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Archive for September, 2014

I could run to your house from here.
Ten miles is not so far.

I could be Lloyd Dobler.
I could stand in front of your window, bring you your favorite beer and sushi from the place you love down the street,
get all gussied up to give a heartwarming speech
(or if I’m running short on time, “Don’t forget I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her”),
Maybe camping gear instead to whisk you off to the mountains like we planned,
Or a poem stuck to your windshield. That always works.

But instead I light a candle and drink wine in bed and read Walt Whitman and listen to the thunder.
And if you were really supposed to be the one
you’d know,
and ten miles would be zero.

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I am not alone in the night

Sometimes when I am awake and alone in the night,
I travel to the hidden place inside me
       that stores all of the hurt I have seen and felt
       that clings to all the haunting what-ifs
       that tells me cruel things when I need compassion
       that aches and aches and aches

I also have a place inside me that whispers,
       What would mom say if she knew about the hurt?
       I’d take it all for you if I could.
       What would Mark Chmiel say if I told him about the what-ifs?
       What do we know about what’s going to happen?
       What would Jamie say if she heard me insulting myself?
       You’re beautiful and smart, and you don’t deserve to be treated this way.
       What would I say to myself if I didn’t have the aches?
       Just keep breathing in and out.

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