Astroturf & the Sky

Sleep on AstroTurf in the dead of night with your two best friends
one with the hiccups
one drunk
one laughing her ass off each time the boy hiccups.

Be 27
but also 6 years old

Escape reality because your time together makes the world stop

The stars pepper the sky looking down at you from their vantage point
smiling and shining at your pure joy in each other’s company

A lot of innocence slip away as we enter our late twenties
but when you’re laying uninhibited staring into the night
A piece of your innocence revisits
bringing fondest memories of forgotten friendship and youth.

 

 

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I grew up ugly & stupid

His friends used to call me ugly.

She kept telling me I was too dumb.

Their extended family would mistake me for a boy because I didn’t have feminine enough features.

Her coworkers would snicker because they felt their kids were smarter and more cunning.

I grew being told I was ugly.

I grew up being told I was stupid.

She used to make me feel worthless. She used to yell at me like I ruined her life. She would say all my friends manipulate me because I’m too nice and dumb to notice.

I had a childhood friend growing up. Let’s call her Tilly. Tilly was always smarter because she was one year older. But Mother would tell me everyday that I’ll never amount to Tilly.

“Tilly is going places.” She’d say. “I bet she’ll end up at a better college than you.”

“Tilly is stronger.”

“Tilly wins at all these games you play because you’re too stupid to anticipate her moves.”

It wasn’t easy being told I wasn’t pretty for a girl.

It wasn’t easy having a mother resent me for being stupid.

But as I sit here two decades later looking at the place I bought for myself close to the Cali beach. I wonder, is this enough to prove to my mother I’m more than what she’d lost hope in?

Tilly now works in retail and still lives at home with her parents.

So, why do I still cry thinking about my upbringing? I can still hear every remark from her ricochet from my memory, cutting me like bullets from deep within.

Why does she hate me so much?

If I can’t even trust my mother to love me, how do I trust someone to enter my life without hurting me?

Am I still so broken?

There’s a reason I feel safe living alone. Isolated. Single.

No one can tell me I’m ugly or stupid. No words can hurt me here.

 

Waiting Room

The room that gives & takes
With reflective floors sterilized clean

Worry penetrates the air
Anxiety drilled into the seats

In here, you see colorful magazines and dulled faces
In there, you fear the worst and wish for the best

These walls have collected decades of tears, screams, and prayers.
These doors have welcomed life and stripped away hope.

I can’t help but eavesdrop each time a doctor visits our area.
I can’t help but look away, promising myself to make no eye contact with anyone.

Nothing works.
Reading, playing games, watching TV.
My mind only strays and wanders.

The doctor will be here shortly
and the walls will eagerly wait to collect.

She left and I lost my home.

It hurt so much it felt like all the air was vacuumed out of my lungs.
The slightest movement a struggle.
Tears poured like hurricane as my eyes lost vision during the drive home.

Home…
What a foreign concept when love slowly eludes us.

“Home is where the heart is” they said.

So, where is home now?

My stomach had a nervous pit.
My hands shaking with anxiety.
Head spinning with fear that it was all one-sided.
All at once, it hit me.

It was one-sided.

She’ll never love me the way I loved her. I never once walked out on her, but it was so easy for her to pack up her things and walk away.

My breath of fresh air had been contaminated with her greed for the allure of others. She wanted more, and that honest truth left me feeling worthless. I couldn’t give her what she wanted because she’ll always be chasing butterflies where the grass is greener.

“but some part of it will always not feel right”

I was trying to explain to her what she could not grasp.

I wasn’t unhappy in my relationship by any means, maybe just stuck in a conundrum.

“It’s like there’s a bottle and a cap, and no matter how I try to screw on the cap, it doesn’t seem to fit perfectly –

It still functions as a bottle in that the cap screws on and nothing will spill out nor would anything fall in. The bottle still works, but some part of it will always not feel right.”

That was the best way for me to explain my conundrum.

Prick

He leaves a thorn in my sides as each passing day goes by that we are together.

Toxic relationships grow and grow. The thorns prick my skin one by one; day by day until there’s no surface left to puncture me. He’s taken all of me.

So when the time finally comes, and I’ve mustered enough bravery to leave and let it all go, it takes one day at a time to pluck out each thorn he’s left in me.

The recovery is painful, they say. The recovery is hard.

And as each day I pull with might, I feel the twinge of throbbing memories being yanked out. The petals glisten and cheer.

The buds start to say, it’s one step closer to leaving it behind. Thorns no longer impaling my emptiness but piling up on the ground where I left the rest of that darkness.

 

Fall Leaves Gathered and Laughed

Learned what unconditional love was when I found myself in the same detrimental state. Constantly making up bullshit excuses for your actions because I thought you were it. My person.

The love of my freaking life.

I started making up pro and cons trying to prove you out weighed anything else that mattered. 

Fall leaves gathered and laughed at my blinded sunshine, reminding me that though seasons change, people don’t.

6AM

6am is my favorite time of the day. The world actually comes to a halt. Flurries of emails haven’t stormed my phone. Streets haven’t been stacked with cars armed for swerving battles. The day is open and quiet. My mind has a small snippet of tranquility.

The timer on my coffee machine sets off and gorgeous brewing amber races for my mug. The scent fogs my living room while the sun barely peeks out yawning and stretching its sunshine through the clouds.

My keyboard readies itself to create symphonies. The flickering line in an open doc waiting for today’s rhythm to start. I lightly place my fingers above and start to type; spilling feelings, rage, characters with unimaginable valor, and pasts with wounded scars.

My mind is clear and hopeful that for the next 24 hours maybe just maybe… my life and the stories I create have a chance of something new, something great, and something memorable. 

6am is my favorite time of day.

I want to…

who wants to b reasonable.

don’t think about tomorrow.

I don’t want to b good.

I want to chase the never-ending wind, sleep in the sands and let the waves take me in. I want to drink until the landscape is a blur, run while raindrops kiss my cheeks, and forget there is a tomorrow.

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