alexislynn27's blog

He doesn't know it, but there's is a knife, permenantly stuck into my fragile heart. It wiggles and cuts and destroys everything good I have built up, every belief that I am good enough and worth loving. It takes everything, and it leaves a trail of distrust and distance. The knife, your words and feelings, has hurt me. It brings the tears out of my eyes at will. I'm not good enough. I never was, never will be.

You're just going to get mad. Me, I'm just going to cry. Her, she's going to continue being that female dog she's mastered being.

You're just going to get mad. Me, I'm just going to cry. Her, she's going to continue being that female dog she's mastered being.

I thought she'd forever be my friend.                                                                                                                                                                        I didn't realize that when she didn't call it was because she didn't want to.                                                                                 Read more »

In three words, 

she made me feel unloved. 

Useless. 

Purposeless. 

The words were innocent enough,

but her tone implied everything about 

me 

as a dissappointment. 

Sometimes I wonder:

Is it better if I just leave,

so I can't dissapoint them 

or anyone else 

ever again?

I don't know if it's him,

or her,

or them, 

or us. 

I don't know if it's blood,

or reason, 

or equality,

or life. 

Parks, 

forests,

houses, 

people. 

Cut here: 

Paste here: 

Move around a little in your head,

find 

what's 

there.

Sometimes I can pretend that things are normal, 

that this is and always has been my life,

in some wierd, 

parallel universe. 

But there is a hole;

their anger has not dissapated,

my guilty deed has not been forgiven. 

This schism in my heart is quite large. 

What would things have been like if I

had not been so naive? 

Not been so stupid? 

Why do I feel like banging my head against the wall 

for all my mistakes, 

like letting out this capped bottle of rage on myself?

I lost a family that night, 

that night I was stupid. 

I lost a love and a friend,

I lost a family;

will I ever get them back? 

Will I ever be forgiven?

Will their anger ever end?

My punishment, 

boy, it's a good one. 

It makes me so happy

to see you so happy. 

When I see the things you write,

here on this very site, 

your words have lost the contrite 

tone. 

It's wonderful that you

have found people of worth,

if only for right now, 

if only for a time. 

I miss you, 

you know that. 

It's amazing to think you know me inside and out,

and yet you're in the east, 

and I am in the west. 

We are the sun and the moon, 

I tell you. 

Your happiness reflects on to me. 

Yours eclipses my own feelings of sadness. 

We can save eachother. 

We'll be eachother's heroes, 

do you remember that? 

You told me to 

Hang in there, Lex. 

Can we hang in there together?

In the night sky I would beg you to go outside to see, 

where we are safe and free of hurt and harm, 

and can eclipse the badness with light? 

Here comes the sun,  

da da da da,

here comes the sun, 

I say, 

It's alright. 

The seams

my stuffing is coming out

i am falling apart

at the seams

my tears are the stuffing

that isn't supposed to be seen

coming apart

the seams

falling apart at 

falling apart at 

the seams

Hope. 

I need to keep my hope;

I need to take care of it, 

to nurture it

and make sure nothing happens. 

Things will work out.

I need to believe that.

That mantra 

needs to fill my heart. 

Things will work out. 

This is not the end. 

Keep my hope. 

Mistakes can be mended, 

people can be forgiven, 

and things can work out.

My mind

brings me back

to another time: 

"Where's your spot?"

He reaches for my head and tries to 

find the place it fits perfectly into his shoulder,

he's trying to get me through 

this crying and shaking. 

He strokes my hair and 

tells me that everything is okay,

but I know it's not. 

I'm so stupid. 

We're stupid. 

We're smater than this! 

"Shhh, it's okay alexis. Everything is okay. I'm here." 

Shaking. 

Crying. 

"Just promise me one thing, okay?"

He takes me out from my safe spot, and makes me look directly 

into his eyes. 

Oh, god. His eyes. 

"Promise me you'll remember the good times.

Promise me you'll remember everything but this." 

I promised. 

I had my Ewok 

around one of the 

beltloops to my pants today; 

it was a lucky charm of sorts. 

To make me happier. 

Tears, silently spilled 

over a quivering lip; 

tears

drying 

on a 

damp

face. 

Memories, 

they can put you in a choke-hold;

they can remind you

of all that you're missing, 

of all your mistakes, 

of all the times, whether good or bad. 

Nostalgia, 

it can suffocate you

until you have no air,

no 

more 

air. 

No more optimism.

No more hope. 

These three things,

they can shut you down. 

Force you to the ground, 

where all you want to do is cry. 

To jump into the world of another person, 

any damn person, 

through a book. 

In these times, 

books are my steadfast friends. 

They are my anchor. 

Why not enjoy life through another perspective,

if not through your own? 

Those words, 

they keep me from crumbling 

on top of myself;

they keep everyone else from seeing what is inside of me,

this broken and ugly monster

that 

they 

call 

Alexis. 

She couldn't be dead.

I just thought she was bringing her to the door,

I didn't think anything had happened. 

Not until I saw the limp and lifeless body on her shoulder, 

feet and beak starting to lose that fiery orange color, 

her mouth opening on its own accord...

She is dead. 

She can't be dead.

The tear stained cheeks of her caregiver,

to die in the the arms of someone 

who loves you,

unconditionally--

isn't that what we all want? 

It didn't really hit

until I had to find a box.

Until her stroking and I'm sorry s 

to a lifeless body 

were starting to scare me. 

When her stiffened body,

her month-old body,

started to scare me.

Why must a creature, 

so beautiful,

like that little duck,

have to die?

I don't know when you'll read this, 

be it tomorrow,

or a week from now, 

or even a month from now. 

I don't know what you've been doing, 

or what your new life is like. 

I don't know if you still 

feel for me

what I do 

for you. 

I don't know if you know

that there is no one else,

that my heart is still yours, 

and I am just waiting for the break.

I don't know 

if things will be the same. 

I don't know what will happen. 

But I will love you

until you tell me not to.

There was an elephant in the room. 

A tattoo across my forehead.

A branded word on my arm. 

Please don't judge me, 

my own family. 

I made a mistake.

I can almost feel 

the judgments 

pinning me down on the floor,

spewing out of their minds and proceeding 

to fiil mine up, 

like an oversized balloon,

until I pop. 

Words and judgments would come spewing out of my mouth,

my nose,

my eyes, 

like the blood of the newly dead. 

But I will stay strong. 

Because if I am truly sorry, 

I am willing to admit that 

I made a mistake,

and I will change. 

"I will dropkick them to the moon..."

To be rejected by your parents is quite painful. 

To be exiled to your room is maddening. 

To be unpure in everyone's eyes makes me sick. 

Yes, I got caught. 

Yes, it was deceitful. 

I need you, 

we need eachother,

what happened last night? 

Why am I having such nightmares?

Why do I feel broken 

and beaten 

and alone? 

I love you; 

i just wanted you to know. 

I love my parents,

even though they are disgusted with me

and they can't even look at me.

They can't dignify my presence with words. 

Everything was going so well. 

This time last year 

everything was so different. 

I was where I felt accepted,

and I had friends 

and a family 

and everything was great.

I don't want that to be gone. 

I don't want you to go to band camp without me,

on my birthday,

when I should be there with you.

To take in the new things 

and love the old. 

Love you. 

I feel so empty inside...

Response: 

none. 

For minutes.

And then minutes turn into a half hour. 

and then an hour. 

What the hell am I doing wrong here?

Can't sleep. 

My mind is wide awake with thoughts 

from saturday,

from Disneyland.

It makes me so sad. 

They're already past. 

They're already part of 

my past. 

I really don't want you 

to be. 

Please, 

don't be a part of my past. 

Can't sleep.

Can't think. 

I hate this. 

I hate everything about this. 

Just sit and watch.

Watch very closely,

watch for the slightest adjustment.

The slightest adjustment 

tells more truth 

than words ever could. 

Eyes. 

They are the pathway 

to the soul. 

To the heart.

Watch closely. 

Nine different times, 

I have started. 

Too many places.

Too many people, 

not enough time.

Not enough time 

to make a home. 

Nine times 

I have started. 

I find my mind wandering,

drifting along a light and airy path.

The path, 

as it turns out,

leads me to you.

It leads me to Sunday,

at Disneyland,

when we cuddled in the car 

and held hands 

and talked 

and got to just be with eachother. 

It takes me away from all of the 

stress and nerves and new everything. 

The memories 

that form the path

are the best memories. 

How our kisses felt so 

electric and mysterious,

and how your eyes lit up when we talked,

and filled me with enough warm contentedness 

to last a lifetime.

I didn't want that day to end. 

Everything is new.

Foreign.

Different faces are paired with

different instruments.

New names paired with 

new faces. 

New places, 

new things to remember. 

One of them, as we get through 

the second day,

those six hours,

is the awards ceremony.

After everything is done, 

drill-down winners are determined,

and leaders pick their candidates.

We get in a circle,

and the Drum Major calls us to attention.

He starts the ceremony with the drill-down winner.

My mind kind of wanders,

wondering who else will win something.

Next, the best section is called. 

To my surprise, 

he calls the saxophones.

That's my section...

*** 

So I get an award,

just like everyone else in the section,

a little blue ribbon. 

I walk back to my spot, surprise still in my features.

I didn'tthink that would happen.

Next, he calls the MVP.

I don't know exactly what that stands for...

A little pause as he shouts

Alexis!

What----?

That's my name. 

That's me. 

I'm new, 

and people actually noticed 

me? 

They gave me an award? 

This has never happened. 

I know it's small, 

but to me it's huge.

It's always been a 

sarah 

or a 

laura 

or  Read more »

It felt good to see you there, from the escalator. 

It felt right when I rushed into your arms,

our bodies molded together.

When my head found its place on your chest,

after all this time.

It felt like I belonged there. 

I felt the rush of emotion as you whispered 

your question in my ear. 

My ear prickled with your heat and absorbed your voice. 

I wanted to say yes, but the right choice was no. 

We'd get our time later. 

Right then,

it felt like the best thing in the world to be in your arms, 

to be supported

while my legs shook, 

and my heart raced,

and my mind said 

I missed you I missed you I love you I love you

Am I not good enough? 

Please let me be good enough. 

Am I not smart enough?

Please let me be smart enough.

Am I not pretty enough?

Please let me be pretty enough.

Do I not make conversations well enough?

Please let me be good enough.

All around me, 

there are fours 

and fives 

and smug voices,

paired with proud hearts. 

Yeah, good job guys. 

You did well.

No, you can't know my score. 

I didn't do well. 

I got straight A's.

Isn't that enough? 

Why do I feel so very stupid 

for not passing the AP test?

I wanted to be able 

to go in there, 

and show what I knew. 

I hoped it was enough.

But it isn't? 

Why do I feel so very bad about it,

like I'm not good enough to have 

my smart friends? 

Like they won't want me

if they know? 

So please disregard this. 

Disregard my score. 

I'm smart, 

I promise. 

Please don't

make me feel stupid...

My dad. 

My dad. 

Father. 

I miss him,

my dad.

I miss seeing his 

electric blue eyes light up

from a joke told.

From a prank played.

I miss watching things with him, 

I miss his stories...

I know I got mad at him sometimes,

but he is a great guy.

The greatest guy.

The greatest dad.

My hero.

Part of me wishes I had known her before,

when she was beautifully pure,

her system devoid of drugs and alcohol and tumors.

Of paranoid thoughts and little voices.

Part of me wishes I had the experience

of being able to hold her hand, 

as a child,

or having her take care of me

as she should've.

Part of me wishes 

I could taste the zuchini 

from her healthy and huge garden. 

Part of me wishes she wasn't sick,

that I could know her as she was,

and not remember her as she is.