Fuel

I have been avoiding publishing certain works of mine, because I have matured past the stage of writing about puppies and rainbows. Nervous because most of the people reading are my family, and I am still probably frozen in their mind to the 8 year old with braces. But recently I have gotten into watching Slam poetry online, basically obsessed, and I realize that if I don't share what I write, than I am hiding a piece of me. Honestly, that isn't fair to you or to me. So now, uncensored, I will post what I write, because it is what I feel and experience. I'm going to be brave and vulnerable. After all, this is my blog, I am nineteen and experiencing college, life is more than puppies and rainbows now. Not that it's all, or even mostly, bad... but it gives you fuel.

I lay there with your arms around my body

Breathing in the memory that I’m prepared to store

For the nights ahead that I already know you won’t call.

Telling myself, “Hey, It’s okay, At least you didn’t go all the way.”

I shave off and dissect the previous encounter in my mind.

Keeping the part where you told me I was beautiful.

Keeping the part where you looked me straight in my eyes,

Where you told me about your family

Where you made me feel special,

Where you called me baby.

Gathering those pieces in the space next to me,

so there is something to weigh down by bed;

Something to warm my covers,

something to hold me close,

something to back up all my lonely teenage clichés.

But the rest of my night is lying next to me too,

Weighing down the mattress with temptation,

Regrets,

Broken ideals,

With disrespect,

Hickies

And lips to be sealed

Secrets to be kept

And expectations to fulfill.

At dawn I'll shuffle around to find my bra and self-respect.

I’ll stuff the good memories in last night’s jeans pocket

And the bad ones will stick to the bottom of my shoe.

Follow me back to my own single mattress

And witness the lies I’ll tell my friends

And the lies I’ll tell myself.

Pretending that next time I won’t settle for temporary.

Next time I’ll stay true to the vows I have professed.

Maybe that next time there won’t even be a next time.

But I know in the fumbled excuses and make up covered tears, pain will echo in my voice no matter the tune I sing.

Tonight I’ll go to bed, with the story I have created. The arms of false hope will rock me to sleep and night by night it will let me become a little more jaded.

Because breaking your own heart is safer than letting a stranger

and I am an expert

at avoiding danger.