked this one the best. It was much more wrinkled now than it had been, though. 

Her steps were slow and steady. She let her mind drift off to her daydreams per usual. In her daydreams, she was taller, prettier. She had midnight silk hair and striking eyes always covered by big sunglasses that covered half of her face. She didn’t have one mark on her face and she knew she was beautiful.
Instead of being here, walking on this dirt road that led to nowhere, she was click-clacking down the sidewalk of some city with bright lights. She commanded respect and when she smiled, it dazzled. 

The daydreams were a little harder to get to now that she was a little older. She was a teenager now, even though she barely looked it, and the portal to her imagination was smaller and harder to fit through. The bottles on the top of the fridge opened it wider, but she had to be careful. What would her parents think? 

Gorgeous Marie wouldn’t have to worry about what anyone thought. The cool gaze of her eyes was enough to let people know she knew what she was doing. She would be able to take a pretty crystal glass and fill it with whatever she wanted, and no one would question her. Marie didn’t have to sneak drinks from a bottle. 

Marie didn’t think about going missing. She didn’t think about disappearing forever when she got a little too lonely. Mostly because she didn’t get too lonely. 

Reality always hits eventually, though. 

Out of her stupor and the lights are gone. There are no friends surrounding her, no laughter bouncing off the walls of her room. Her head is buried in her hands and she is folded on the floor and her hair is not the perfect shade of midnight. 

She is who she is and so she writes ‘missing’ on her arms. 

Because this is not really who she is.



I used to dream of bright shining stars and meteors.

I used to dream of cars rushing dozens of feet below me while I watched perched, albeit unsteadily, atop of some structure.

Now I dream of nothing and it’s bleak and I don’t feel my heart race at the thought of anything.

I had never thought I was an adrenaline junkie, but something enough to make me feel so real and so human, full of weakness and so full of mortality was enough to give my skin goose bumps and my heart to race in my chest – and I think I miss it.

Lately my life feels like a dream and I haven’t been walking on the solid ground. I haven’t felt the earth beneath me and I haven’t felt how big the sky above me is. I have lost touch with the bigger picture and I don’t know how to open my eyes again.

Stuck in this city full of people and I miss the reality of life that I seem to have mixed up with the false daydreams in the magazines, in the news, on the television.

I’ve forgotten how real feels.

And I miss it.