Which Truth is True

Maybe it’s the rain, releasing all of my trapped emotions.

The pitter-patter on my bedroom window has always served as a relieving sense of inspiration for my fingertips.  It always seems to release some of my darkest kept feelings in the back of my mind that I beg myself never to let out.  But here I am,  pleading my mind to open the door to how I really feel, instead of playing into this reality of dealing with a seemingly unremovable demon, that I really could change if I could just bare the temporary consequences. But it’s always for someone else.  I continue to live through emotional strain to save someone else from hearing the painful truth.  I’m not sure if that makes me a bad person for leading people on, or a good one for carrying the load off of someone else’s shoulders.

I suppose I can’t live like this forever.  Eventually I will be forced to tell the truth to the people I am deceiving, or I will forever be damned in this unforgiving reality.

It just terrifies me to think that telling the truth could have such a tragic effect on someone.  I have seen it before: as I begin to lift the shades holding back my true feelings, the life of the person I was telling it too began to derail and I quickly did my best to minimize the damage and put the train back onto its broken tracks.

I think I began to believe it.  Either the part of me that was restraining my mask gave up or I forced this truth onto myself so harshly that I absorbed it and made it my own.  Sometimes I truly do feel happy, but there are occasional reminders that seem to bring me back home to where I know this is false.  I  miss the way things used to be.  I was once innocent, happy, and content with my own life.   I guess you could still am, but there’s just this constant gray cloud looming over my shoulder that occasionally makes room for the sun, but frequently produces storms.  The worst part is that the smallest things can trigger a hurricane that can sweep through my day and wipe me clean of all of my emotions and energy.  I never know the storms coming until it’s too late, so there’s no way to look for shelter.


I wonder if the words I am speaking now are even the truth.  I have lied to myself so much in the past two years, that I can’t even tell if the emotions I am feeling in the safety of my own mind are real.  Am I truly releasing my  true emotions right now, or is this just the result of my latest fake pursual?



My cold bedroom floor pulls me apart
As my mind unravels.
My spine aches from the solid wood
Yet it seems to comfort me.
The gray light burning in the clouds
Sneaks in around the shades pulled shut.
I listen to the freezing rain knocking on my window
Wondering if I should let it in;
Open myself up to the cold
And let it devour my already wasted soul,
Freezing in place my fate
That has been decided from the start.

Summer Fantasy

As the autumn leaves bury my dreams in the dead grass,

I realize our seemingly perfect relationship

Was merely a summer fantasy.

The feelings were distorted

In the warm July heat.

Maybe it was the humidity,

Or maybe it was the countless cliches you fed to my naive heart.

Either way,

We were both fooled into thinking what we had was love,

When it was just both of us longing for something real

And settling for the closest thing we could find.

The truth wasn’t in plain sight;

It was hidden around the edges of our beautiful masterpiece

Painted over a weak canvas.

The worst part was that I knew,

But I so stupidly dismissed

The faint glimmer of uncertainty I saw,

When your lips first touched mine.

This Leather Bound Notebook

This leather bound notebook holds my thoughts.  It holds every emotion I have ever felt, scribbled down between 26 parallel lines placed evenly down the page.  Each slip of paper holds a new story; a confession from deep with in the confines of my heart. I can’t seem to find the answers in my mind, but the second the pen meets the paper, the truth is revealed in the words on the page.

Each day, the brown string attached to the binding travels further and further through the book as more pages are filled with pointless ramblings about love and loss.  Once the string meets the last flimsy page, words get crammed  into every last corner of the paper. Then, the book is closed and put onto a high shelf to collect dust and another leather bound notebook, similar to the last, is purchased only to go through the same process.

I look beneath my bed at the box of leather bound notebooks and wonder what will come of them.  In twenty years when I finally have it right,  I will flip through each tattered piece of paper, reading all the scribbled down words of a lonely teenager and realize how each page helped me find a new piece to the puzzle.  Each heart break prepared me for the time when it would actually work out.  The lessons learned would finally make sense and I would understand why it never worked with anyone else.  I hope someday, the pages filled in my leather bound notebooks change from depressing stories about loss to beautiful stories about successful love.

Swallowing Bullets

Flashing lights illuminated the dark room with shades of red, blue, and green.  On the wall, shadows danced reflecting off of the people in the middle of the gym.  The combination of the bass and the highschoolers jumping up an down shook the floor below me.  Not only could I hear the music, but I could feel it in my chest as if it were playing from inside of me.  Beside me, a pit of around 200 people danced to the beat of the saxophone solo in “Talk Dirty to Me”.  The sound was so loud it was almost deafening.

Despite the surroundings that would seem impossible to ignore, all I was focused on was you. We were leaned up against the padded gym wall next to a poster of the human body. We both knew what was coming next.  I needed to get out the words I had been denying all night.  All week for that matter. My heart was pounding in my chest faster than the beat of the music.

Why was I doing this to myself?  I could easily just lean in for one more kiss and we could go on like nothing even happened.  But I couldn’t.  Something deep inside of me knew I couldn’t  just forget about this.

I turned around and looked at my group of friends at the other side of the gym as I stalled for time.  They all looked so happy dancing around, shaking off their worries as they shook their hips.  I wished I could have done the same, but it wasn’t as easy for me to shake you.

As I turned back around to face you, the concern on your face stabbed me right in the gut.  Those familiar dimples I always used to see were no where to be found on your dejected face.

But, I couldn’t let it get to me.  I thought about all the pain you had put me through and how miserable the past month had been.  What you did was unforgivable and I couldn’t just put it in the back of my closet and close the door.

For the past month, I had been telling myself that I would end things tomorrow,and that one more day won’t hurt. Look where that got me.  A whole 28 days later and I was still in the same position I had been from day one.

I took a deep breath and began to talk.  The words rolled of my tongue and hit you like bullets, but this time you let them sink in instead of putting your guards up and repelling the bullets back at me.   You looked down at the ground and scuffed your new, formal shoes across the glossy gym floor.  You bought those shoes just for tonight, along with the rest of the outfit.  Your dad brought you shopping since you didn’t have any fancy clothes.  Your blue and black tie matched my black, lace-back dress almost perfectly, as if they were a matching set.

Here it comes. The words that I had been denying all night.

As they were about to come out of my mouth, I froze.  The music froze.  The lights froze.  The dancers froze.  Everything in the room froze except you.   Your eyes were fixed on mine and you wouldn’t look away.  I knew you didn’t want to hear the words, but I could tell part you just wanted me to pull the trigger and get it over with instead of standing here holding the gun to your head.

In that moment, I forgot everything.  All the things you had done, all the things you said.  The lies, the crying, the pain. Instead of getting the words out, I lowered the gun, grabbed your hand and pulled you to the dance floor.  As we swayed back and forth to the music, I swallowed the bullet myself, for I didn’t have the strength to shoot it at you.