everything I cannot say to you

there's just so much I want to say, to pour out from me into you

but where to begin?

it begins home, at home, my head, the house, the lawn

the yard where I begin to understand how to be a human being

I grow up in it, and remember everything to large and tall,

the house seemingly so complex and nostalgic in my mind,

entwined with everything a kid born in 2009 remembers;

DVDs and bath time and Disney themed pajamas

then the lawn in front of the elementary school,

learning what to say to adults versus my friends,

how to say no and when to leave,

and when to fight for what I want.

the grass in front of the middle school,

where I honed a certain angst and edginess that I now bury deep,

where I overreacted and cried,

where I experimented and learned how cold it is outside

outside.

the fall trees are autumn. I mean, the trees are my autumn. they are my life and my blood and they give me breath and life

They sat out on the lawns and the grasses and the fields everywhere I went,

soccer practice, the dance studio, the bus rides, camping trips up in the mountains

when I couldn't get that knot in Girl Scouts, I would whisper to the trees and the stars about the wonderful woman I would become. She wouldn't need those knots.

But, this won't make sense to you. Not yet. From the nature to its role in my childhood, there's a lot more to condense.

How it begins in my head has little to do with the green. It's all about me and how I perceive.

My childhood is not believable because it is true. The fighting, the stress, the loneliness, the noticing-but-doing-nothing, 

everything behind the blue four walls,

I only opened that shed once, because I was always standing behind it with Him.

those four walls contain everything I cannot say to you,

in my dreams it would open up and inside would be everything I cannot say to you,

the bandaid,

the dinner service,

the bricks.

these are simply the things I cannot explain to you, because they hurt like cinnamon and sugar cookies in an open wound

they ache like the trees, the trees that whisper back to me, and howl in the wind, and stand so tall

I cannot explain my reservations, because I'll give the whole thing away

I think I can tell you one day, though,

When I become older and stronger and look back upon those things I couldn't say

I think only then you will be able to understand.