Well, I guess it's time to change the world.

Fear of Change

I won't tell you to never change, because that's selfish and impossible.

But I'm scared, you know? Of you changing into something that just doesn't mesh well with me. And then I'll have to let you go.


There's.... perks...

It's not all that bad.

I almost believe it.

Slowly, I believe it almost wholeheartedly.

Because I've learned how to lie to myself.

Even the other voices in my head begin to say something, but think better of it.

The Almost,

Imagining worlds and scenarios that are so impossible that they'd never happen, that's okay. I can handle that. Such scenarios lull me to sleep on almost a nightly basis.

But imagining situations that are so close, but so far away. That would change my life completely, and are almost plausible?

Situations that I direly want. Direly need. That I think there's some chance of a yes, that I might actually get something I deserve. That I might be part of a great family that loves each other.

That it all is almost worth it.

That doing what I have to do to get away, to finally be happy, is so close to being worth it that  I would, I could, but I just can't.

I can't. I can't think of them.

It hurts so much.

And now I can't breathe.


I'd do anything.

You have no idea.

I just couldn't give up everything.

And that revelation is what hurts the most.

The Dreams of an Impossible Future

Every time I laughed and asked you if you wanted a new sister,
Every time I smiled and suggested you take me in and said I'll live in the closet,
Every time I looked into the distance and told you how great it'd be if we could find a place of our own, together,

We burst into laughter and smiles and dreamy looks, we joked and imagined.

And I wonder if you knew I was serious.

Every time.


It's a lull.

But is it real?

Or is it just because everyone's been removed from the situation, so there's no longer a situation?

If everyone's put back in the situation, will it dissipate anyways?

And if it does, will anyone believe me?

That's what's so difficult. Everything changes. Everything goes in waves. Life is like a tide. So why shouldn't this be any different?

But people don't see that.

Waves are too complex for us.

All or nothing, and when in doubt: the option that requires less effort as a whole.

That' right.

Deny it ever happened.


I spend the day wanting to fall into my dreams, wanting to go someplace else. Someplace warm.

I spend the night annoyed that I have to take time out to sleep, when all I want to do is continue on.

Thoughts run through my head, buzzing and swarming.

They don't let up anyways...

It's better not to realize that you're constantly on the edge of hyperventilating whenever you're at home.

And when you do finally realize it, you can't stop.

It's going to keep you up for another hour. Tomorrow will be hell, but you've got stuff to do anyways. Presents to finish making, so you can make someone else happy. And if someone else is happy, someone you actually care about, someone who deserves to be happy, well maybe you will be a reflection of them. Maybe you'll be happy.

You will be happy. There's no doubt about that.

You're just counting on that. Waiting for it. Anxiously.

A thank you for things you didn't realize till recently. And for everything else you have yet to realize, as well.
Don't call me a grinch, a scrooge, or anything else.

But I just want to sleep through Christmas.

Press fast-forward.

I don't want to accept gifts from people who have ignored me for the past month.

Even more, I don't want everything to be dragged on. To be ignored through the morning and the night.

Or maybe that would be better. I don't know. I just don't want to face it.

It takes more strength than I sometimes believe I have to get through everything.

I want to skip to spring. The time of new hope. Go back to the warm days, so I don't have to be cold both inside and out.

And I type this and I feel so pathetic. I should be stronger than this. But the continuity of it is wearing me down.

Everything is dead around here. The city lights aren't enough anymore. They never were.

a space all my own

I don't mind small spaces. I'm not claustrophobic, like most everyone I know. I actually kind of like small spaces, as long as there's no chance of spiders or bugs.

But I need room for my stuff and my things. I need a place to stretch and move and dance and watch and call my own. I need a place to expand and explode.

And after all that, I need a place to shrink and settle. Curl up into a ball and feel safe. Reach my hands up and around and know that there's something there, something tangible. Not a great, vast darkness where anyone or anything could be looming.

All Comes Round

You know, I might as well not be a part of this family at all, what with all they acknowledge my presence.

Well. This will be a perfect way to end a year that started out rather... well, let's face it. It started a fuse that eventually blew up.

I don't regret any of it. Still, I wish things were different.

It's Finally Come to This.

It doesn't feel like Christmas here, needless to say.

I've only bought presents for two people.

I was going to make presents, but that was before I got put on exile.

Christmas will be just another day.


I wonder if my mother will talk to me, finally.

I wonder if it will last.

The Things Left Behind

Once upon a time, I'd have done anything to get out. Get away. Move to some far-off land and never look back.

It was the people who I called friends, in combination with those I called, and still call, family.

I don't want to stay here. But I don't hate this city for what it is. Just what it holds.

I want to see the world.

But I've got people here now. People who are good for me. People that outweigh those who hurt me still.

I don't know what I'll do when the time comes to decide.

I don't want to vacation everywhere.

I want to live everywhere.

And I guess I'll have to one day deal with the fact that yes, I will finally meet people I don't want to leave behind.

It's been so long without such people...

The Rainbow's Unpredictability.

If something was actually wrong with my mom... if she was a sociopath or something... would I be the bad person again?

They say that you need to get through the rain to see the rainbow.

But what if there's no rainbow after this storm?

I'm tired of being the bad one. The one blamed for everything. The one who can't do anything right.

Or what if the rainbow is too late coming?

This is all wrong. But what if something flips and it's no longer wrong? What if it becomes accepted, or the norm?

What if the rainbow is as unpredictable as everything else? How am I supposed to be assured of the rainbow's future presence?

I'm trying to flip this picture to something good, but it's fighting back. What if it just... falls out of my hands. What if it flips itself into something worse. A worse picture. A terrifying picture...

What then?

I want Christmas to be over. And New Years. And my birthday. I want to skip over it all. Move on. These weeks are hell, no way around it. Happiest time of year?

Maybe one day. After I'm out of here. Far away.

Run run run, as fast as you can. Make sure they don't catch you Mr. Gingerbread Man.

Lunar Eclipses and Shooting Stars

You take one last inventory of yourself and grab the miniature flashlight you use for reading late at night when you don't want to be noticed, remembering the dark nights at the cottage. Zip up your coat, slip on a fuzzy headband, and sneak as quietly as you can down the hall to the front door. Barely a sound is made. Even as you click on your flashlight to find your boots, and then zip them up, nothing stirs.

Opening the heavy wood front door, you think yourself silly for even comparing the country darkness to the city lights. It's like daylight out there, and though the flashlight is good for finding boots in the dark, it will do nothing out here.

Slowly, very slowly, you open the metal and glass front door, wincing as it makes creaking sound. But no one is asking you where you're going, or making any sounds, so you slip out quietly and search for the moon.

It's already nearly half gone. The moon has moved faster than you thought. Or is it the earth? You only half-glanced at the charts, simply wanting to know the times of things as you learned of the lunar eclipse only two hours before. Staring up at the moon, you're a little disappointed that you missed the first part nearly completely, but you still have the rest. You haven't missed the show.

You move in and out of the house, checking on the moon between moments of warming yourself up. On the fifth or sixth time out, you wonder if you should tell your dad. He's been ignoring you since last week, and he hasn't been kind otherwise. Why should you tell him? But by the time this happens again, he'll be in the ground, turning to dust. So you push away everything he's ever done to you, and the pile is quite large, and venture inside, as quiet as a ghost.

Opening his door, you whisper, "Dad? Dad?" and he replies with a moan. "Dad, do you like lunar eclipses?"

He gives an affirmative noise. So you go on. "There's one going on now, if you want to see it."

He says no, that's okay, but then barrages you with questions about times, etc. In the end, he gets up and says he'll take a peek at it. In the darkness, you smile, though he can't see it and your cheeks are just regaining feeling in them.

You're a ghost once again, drifting silently down the hall to your boots. But your dad stumbles and falters, grasps onto things and there's a loud thunk as he kicks his shoes. A noise from your mom. A questioning noise. Dad explains quickly that there's a lunar eclipse, and then you guys are out on the lawn and you're showing him and telling him everything you've learned about it in the past two hours.

And more. You don't stop at the moon facts. You're telling him about Jules and Abi and Dee, how they're watching it, or why they're not. How Abi is still studying, but Jules is done for three weeks.

A voice at the back of your mind is telling you to stop, because in the near future, you're going to regret letting him back in to even glimpse your life. But right now, standing side by side and watching something amazing, it's hard to believe you'll ever regret anything of today. Of right now.

Your dad dances from one foot to another and decides to go in to get warmed up a little. You follow, and you see your mom isn't happy. The whole house feels like it's been brought down with an angry sickness. Your dad goes over to your mom, and then comes back to you, to go back outside. You ask what's wrong, and he says that she's mad because you and him woke her up.

And you can feel it. All of it. You know what's happening.

You didn't wake her up. He did. You were a ghost. And you were just doing a nice thing. But that doesn't matter. Never does. You're inconsiderate because you didn't think of her, you woke her up, you were noisy, you just had to do whatever you wanted to do, without a thought for anyone else. Selfish, stupid, annoying, a bitch.

It's the same scenario over and over again, the topic is the only one that changes.  So everything replays in your mind a thousand times as you wait for your dad to put on his shoes once again. You feel tears welling up because it's just not fair, and you go on ahead because you're so angry.

You recall everything else she's ruined over the years- graduations, Christmases, birthdays, every single holiday. You refuse, refuse, to let her ruin this. But as you and dad watch the eclipse happen, the fear, worry, anger and sadness worm their way into you. You won't get away with this, that's not the way she goes. You'll pay, pay three times over. A hundred times over. A thousand, even. It all seems absurd, and it is. But it doesn't mean it's not true.

The earth blocks the sun, casting the moon in red shadows. Dad calls it, and goes in. You stand in the cold a little more, watch through the window at your dad going up to your mom. Imagining what she says as she's obscured by the Christmas tree. And as you, too, go in for shelter and warmth, you can feel everything crashing down.

You sit in the rocking chair by the door of the living room and get up every few minutes, as silent as you can be, to check the moon. You text your friends that are up for updates and just to chat.

Your dad gets up. Leaves the room. Your mom, who you thought had fallen asleep again, gathers all the blankets and gets up. You fear she's angry, but you try to suppress it. Maybe she's not. Maybe she's just... changing areas. No hard feelings.

But as her footsteps near and pass you, she increases their intensity until the house is shaking. You're not even exaggerating. The tree shakes, the TV shakes, the gas lamps on the top of the china cabinet shake. And you shake. Wince inside. Shrink.

She's mad at you.

You close your computer, toss it on your bed, bundle up again, and head out to the park. You can't stay at home anymore, and if you try, you'll end up broken and unable to fix yourself.

It takes everything you have not to run all the way to the park. When you see the swings, you quicken your pace and fall into one. Almost immediately, you start swinging. Push off, pump your legs, watch the moon.

Your eyes fall to your boots; tall, puffy, white. Fuzz-lined. The tops dusted with brown, black, and whatever else you want to call "dirty." And you remember all the hassle everyone gave you, and still give you, for getting white boots in the winter time. They'll get dirty too quickly. They'll be ugly in a week.

Not all untrue. But you also remember why you got them. There were black ones, and brown ones, but you wanted the white ones. White was nice. Everything else was black. White reminded you of snow. Pristine snow. The pretty, untouched snow. Beautiful. The way it sparkles in the night. So you argued until you could have them, the white boots. And while everyone never stops complaining about the boots you wear, you don't regret them one bit.

You look up at the moon again. The eclipse. It started, and everything was peaceful. When it ends, everything will be back the way it was. You will be ignored, or yelled at. Generally hated. And you'll regret telling your dad anything about your life now. The way it should be.

You keep swinging, determined to stay at the park until the moon starts to shine again. But it's cold, and you hear footsteps, and as much as you doubt someone would attack you at the park right now, you hop off and start down the street.

When you reach the house, you hop into the bed of your mom's truck and sit on the edge, watching the moon. It's no less cold here, but you're still determined to see the moon with a sliver of light to it. So you watch and you think.

And you have an imaginary conversation with your mom in your head.

In it, you tell her that you're sick of her. You tell her that she ruins every good event, but this was the last straw. Graduations happen a couple of times, birthdays and Christmas happens every year. But something that hasn't happened in 372 years, and won't happen again until 2094... well, this was it. You're tired of caring about her. You don't care about her anymore, and that's it. Done. Finito. Good bye.

You don't know how that would go, but it makes you feel powerful thinking about saying it.

The moon slowly shows a pinprick of light, and then a little more. You stare at it, willing for it to move faster so you can go in. At 4 o'clock, you decided, you'll go in regardless.

At 4 o'clock, the moon isn't all that shiny, but then you see something you haven't seen before: A shooting star.

You make a wish quick. Something about everything working out, everything being perfect, everything being fixed. It's a jumble and you don't even know what you mean. And in the end, you figure you've mucked it up enough, so you tell the shooting star to give the wish to someone else.

And then you hop off the bed of the truck, and enter the house that isn't a home. You're a ghost again; everything you do is silent. But it's not enough. It will never be enough. Because you realized on the swings that nothing you ever do will be good enough. You will never be able to say sorry enough times, or be successful enough, or obey enough.

Enough isn't in your parents' vocabulary.

More More More is.

And you wonder if you should have wished on that shooting star. Something worth it. But what?

When Things Turn Around

It's okay to change your mind.

And it's also okay to not, you know?


Driven home, I'm not ready for the silence that awaits me inside. So I wave good bye and make my way to the door, trying to stomp down the anxiety twisting in my stomach.

The second she disappears down the street, I hop down the steps and disappear into the cold, dark night.

The silence is different out here.

There's not supposed to be more. It has lost nothing to become this.

And after a few rounds on the swing, I feel better. Ready to face an entirely different sort of silence.

Say good bye to the night lights.

Say hello to everything that hides behind locked doors.

The Story Behind It

I could tell you a thousand lies. Give you a thousand half-truths. Make you a thousand excuses.

And there wouldn't be anything else for me to say. Because when standing has gotten almost too much, the last thing you're thinking of is the truth.

You're just trying to find a bench to sit on, and hope it doesn't crumble beneath you.

That Sneering Voice in Your Head.

You once said that being around her made you feel ugly and insecure.

I don't know what I did in response, but now I just smile and shake my head.

Why would you want a friend like that?

Why would you want a best friend like that?

I can't choose my family, but you can choose your friends.

Nowhere to Go

Shelters aren't fun.

Don't let anyone say they are.

I just want to sleep and sleep. Sleep until all this is over.

I refuse, though. Something is rebelling. But it isn't helping how I feel.

Strangers are kinder than family. Is that how it's supposed to be?

How does one accidentally buy a bus pass?

Does it mean she cares?

The words that follow beg to differ.

I don't want to do this anymore.

I feel like it's all my fault. But that same part rebels. It's not my fault. It's not.

Then quieter; It can't be.


The world moves on. It doesn't care. Say what you will, but it doesn't care. Individuals care. Not the world.

I was okay until I realized how hopeless I am.

No Place Safe

I'm not here.

Not home.

Whatever home is.

Stolen internet.

No place to stay.

Yesterday was my weak day.

Today, I refuse to cry.

Strength I hardly feel.

No one with something to say.

Too scared to return, of pain.

Don't know about a plan.

Update, maybe.

So Obtuse,

One day, you'll ask me to keep you company and I'll say no.

Not because I don't want to help you, to keep you company. I love helping you. I love melding into your life a little and I enjoy your company.

But one day I'll have to give that all up. Because I can't stand the way you pull my past into the conversation. I don't like how you seem to connect everything that ever happens to some great time you had doing these amazing things with my ex-family. I don't like how you make plans with them right beside me.

Petty? Maybe. But it's cold of you. No, it's not cold. It's obtuse. You're obtuse.

But I'm not about to tell you that you can't talk about them at all in front of me. That you can't make plans with them in front of me.

Because as much as I'd love to say that, I both know it won't work, and that it's wrong to ask that of you.

So what do I do?

I don't know.

Fade, perhaps.

Everything and Nothing

You know when your fan moves so fast it's as if it's moving so slowly, or not at all?

Yeah. That.

Black Hole

Maybe sometimes we don't look in the mirror to see our flaws or our perfections, or analyze our looks in general.

Maybe sometimes we look in the mirror to confirm that we're still here. Whole and safe and here. That we haven't disappeared. That people are still able to see us.

And maybe sometimes we look in the mirror under the pretenses of checking to see if that pimple is still there, or our hair isn't a total mess, or these clothes look okay, but we're really making sure we still exist.

Step out into thin air

I know me. Or I try to know me.

and I know that when I take a chance like I did last night, I'll either flounder, or I'll rise.

Last night I rose.

I'm glad. I was worried for a little there.

Thought I trusted myself too much.

Feels good.

My kingdom awaits, and they've forgiven my mistakes

Don't you know? Don't you see? This is a mistake. You're making a mistake.

I'm broken, can't you tell?

I'm broken.

But I'm fixing myself.

(And I don't want to risk you breaking me even more)


It's neither here nor there. Not all or nothing.

Too many people think it's like that. All or nothing. Here or there. Grey isn't acceptable. And that's what gets you labeled as a liar, complicated, annoying, fickle, unpredictable. Being grey.

I don't enjoy sneaking around, going one place when I've said I'm going to another, or going somewhere without giving a clear answer as to where. I wish I didn't have to. I wish I could just say "Well, I'm off to this group, or this counseling session," and I'd be told "Okay, have fun."

On the other hand, I enjoy having this part of my life. This secret life. Taking charge of it all, that's what it feels like. I enjoy going where I want without anyone knowing exactly where I am. It's nice. It's thrilling. And that way, I can be whoever I want to be, and no one will know different.

Besides, I know the "Okay, have fun," won't come to be.

I come home with a new outfit. No one gives it a glance. I am starving with nothing to eat except NesQuick Chocolate Milk Powder, and yesterday I only had a slice of pizza on my way home from riding. No one cares. I've been out all day without giving word, I've even come home late late. No one asks where I've been.

No one cares anymore.

I like it, and I hate it.

I guess I should learn to love it, hm?

I hate shoulds.

The Extension of You

Yes. I changed my mind. I decided to go a different path than you wanted me to. What is it now? The third time I've done this? Not counting all the times I've done so in other areas of my life.

Well if I did everything your way, I'd hate my life. Despise it. And it still wouldn't be enough, would it?

Make my own choices. That's what you drilled into my head since I was little. But like everything else, it came with strings attached. Only make acceptable choices, ones based off your wants for me. Having your own extension of your name and your biology is only good if they do everything the exact way you want them to, huh?

Shake your head. Say nothing at all. Let the displeasure show in your eyes and the set of your mouth. Deny me an answer, deny me encouragement, deny me everything you wish to.

Because I won't fall away. I won't let you push me away from this decision. It's mine and mine alone, and I don't see what it has to do with you.

And hey, you still have one more extension to be proud of.

The Hard Questions

You ask me what I've been up to lately. You say "Oh yeah, you've got ___ then, don't you?" You wonder if I've met any new people recently. You offer to drive me to the library since you're heading that way anyways.

And I can't tell you the truth.

I'd love to tell you, but I hold you up against the background painted by just one incident.

But it only takes one incident to set my world on fire. And I just can't risk it.

So I say Nothing. Yes. Not really. No, that's okay.

Even though what I want to say is the exact opposite.

I can't tell you what I really mean, and I can't even tell you this. But I'm sorry.

I promise to tell you the truth one day.

Psychic? Maybe...

My brother's girlfriend decided to apply at the same place I work at, and got accepted. So I was pretty excited that someone would join me in hell.

But last night I had the feeling she was going to bail.  I woke up with even a stronger feeling that she was going to decide not to start the job.

But she said she'd be taking a bus up because my brother's car is broken. Big phew here. Maybe I'm wrong.

I never learn, do I?

She showed up at my house, ready for work, but fifteen minutes later she told me that she wasn't going to work anymore because she just doesn't want to.

My friends say I'm psychic, this happens so much. If I am, it's not all that helpful.

Hey, you...

Just so you know... Just so that someone, somewhere knows, or so that someone can know...

I might have dropped my pastry chef dream like it was a hot coal, but it doesn't mean that the burns don't remain.

It doesn't mean that I didn't think long and hard over it before I gave up.

It doesn't mean I don't look back.

In truth, every time I turn on the food network, I feel like crying. Which might be why I don't watch it much anymore.

But I can't change my mind, either.

Hiding Places

I put random stashes of money (a five dollar bill here, a twenty there) around my room so that when I clean up or look around or pick up a book, I have a nice little surprise.

As well, I like to know that I've got money hidden around in case things get really desperate, and hiding them in tricky places helps me keep my hands off of it.

My parents don't approve of that either. Another problem of theirs with me. Which is why I argue that if they don't like my way of putting things and doing things, they should leave it all be.

Instead of yelling at me for losing money when I've purposely hidden it? Please. I'm not as irresponsible as people think.

Wait. I'm not as irresponsible as my parents think. Everyone else pretty much knows me as responsible.


I'm getting better at being home alone.

Silly, being scared of being home alone. Annoys the crap out of me. But alas, I am. I get the paranoia from my mother.

But I'm better now. I still keep the hallway light on, and I remember to check that every window, door, escape hatch is closed and bolted and locked and safe about three times before I'm convinced. And I still think someone's going to come running in with a knife while I'm in the shower...

But it's better, though it might not sound like it to you. I don't have the whole house lit up, and I can go into the kitchen to get a drink without thinking I should probably take a bat with me.

And no one being home means less of a chance of me getting into trouble because of... well, anything. I can't even give you an example. Maybe for asking if my parents happened to PVR Grey's Anatomy this week. They didn't, I had the chance to check, but just by asking could have gotten me in loads of trouble if they felt like it.

So it's nice.

Have to get the riding payment for the month all set for Tuesday and put it in some kind of envelope since I don't deal in cheques.

I got yelled at the other day because my parents found money just "laying about in my room." It was in my drawer, all together, because that was how it was given to me (my brother paid me back for covering part of his credit card bill from Europe in August) and said I should feel grateful they didn't take it for it (again) "just laying about."

Where else was I supposed to put it? I'm downtown more often than I'm home nowadays, and I'm not about to carry $200 with me all the time. That's asking to be mugged.

Makes me want to scream. I put things where I put them for a reason.

Dreams, one day long lost?

You know how I was (and am) always scared of the little things setting off a mid-life crisis sometime in the future?

You know how I've always wanted to hop on a train and take it to anywhere, like you hear of in songs and books and stories from people other than you?

What if that doesn't happen? What if I never hop on that train? B would begin A.

But how do I hop on a train, take it to nowhere, and somehow, somehow, make it?


What happened to freedom of speech?

Why does everyone else get to rant about the small, the big, the insignificant, the important, and yet I'm not allowed?

And people wonder why I don't show them my writing. What if I showed them, and then they said that I had no right to write about it? Other than telling them Excuse me, I have a right to write about anything I damn well please, what can I do?

They won't change their minds. Not these people.

I'm not of the "privileged." I can't write what I want, say what I mean. Even when it has encroached little on such territory, I'm torn down.

I'll write whatever I want to write. I'll be angry when I am angry and sad when I am sad. I'll be happy, too, when I am happy.

Such a good morning, shot to pieces. Maybe I can reconcile them into some pretty collage.

A Month Gone.

Don't ask me how NaNo went.

I got to 50K, yes.

But not for lack of trying to give up.

If there's one thing to say about me, (okay, two, because they argued each other endlessly all month) I've got too much pride, and I can't stand letting people down.

Now to stretch the truth a little on a totally different topic so I don't get disowned. That would be the whole counseling thing, if you're curious.