Melody of the Moment

Act like summer and walk like rain

“I’ve said it before but I’ll say it
again, for the sake of this poem.
I am not the kind of person that
things happen to.
I am not the kind of person that
things happen to, so I make it up.
I draw the dragon and then I
jump on its back.

I take a feeling and I say
‘Do something! Become something!
Help me or go away!’

There’s usually a boy. Sometimes
not. Either way, there’s someone
and they’ve hurt me.
There’s someone and they don’t
love me back,
because that’s what I want. That’s
my poetry.

I’m sorry, you know? I don’t know
what to do with the ones who have
already been here, so I pretend.
I play dolls. I change their names
and their clothes and their stories.

Call me what you want. I know
what the truth is. I know what to
put in between the lines to make it
sting like a real thing.
I know how to make myself better.

Still, I wish I could touch my
own heart instead of writing about
what it must feel like.
I wish I could do anything without
faking it.
What’s left to be honest about,
if not this? What’s left?

When things don’t happen,
I kick up the dirt, I blow on the
dust, I shake the snow globe.
So what if dragons aren’t real?
I bet you wish they were.

Caitlyn Siehl, Drawing the Dragon (via alonesomes)

“1. there are days when my reality is nothing but a foggy perception,
a screwed up sky and a world full of shitty people who makes my bones ache.
2. my grandmother always told me i had a tongue made of pure, liquid gold.
3. she said it was the reason swallowing this place was no easier for me then a shot of whiskey, with it’s loud mouths and shiny, silver tongues.
4. my therapist tells me i spend too many hours reading into song lyrics,
i tell her i’m just trying to learn the power of my palms.
she looks at me with her sad hazel eyes,
and tells me she worries about me.
5. i tell her that on the days the sun lights me on fire and i can’t stop burning, my lavender shampoo washes the sadness down the drain.
6. i take one of those dumb mental health assessments,
it asks me what i think about most.
7. i write that i think a lot about the boy i met in front of Walmart, the one with the eyebrow piercing and stained white t-shirt.
8. he asked me if i believed that once he smoked enough cigarettes, he’d finally get to see god.
9. i laughed in his face and told him ‘kid, there is no god. you’re the only light you’ve got. look in the damn mirror, why donchya?’
10. we talked till’ the sun went down.
he told me i spoke in poetry and i bought him a pack of marlboros and some swedish fish.
11. i liked that kid.
i think he had a gold tongue, too.”

– Abbie Nielsen, The Foggy Perceptions of A Gold Tongued Girl (viapassionandcoffeestains)