A Lap Pool and an Anatomically Correct Heart

It shouldn't sting like this. I shouldn't care what your opinion is, but I do let my bad days effect me.

Honey, I've had a hell of a year, and at this point letting my bad days effect me is the least of my worries. Sure, it's hard to hear, but at least I'm still HERE, and for that I'm proud of myself. I'm proud that I've held on. I almost slipped today. Again.

You've hurt me, you've scarred me, and you've broken me, but I'm not letting it happen anymore. I'm stronger than that. Because, like Shelbie tells me, I see colors differently because I wear them differently.

I think God places people with his own two hands right down in front of me to purposely drive me to the point of insanity, or maybe drive me to Him. I think it's probably both.

You told me once, just once, that I was beautiful, but I know it was just to manipulate me into getting what you want. You've never said it again, and if I ask *awkward pause* you change the subject usually into how cute the other girls are; like my best friend. Thanks, bud.


But, you keep me just a little bit on edge, and just a little bit interesting. Like hiking after dark, maybe? No, that makes me think of someone else. Maybe like drinking iced coffee at midnight, or staying out past curfew. Yeah, like those things, or maybe even worse, but I don't like to think about that. 


Here's the thing bud, you care. I know that you care just enough for it to matter, just enough for it to hurt, or I guess feel. You've taught me more about myself than I knew could be learned, and part of that's a good thing. Thanks, bud. 


I don't know what I want to say at this point because you make my head spin like nobody before. Like the spin cycle on the washing machine kind of. I don't have any good similes/metaphors for you tonight.


But, for now, hold my fingers like you do, and stay in that passenger seat. Keep your palms callused, your eyelashes long and your shoulders square. It'll be okay soon. I'll stop making up nonsense, and you'll start wishing I was closer. 




Here's to You.


Yes, You.


Enduringly,
M.Organ

Come on Home, Boy.

I feel like I should be playing catch-up because it's been approx. 36 days since I've written here. Wherever here is. But, that's not what I want to do because it'd be a lot of stress, and ag, and probably too many underlying this-is-all-about-you-and-hard-teenage-girl-life-stuff messages that not even I could understand. 

So instead, this is about Addy. This is about Laura, and Shelbie, and phone messages. It's about medication, and water, and sore legs, and how my new year starts tomorrow. This is about numbers, and dreams about wrestler boys, and wood shopping, and magic pants, and Georgia peaches, and that gym. It's about late night dinners, America, long lunches, the Bravermans, mothers, twitter, kissing and 3. This is about fingers, and Kolton, and Kira, and cancer, and wet, jet black eyelashes. This is about holding your breath, and silence, and prayers, and maybe even a little bit about Seth. 

Because all of that is what this is about. (and run-on sentences)

M.organ