brusque teen

it's a hazy day.
i'm 4 years old,
sister by my side.
we make silly faces and laugh in the mirror,
our small fingers smudge the glass,
dirty from trying to reach china in the backyard,
or that treasure buried in between.
i fall on the floor,
dizzy with a head full of dreams.

it's a busy day.
i'm 9 years old,
it's the first day of school in a new town,
i pass the bathroom mirror on my way out the door.
it's freshly cleaned and i see a small me.
i'm wearing new clothes and i'm nervous,
but excited.
i walk with my sister to the bus stop.

it's a cold winter day.
i'm 14 years old.
i see my reflection.
i wish i was older.
and taller.
i don't like my freckles.
or my haircut.
and i'm sick of my old shoes.
i start to think that maybe the kids at school are right,
that i don't have any friends for a reason.
but i forget about it and start on my homework,
bored and ready for summer to come once again.

it's been a long day.
i'm 17 years old.
the mirror in my basement shows me a stranger.
he looks pathetic.
and empty.
i'm afraid to look into his hallowed eyes,
instead i watch his cracked lips as they form the words
"i hate you" over and over.
i look away and pass out on the bed.

it's today.
i'm 18 years old.
i can finally breathe in deep.
the air smells like my past.
i feel like my bones have finally settled in the right places.
i finish getting dressed and i catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
i see my shoulders and the weight they carry.
i see my hands,
rough and callused,
but they don't hide in my pockets anymore.
i see my face,
and the creases that meet my eyes.
i see me.
but i still dream of a day that i don't see my inner faults.

it was ink.
black and smeared across the pages of  love letters i sent to you.
written and wasted.
left in the shoe box under your bed.
and i never got a letter back.

i started writing a new letter
but nothing came out.
i scribbled in the margins
desperately hoping to smear a little bit more,
somewhere,
anywhere,
but ink runs out,
and so did my love for you.
all that's left is pain.

 love.
i can't feel it anymore cuz my heart's not working.
i think it broke when you dropped it,
or maybe that time you threw it at the wall.

it definitely doesn't beat the same anymore.
especially when your around.
maybe it's afraid you'll rip it out again,
and keep it locked in your vault.
my heart has told me terrible things about that vault of yours.
that it's dusty,
and that the air is full of whimpers and howls from the dead souls that you refuse to release.
and that they've been trapped since the day they set eyes on you.

i'm lucky i got out alive,
maybe alive is too generous of a word.
not dead is better.

but did i get out?
cuz i still feel like i'm drowning when i see you.
and i see you everywhere.
i see you in the hall,
in the store,
in the pictures on my wall,
in the lines on my ceiling.

your a disease.
and i'm a survivor. 

our love is car drives in the backseat.
it's fingers laced with mine,
small hands,
and gift baskets.
tissues for cold noses,
and kissing in the rain.
it's all i think about.

it's animal crackers and orange spoons,
and its you and me falling over sea shells and getting our toes wet.
it's making mistakes and saying sorry,
and its saying i forgive you and then forgetting.

our love is sitting in my car at 2 am,
not wanting to leave.
our love was everything to me.

and then our love left my lips cold.

once in a while i miss you.
like those nights when i hear our song and i see your blue eyes.
or those days i drive past that place i held those small hands.

i thought i was over you but thoughts are imaginary.
i don't miss you.
i've moved on.
i'm glad your gone.
good riddance
those are just a few of the things i tell myself.

hats are just hats.
i could go into the symbolism of what a hat is.
or talk about how they hide my mistake of a haircut,
or how they hide my face,
but i wont.
cuz hats are just hats.

like how i'm just human
and how humans are just beating hearts.
and hearts are just metronomes,
but my heart is broken,
and that's why this post is off beat.

and that's why you wont understand it.
just like how i don't understand math,
or science,
or girls,
or why i try so hard,
or the purpose of life.

i don't understand a lot of things.
and i don't want to continue writing cuz nobody cares what i'm saying,
just like how nobody is going to listen to my playlist.
or how nobody understands me... including myself.
or how nobody see's me
cuz i actually have a superpower.
invisibility.

hats.
that's what i'm supposed to be writing about...
i nearly forgot.
yeah
hats are cool i guess.

my childhood was my favorite. it was good times man. but it sucked sometimes... it made me this adventurous, adrenaline junky, thrill seeking guy but also a brusque and bitter kid that gets too quiet sometimes and i get quite rebellious at other times.  just read below.

i just got a text no more than 30 seconds ago.
i guess my brother just had a civil war break out inside of him and he's on his way to the hospital.
it seems like every day there's a new crisis with someone in my family.
my mother has asked me to include him in my prayers.
what prayers
i look down at my battered tennis shoes
they make me wonder if i'm worthy to step up and pray at all.
the dirt and stains on every fiber reminds me that ive walked down too many wrong roads in my time.
god wouldn't let me in.
i'd track mud on the floor.

DID YOU KNOW that it's extremely difficult for someone with ADHD to write when there's screaming vibrating the walls?
i mean i've read the last line i just typed 4x now,
OUTLOUD to comprehend it so i could think of what to write next.
but all i've heard are the words of agitation and hate  from the other room, ringing in my ears.
i've started up the music now.
it brings back memories of long nights in my car
listening to all these sad songs,
not realizing i'd been driving for an hour, in which direction??
it didn't really matter cuz any direction was better than the hell hole that had been breaking out at home.
whether towards downtown Salt Lake, Minnesota, kohlers, 
or that old playground where i learned my first swear
and where i had my first kiss.
i could go there....
it wouldn't take that long. 10.5 hours approximately.

i'd sit at the top of that rusted slide
run my hands on the chipping orange paint as i rush down, warming my finger tips because of the sun rays that fall through the trees high above.
feeling  the Santa Anna winds rush past my face
then landing hard in the gritty sand below, my toes disappear.
engulfed in the familiar feeling.

but what if i go back to that place and its not the same.
what if the playground is torn out
replaced by capitalistic housing,
and what if the ditch nearby was dried up where my sister made a fort for us under the bridge...
our solitude.
where we'd go to escape the yells and the shouts
and where we found a new pet turtle
and where i started my "rock" collection with a piece of glass i found in the flowing water.

but what if i did go to that town, today, 
and the ditch was dried up,
and the bridge was collapsed...
the place where those good memories live would officially not exist.
and those good memories would fade and break into small pieces,
and the only ones that would be left are the bad.

NO.
i cant go back.
the past is better left behind i suppose.
only to exist in those times of remembrance.
but the past is written on our faces.
on each bump and in the wrinkles on our noses.

so... on those long nights in my car listening to all those sad songs,
ill find out how to get back home. only an hour away. one hour from the silhouette house.
where the walls constantly vibrate the screams and yells,
and also sometimes, from the music blasting from my speakers to drown it out.

most nights, like tonight, i don't hide away in my car.
instead i stare down at my worn out tennis shoes that are stained and battered and i start to wish that my ears would stop ringing.
and that i wasn't alone in this cold basement.

: br/us/k

abrupt or offhand in speech or manner.

in this blog i can be myself, entirely. no matter what that implies. i have lots of opinions but depending who you are, i don't always express them well. while i was growing up i was taught to keep my mouth shut and be a peace maker, and not to get mad, and if you did something wrong it had to be fixed instantly. this has made it hard for me to get my mind out, and for people to understand what i'm feeling in my head. if we're good friends, i always make sure you get a piece of my mind.

IM A TEEN. and i act like one. most the time i'm respectful and kind but if you get on my nerves i get brusque. i do stupid things and i regret them later. reckless, wild, and free am i right? i don't really even know myself that well so don't go expecting to figure me out through this blog. cuz you won't. and then you'll be all disappointed probably. and nobody wants that.

family is a big part of my life. not always positive and not always negative. we all hate each other, and we would all die for each other.

i contradict myself a lot.
in general i'm an off person. but i seem the same as all.
                              doesn't everyone though?
                                               
                                               we're all just kids playing pretend with each other.