THE MOON WAS THE EARTH ALL ALONG

It takes something foreign to appreciate what you have and I have never really noticed the curl in my hair but its starting to look like my moms. 

Mom is tired. 

Weary mother, if you will. 

She gets dizzy just walking up the stairs and that physical nausea is relentless. 

Relentless things keep creeping in where no one wants them. 

I'm just saying that once I wore my brothers flannel around my waist and didn't do my hair but I caught him taking pictures of me and everyone said that I was beautiful. 

"Its whats on the inside that counts" but if thats true, why?

I think i'm going to write a book called Things You Won't Remember That You Said: and it will just be a splatter of my soul because aren't we made up of the things they say and the words we let through and let me be the first to tell you, I remember them all. 

The first page would read 

"You're so sweet" 

So would the second

"You're so sweet"

and the third

"You're so sweet" 

because thats how many times I heard it that night and how many times I believed you loved me. 

And I'm sitting here writing on top of my sunburned thighs  but I've been burned worse. 

By the best friend, the boy from the beginning, and the boy at the end and I'm still on fire. 

Have you ever been saved?

I don't mean "have you been saved by jesus" or when you're short a few cents and the cashier pays for you, I mean SAVED. 

               bottom of the line, 

               no hope, 

               no promise, 

               complete darkness

SAVED

I've been saved twice and ironically the second one undid the first-all the carefully spun safety nets were cut apart and the silver chain tossed into the abyss. 

I've been saved twice but neither of my heroes were wearing capes. 

There were plenty of masks though. 

I feel like I've memorized your features but is that who you really are? 

I don't really think I'm big blue eyes and a fat bottom lip so maybe the blues and the greens and those deep browns aren't the windows to the soul that the poets make them out to be. 

Speaking of your eyes I know you've looked at her the same way so how is that not a lie? How are feelings not the most sinister devils and our hearts the most conniving backstabbers.

I think I'm just trying to remember how to feel and I'm a little confused on whats okay. 

Is it breaking our agreement to replay that moment? If so, slap on the handcuffs because I am guilty. You caught me red handed with the blood of my heart and your mask is hiding your reaction so I wonder if blood makes you woozy. 

It takes something foreign to realize what we have but I've never had you and that's what I'm realizing.