Watermelon.

Head under water. Toes just above the coral reef. I feel stagnant, dangling. Driving, I know where I am. I see the curves in the road. I am aware of what is happening. I feel so disconnected. Weightless, like I am floating and watching from another world. Aware that I am completely unaware. Alive but without a single sense left. Is this the average early-twenties? I try to explain to friends. They remember feeling this way once upon a time, so is said. Comforted that I have support, scared to death of losing that support. Completely independently co-dependent.

C# G.

Dear Hometown,

Dear Sister,
I have confided in you, you laughed at me.
Dear Brother,
You have listened, but never respond.
Dear Mother,
I am afraid of your criticism.
Dear Father,
I cannot speak to you.

I love you, but it is time for some change. It is time for me to stay away. I miss you everyday, but I would miss this more. So whether or not I will ever be able to tell you, I will never be moving "home." Western New York has little left for me.

Feeling whole, complete, refreshed, recharged. Feeling empty, alone, exhausted. Day in and day out I blame it on something. I blamed commercialism on Jesus at Christmas time. My co-worker told me I was the grinchiest person she knew. She laughs and tells me I am a rotten wench. I laugh too, because sometimes it is true.

I have been thinking more and more about things. An old friend's harsh words run through my mind on a daily basis. Judgmental and cruel, they were true and cut deep. But guilt is something I cannot be bothered with, and maybe that makes me selfish. We all do what we can to get by. I hope that in the coming months I can be a better friend, lover, family member. I will be a better advocate, I will stand for things. For now, I need to throw remorse to the dogs and wait it out.

It will all balance out sooner or later.

To lose your only tie to humanity is, I would imagine, like losing your good arm. I need the arm back. The new arms are just fine, I love the new arms. I still miss the old one though. Nothing can replace the old one.

This is how a coward admits they were wrong. This is how the foolish say they miss you. This is how I function. Just robotic enough to post things on the internet, text-based. A series of zeros and ones. I'll never open my mouth, never speak a word. It is all here, in ones and zeros.

What Home is to Me (In Pictures)

Amazing Fucking Friends.
Brass Monkeys.
Mudsliding.
Showering.
Together.

These Kids. All of Them.

Together.

Livin' in a van..
Out of a Car.
Together.

Could be falling..

Spring does that to song birds. It really does feel like spring. We are breaking through.

I find myself giggling, ticklish (how do you spell that word? I'll never know), smiling, a blushing young girl again.

Maybe it's temporary, but show me someone ((anyone)) who is constant these days.

Sitting back, appreciating. I sat on the tree fort my dad built over a decade ago. The wood is cracked, paint chipped. The swing still works, it creaked but it carried me just fine. I swung, remembering times when I sat there without a cigarette. When I jumped off and laid in the grass, staring at the sky for twenty minutes. What happened to being invincible? I want to be a superhero again, I want to fly off those swings, 30 feet into the air like I always believed I was.

It's time. Meet me at the playground.

Nee-ag-rah Falls

Tonight, panic attack. Brought on by too many hours in this god awful town.
I was ready to burst.
My nostalgia cup was full.

Her voice, reading from "web MD."
I started crying and got behind the wheel.
I found myself somewhere in Niagara Falls.

It's okay if you recognize home.
Smoke a half a pack of cigarettes and turn the car around.
Familiarity always comes too soon.

Ponygirl

Brittle, falling out.
Jane Roe.
Swollen, bleeding.
Benedict Arnold.
Like a house in the heart of the Nickel City.
Still standing, one more storm.
Face first, into the burning cold.