It's time

I guess it's time.

I've hidden behind a dark silhouette for long enough.
A silhouette of a girl with a much better nose than me and I realize it's stupid, but I resent it.

And I hate goodbyes.
but this won't be one
because I'm not interested in doing things I don't like if I don't have to.

I'll be honest and say that before this year, writing wasn't my escape, but rather my prison.
And my only inspiration came from old, dusty books from the history section of the library because I was never inspired to write, I just needed an A.

So thank you, Nelson.
You showed me a Paris filled with laughter ending in tears, late nights filled with words that only ever made it to the drafts file, and a place that I never want to leave.

So I'm not leaving.

I'll stay here with my trust issues that stemmed from daddy issues, random music taste that ranges from hard core rap that swears every other word to country (why do people hate on country?), obnoxious laugh that seems to present itself in the most inappropriate of times, and my strange personality that usually sends boys running for the hills. (And I've never been much of a runner so I never chase after them.)

Here's to the first semester of my last year of high school.

Actually, here's to creative writing for showing me more of myself than a close-up mirror ever could.

Thanks for coming on this ride of self-discovery.

A ride that ended in Paris.

xoxo

Emma Fruehan

tear-stained memories

I remember the address of my last house

the phone number

the neighbors

the way I loved the smell of the new carpet in the basement

the day my dad moved out

crying when my mom took the paintings off the walls

not getting to say goodbye to a ten year chapter of my life

I remember breaking into tears as I walked to his car

how I was all ready to go

how I told him I just couldn't do it

not being ready to face it

I remember how embarrassed I was of that car

looking away as I passed people I knew while driving it

the way the driver side window wouldn't roll back up

the musty smell of the twenty two year old carpet

the chipped paint

the rust

the dents

how I called it Phyllis

crying when I had to say goodbye to it

I remember October 8th

hugging you tighter than I ever have

wishing we had more time

resenting Salt Lake City airport for every goodbye

I remember to count the tears

because I'll give them to someone one day

in the form of my heart

Time bomb

It's never too late to experience who we are

But we're running out of time

Even never has its limits

This is for you

this is for the poets who speak more truth than pastors 

and the kids who go home for lunch because no one sees them

for the girls basing their self worth on instagram comments

and the boys that don't feel

this is for the mothers who sit up worrying all night

and the fathers who sleep soundly right beside them

the sons who will never live up to their parents expectations

and the daughters who don't even love themselves

this is for the lovers who wait until 2 am 

and the dreamers that sleep all day and paint pictures every night that no one will ever see

the stoners that hit rock bottom months ago but were too high to feel it

and the loners that don't know what it's like to have warm hands

this is for you

this is for every time you've felt useless

hopeless

worthless

this is to tell you've i've been there

i've sat on that same spot on the bathroom floor and thank goodness it was tile or else my tears would have stained it

i've looked in mirrors covered in hate

and stared at the ceiling trying to remember how to smile

i've been there

so this is to remind you that every bad day is just as long as the rest of them

that scar tissue is stronger than what was there before

and you'll be okay

you'll be okay

Dull knives

You don't have to lie and say you like it to save my feelings because all I ever asked for was the kind of brutal honesty that changes the filter on my pupils and makes the whites of my eyes sting the way they did when I got pink eye in the third grade.

But you're afraid to write down how you feel because maybe then I'll hold you accountable for the words shaped like dull kitchen knives that were aimed at my murmuring heart.

Your tongue is tattooed with the lies you tell yourself and I've never liked the taste of ink.

Ink is meant for paper and lies are meant to be whispered into pierced ears that don't know any better.

So here I am, sitting in an empty hall begging the swelling in my eyes to go down and the saltwater on my favorite t-shirt to dry before the bell rings and releases 2000 faces I've never cared about.

Because you were always the one I looked for in the crowd.

But you weren't like them. 

You had color in your cheeks and a reason. 

You didn't care that no one cared as long as I did and I told you I'd never stop.

But your cheeks are just as cold as the rest of them and that fire behind your words went out with that chilly November wind.

So here's to painting with the grain and moving with the masses because originality died with you.

And it didn't leave a legacy.

Adolescent fog

My judgment has been a little clouded lately but I think that's probably a 17 thing.

And I can't find the answer in the back of the textbook no matter how hard I look.

17's an odd number so why isn't it there?

I keep trying to write essays that explain my life in 250 words or less. But how do they expect me to do that? That would take approximately 12 conversations until the cold hours of the morning where honesty is easier and words flow like rivers.

The world is prettier covered in a thin layer of mist.

Until the mist turns to fog and you're trying to move through it.

Now I'm stuck in the fog between childhood and adulthood and my vision isn't improving with age.

I'm too far in and everyone is so far out of range that not even the animals can hear my desperate cries for help.

Someone tell me what to do.

             

                                   Where to go.

                              

                                                  Who to be.

12 year old me wouldn't be proud of the lost and confused person I've become. 

Sorry I guess 17 isn't what I thought it would be.

I thought I had more potential than this.

Guess not.

You

I live for long drives with music that feels like a memory
And long nights talking to you about life and love and us because I won't be the first to say goodbye.

I live for people who smile back in the halls.
And smiling so hard that my cheeks start burning, but I don't notice because of the light in your eyes.

I live for sushi and cold sprite.
And not being embarrassed to eat in front of you.

I live for sweaty palms and fuzzy socks.
And forgetting to check my phone because you're more interesting than any text I could ever get.

I live for chipped fingernails and clocks that don't have numbers.
And fighting over important things like college and where we'll live when we're older.

I live for loving you even when you tell me I'm better off without you.

Because I know I'm not.

With Heavy Hearts

I don't know death personally. Not like most of you do. 

I've been to a few funerals but only cried at one. Stage 4 brain cancer. I sat in the back and tears stained my cheeks.

And tears stained my cheeks again today. I didn't know him. I wish I had been able to be a friend to him. I wish I could have been the person that changed his mind. But our paths never crossed.

The hard fact is that our paths weren't destined to cross. They would've gotten tangled and screwed up some perfectly chiseled plan. But oh I wish they had been tangled.

I wish. 

I wish.

We all wish. We wish we could have done more. 

You can't blame yourself. 

Lone Peak always comes together when these things happen, but it takes about 2 days for us to fall apart. Let's not fall apart again. 

Rest in peace.

Circulation

I don't like running, but the chase is the only thing I want with you

Make me miss you
Make me want you
Flirt with other girls in front of me, pretend you didn't see me noticing
Text me one day, ignore me the next
Kiss me, but not too hard

Wait.
You're showing too much interest
You're texting me too much
Stop feeling so much

Give me a chance to catch up

Tonight you told me to kiss you like I meant it
I think I stopped meaning it
Your lips aren't as soft anymore

My 11:11 wish changed tonight
It isn't you anymore and I'm sorry

You pulled me closer and my muscles automatically pulled away as if you stopped running through my veins, telling my blood to boil and my skin to crawl at the very sight of you
It used to

Dammit, love.
I wanted this.

I really did.

You wrapped yourself around my finger too tight
And I guess now would be a good time to tell you I'm claustrophobic

the chains that keep me here

I fear birthdays. I cry every year.

I fear that I'll never get married. I don't possess the strength to trust someone that much. 

He could leave me.

He could find someone better.

He could see me the way I see myself.

I know he'd walk away if he saw that.

I fear that if I died today, no one would know what to say at my funeral.

That no one would care.

That no one would cry.

I fear that I'll settle. That I'll sell myself short. That I'll never reach my potential.

I fear motorcycles. I replay that day in my mind all the time and flying through the air isn't as fun when you don't know if you'll be awake when you hit the ground. 

I fear pavement that isn't so forgiving.

I fear every text you send and every call that I ignore.

I fear what you'd have to say if I picked up.

I fear what your mom thinks of me and how I can never form a coherent sentence when she asks about my plans.

I fear that I don't have plans yet.

I fear what goes on when I close my eyes because my first instinct is always to flinch. 

I fear death and I fear dying before I have a chance to live. High school is a coma that some people never wake up from. I fear that I'll be one of them.

I fear what your eyes will make me do. That I'll believe those apologies that only came because I called you out. 

I fear that my smile will never be real again. I fear that you can tell it's fake. 

And if you can, please don't tell anyone.

They can't know that I forgot what it was like to be happy.

Striking matches

I want you to know that it hurts to watch you cover yourself in gasoline and light that stupid match that I tried to hide on the top shelf of the pantry. But you pushed a chair up and felt around for it with your stubby little fingers and now you're on fire and I can feel the heat from where I stand. I know you think the flames are pretty but they aren't as pretty from my point of view. Not with the charred flesh dancing through them. 

The drugs made you numb to this stuff but doesn't it hurt? Don't you feel ANYTHING? 

I warned you. I told you she was toxic back in April. But those April showers washed away your doubts and those flowers in May seemed just as good to you in black and white.

I knew she'd make you colorblind.

She's got a big, beautiful ring on her finger that matches the chains on your ankles but her kisses make the metal lighter and you still haven't noticed that she threw away the key.

Her mood changes but you blame it on hormones. She's got a whole hell of a lot of hormones. It's not her fault. It's the hormones.

You stopped being you the moment you slid that ring on her finger. 

Now I'm begging you to come back. I miss our lame Saturday nights on my couch watching R rated movies.

I want the old you, not the one covered in flames.

There's a reason I never stood too close to fire.

The dirt that the broom missed

I sat in the corner of the elevator with my head between my knees wishing I would've taken the stairs so I'd have more time to think about what I'd do at the top. But 38 floors was a long way up and I wish I wasn't always in a hurry.

I probably won't ever get on the back of a motorcycle again because I still have scars from the last time I did. And neither of us were wearing helmets.

The problem with falling in love is that when you fall you eventually hit the ground. And no one promised that it would be a soft landing. So I never jumped. 

I've never broken a bone and I don't plan on tarnishing my perfect record falling for you.

You told me to stop being so reserved but I don't trust you when you say you care about me. Because I thought he did Sophomore year and all that got me was numbness without tears and a heart with too much scar tissue.

And I don't think I want to feel everything that love is supposed to bring if there's any chance that I won't get to have it forever because forever passed it's expiration date the day I turned 17.

I'm standing on a ledge here and the only thing holding me is the thought of how much it will hurt after the falling takes my breath away, but you already stole my breath and you didn't even have to push me.

I blame you every time my lungs forget how to do what God put them in my chest to do. 

I guess I shouldn't judge them though because God put me here and I forgot too.

Someone remind me why I haven't jumped yet. 

I think I might soon.

Pinky swear

I won't be everything you've always wanted.

I won't sing on key.

I probably won't be your parents favorite.

And our wedding pictures won't look that great because I've never been photogenic.

I won't be a good mom because I watched a one year old little boy climb up on a table at church today and proceed to fall right off the side and I couldn't hold back the laughter.

I won't always be happy. 

I'm not all that funny but I'm really good at laughing at myself.

I will be there for you in the middle of the night if you need me.

If there's one thing I'm good at it's accepting people for everything they will never be.

I will pay attention to the little things because the small stuff is important to me.

I will hug you until you aren't broken anymore.

I will watch sports with you just to watch the passion in your face and laugh at you while you yell at the TV.

I will always ask you what's wrong and wait until you stop saying nothing.

I will forgive you when you hurt me because I never learned how to hold a grudge.

I will love you with everything I am. Divorce is a huge part of my past but I won't let it dictate my future.

How to be ok

1. Tell yourself that pain is temporary

2. Cry a whole freaking lot

3. Read your journal from 7th grade because all those problems you wrote about will seem insignificant now and it will make you laugh at how naive you were back then

4. Lay on the floor of your bedroom and stare at the ceiling

5. Simultaneously listen to sad songs because they said it better

6. Scream into a pillow. I know, it's cliche but it's necessary

7. Stay away from the fridge and pantry because you don't want to be sad and chubby

8. Mow the lawn as fast as the mower will go. This sounds really weird but I do it and it totally makes me feel better

9. Go workout. Something about sweat, man. It's better than tears

10. Take a shower and talk it over with yourself. No one else really cares about it as much as you do

11. Go on a drive

12. Pull over when the tears interfere with your ability to see the road

13. Turn off the music and stare at the sky. The sky is still there. The sky will be there tomorrow, but your problem can stay in today. Your problem doesn't have to exist tomorrow

14. Go to sleep

15. Make yourself look good and go back to the regular routine. I promise the numbness will stop eating at your fingers like frostbite eventually. Give yourself a little more time to warm up

Maybe..

Maybe someday I'll get over the fact that I let you steal my first kiss like you did. But for some reason I liked it and I let you and now I wish I would've waited for someone who gave a shit about me, but I guess that's the problem with closing your eyes.

Maybe I'll get asked to Senior prom, but right now I'm more worried about figuring out what we're doing for Sadie's because that's in two days and we still haven't ironed out the details. Spontaneity is fun, right?

Maybe one day I'll be able to keep a best friend because I've spent forever trying to find one who I can stay close with for more than 6 months without wanting to rip their hair out and having to start my search over again. I guess I've never been good at long-term anything.

Maybe I'll forget how you kissed me like you meant it. As if I even know what that means. But now you're leaving for two years and I'm proud of the person you've become. I'm just sad that I wasn't a part of helping you get there. I'm sorry I broke up with you over the phone. You didn't deserve that and I didn't deserve you.

Maybe college won't be as bad as I'm anticipating, but I'm planning for the worst. I probably won't know what I want to do with my life by the end of it, but I'm holding out for someone to tell me.

Maybe I'll become a workaholic to avoid getting married because I'm afraid of saying "I love you." And I realized I was in love with him after my fears called him up and told him I wasn't ready, I wasn't old enough, it wasn't right, it wasn't him, it was me, we could still be friends. Or maybe it wasn't love. Maybe it was regret and I was just trying to find a reason why I stayed with him for so long. I'll never find out and I think the unknown is what I fear the most.

Maybe I'll stop resenting Tuesdays.

Maybe you'll stop blaming Disneyland. How could you hate the happiest place on earth?

Maybe I'll move to Seattle where it's rainy so I  never have to choose between yes or no because the gray area is where I intend to make a home.

Maybe you'll take me to Southern California where I left my heart because I never told you, but you know exactly where to find it.

Maybe I'll stop saying maybe because there's so much that can go wrong with maybe.

Puppet strings and credit cards

They say they're different. They say they won't hurt you. We've heard it all before. Those pretty faces with the empty promises.

But some of their faces aren't pretty.

Watching from the sidelines and from the windows with the bullet holes.

The windows that were supposed to be bullet proof, that failed product testing, but somehow still ended up in your front room.

Different. 

Yeah.

Your parents kissed your forehead and handed you the keys to that brand new car and slid that loaded credit card across the counter. They might as well have handed you a loaded gun. They didn't know they were facilitating your addiction to drugs that you hid beneath your athleticism.

And for some reason I didn't see your bloodshot eyes either.

So naive.

And that night was supposed to be the start of something, not the end. I was supposed to mean more to you. You said I did. And I trusted you.

For some reason I get the feeling that I've never been a very good judge of character.

Different.

You connected all the strings and painted my face and oiled my joints so go ahead and make me dance, puppet-master. Just don't break me.

I don't think I can be fixed if I get broken one more time.

I swore I was stronger than this, but my stupid little heart keeps telling me to believe you when you say that you're different.

My stupid little heart fell for your shit, but I sure as hell won't.

Rant ant nt t

I got told the other day that one of my good friends used to avoid hanging out with me because "I was always too happy." And now I'm kind of sad-laughing at that because I'm not always happy and I also can't believe that I ever called him a friend. So here is a list of things that I don't like because apparently my happiness is annoying to the general population.

• Pumpkin spice lattes. They taste like shit. Sorry.
• Cute relationships. Mostly because I'm bitter and I'm still trying to convince myself that single life is better, but I guess I don't know anything other than single.
• Disrespect for religion. I don't care if you don't agree with my views, I'll respect you and what you believe if you respect me.
• Ugg boots. I could buy 5 pairs of shoes for the price of one pair of ugg boots and that is absolutely outrageous.
• People who wear fake glasses.
• Bad drivers. 
• The kids taking AP Calc that keep complaining about it. I'd give anything to have Mr. Smith as my math teacher again.
• The fact that I can't keep my own secrets. My life is an open book and I'm starting to realize that fake friends are everywhere, not just behind my back.
• How ungrateful I am.
• Ceramics. 
• Feeling inadequate. It happens way more often than it should.
• Texting. I'd rather hear you laugh out loud than get "lol" in a text message.
• Telling people how I feel. I think I feel too much.
• The commons. I don't fit in there and I never will.
• Crying. 
• Babysitting. I get that girls are supposed to like it and all, but I don't.
• Lipgloss.
• Being anonymous. I feel too safe behind this mask and my face will sting when I finally have to take it off.
• Tattletales. I just want to sneak out and do hoodrat stuff with my friends. Stop making it a big deal.
• People who get cheated on and don't have enough respect for themselves to end the relationship.
• Love. It's not real. And I hope, someday, that someone proves me wrong.

20 years

20 years wasn't enough to keep them together. Maybe that's the reason I will forever be afraid of commitment. How do you wake up one day and decide that your significant other isn't all that significant anymore?

You did though. And you've been begging for my forgiveness ever since. I'd like to believe that somewhere along the way I did finally forgive you, but it's been four years and I still get mad about it sometimes.

I think my anger is justified. Because you've been trying to justify what you did ever since then and you made up lies and started to believe them yourself.

So no. I'll probably never get along with my stepmom. You probably think I'm a brat for not giving her a chance, but in my eyes she doesn't exactly deserve one.

And I realize her 6 kids had nothing to do with it, but they bug me too. Maybe it's because all their names start with the same letter and that makes me want to vomit. Or maybe it's because I met them the week of the wedding. The wedding that I never showed up to because it was too much for me to handle.

I thought I might regret not going to your wedding someday, but that regret still hasn't come. And you say I'll regret not spending time with you while I can and I probably will, but not quite yet.

The guilt-trips and the pathetic tears have no effect on me anymore so you might as well save your breath,

I can't explain why, after four years, I still cry about it sometimes and wonder how something like that could happen to my seemingly perfect family.

I guess it was only ever perfect from the outside.

Slow suffocation

It's safe to say that you're killing me

Every touch, every glance my way places another brick on my chest

I thought that was a form of torture, but here I am, falling in love with the pressure

The space between us on the couch was okay because at least you were sitting next to me

Then you scooted closer

And I was definitely more okay

My lungs are screaming and these bricks are getting heavier

I'll get used to it soon enough

And you don't ever need to let go or let up 

Because my lungs will grow stronger

And my heart is more fond of you than it is of pumping blood

I knew that letting you into my life would be dangerous 

And oh was I right.

Can you use it in a sentence, please?

Spell it out.

L-O-V-E

You can't have my heart; it's not mine to give.

That iron-y taste in my mouth isn't love it's blood. Love kissed my elbow when I tripped on the crack in the cement, but love wasn't the pretty boy who kissed my lips. Love told me I was beautiful, lust told me I was 'hot.'

Love was laying on the grass next to my first puppy watching it sleep. Love was screaming at my best friend and then trying to drive away from her house as the tears clouded my vision. Love was stealing his sweatshirt and stealing glances in his direction.

People say love hurts, but in reality the absence of love is what stings their eyes and makes their body go numb.

Love is perfect, but the people who experience it make it messy.

I don't know passionate, breathless love, but I have the constant, unconditional love of a mother and that's enough for me for now.

Love walked me to my car in the dark and held me in it's arms when I didn't have the strength to stand on my own. It reminded me that high school isn't everything and popularity won't matter after graduation. Love wasn't the one who made the promises you didn't keep. You did that. It wasn't love's fault.

Love is mine. Love is yours.

Love loves company so let's make it ours.

Re:

Rereading those texts from a month ago and seeing where the heart eye emojis turned into one word answers and Read 8:33pm

Replaying that song you screamed at the top of your lungs while he held your hand in the car on those Sunday night drives up the canyon

Realizing that he no longer jogs to give you a hug when he sees you in the hall and he doesn't ask what's wrong when he can tell you're not yourself

Recognizing that you don't catch him smiling at you while you're ranting about something that pissed you off

Resisting when your friends tell you to "move on, he isn't worth it," when you know he is absolutely worth it to you

Rebelling against whatever triggers tears because crying in front of him is too pathetic

Reaching for his hand one last time and watching him shake his head and walk away

Mediocrity is pretty

In elementary school I was the smart one. I knew way more math than the average sixth grader because I grew up with my dad telling me I was his "little genius" and I liked that so I ran with it.

I did everything I could to live up to who he thought I was.

I won a contest in second grade for handwriting. Who cares about handwriting? You would be lucky if you could read my scribbles now. High school doesn't care so why should I?

I won the spelling bee in middle school. That was probably the highlight of my life and isn't that a disappointment?

I won math competitions that I would do on Saturdays. But those trophies are hidden in my closet collecting dust behind the sports ribbons that people actually care about. 

People didn't care that I was smart. I was a little chubby and had braces and didn't know how to do my hair and that's how people saw me.

No one likes the smart kid. 

So I stopped being the smart kid. On the second day of Junior year I decided to call it quits. I dropped all my hard classes. I took normal ones with my friends because friends are more important than what college I end up at, right?

No one knew me as the smart math girl anymore and my dad moved out when I was in 8th grade and took his "little genius" with him.

So I guess that leaves me:

Mediocre at best.

And no one remembers mediocre.

Pulse

My cheeks get red in the cold.

I'm afraid of the dark.

I bruise really easily.

I still need my mom when I get sick.

My heart speeds up when I get up in front of crowds of people.

I cried when my parents sat me and my siblings down to tell us they were getting divorced.

The hairs on my arms stand up and I get goosebumps when I hear a good song.

I procrastinate everything.

I hesitate to trust people because I've been burned too many times to count.

My best friends aren't the ones I know I can rely on all the time.

I'd eat Chick Fil A over a fancy restaurant any day.

I have hands that need to be held and a heart that longs to be broken to feel something. 

                                                                             

                                                                                              Anything.

I like the cold side of the pillow.

I 

    Am

               Human.

Frenemies

I have a love-hate relationship with words. 

They too often escape me and abandon me in times of desperation. They leave me when I stand in front of crowds, in heated arguments, and when my crush talks to me in the hallway. 

They are there late at night when everyone has gone to sleep, but slip away when I try to explain to my parents why my car was gone in the middle of the night and I was no where to be found.

They are there when I rehearse what I'll say to that friend that hurts me continuously and never apologizes, but leave as soon as I open my mouth to tell her how I feel.

Words aren't on my side but I guess people aren't either.

You might as well paint "adult" across my forehead

The view was amazing. At the top I had juice boxes and nap time and the word "responsibility" held no meaning. I was happy.

Then one day something sent me plummeting to my death. But it wasn't really death, it was reality. And those might as well be the same thing.

I still can't figure out what it was that did it or when it happened, but I got exiled from paradise.

Maybe it was the person who canceled recess after the sixth grade.

Or maybe it was Jamie Lynn Spears' kid who is the reason Zoey 101 ceased to exist.

Maybe it was Disney Channel when they decided to stop making the good shows like That's so Raven and Lizzie McGuire.

Or maybe it was the day I got a phone and traded in face to face communication with 

Hey

Hey

Sup

Not much, you?

Nothing. Who do you like?

Maybe it was my first kiss because after that I was never the same.

Maybe it was when I traded in crayons and coloring books for pens and textbooks.

Maybe it was my first broken heart because you can never really fix something that's broken. 

Or maybe it was the day I realized that this is my last year at home before I have to grow up and decide who I am in this world. If it hasn't already been decided for me...

Regardless, I've lost paradise and it doesn't miss me like I miss it.

introductions

i hide behind words that i've rehearsed in my head over and over so i don't stumble when i'm asked to speak

i joined sports so i wouldn't get called fat anymore

the extent of my creativity is copying the ideas of others and tweaking small things to make it my own

dairy gives me a stomachache but that doesn't keep me from eating ice cream when i'm lonely

i strive to be original

sometimes i imagine myself getting t-boned in the middle of an intersection because scaring myself is one thing i'm really good at

i've never been stellar at this whole english thing even though i 've spoken it my whole life 

i love a lot of things but i've never been in love

i feel the need to be in control at all times but life has this funny way of ejecting me from the driver's seat

i fall too hard, too fast, for the wrong person and the scrapes and bruises i accumulate on the way down don't make me a better person, they just make me bitter

i'm not interested in anything but deep, let-me-see-your-soul types of conversation

i used to think everything would be okay but i'm indecisive so maybe it won't

i constantly wonder how people have the willpower to choose a salad over donuts or pizza dripping with regret

i don't ever regret eating another slice of pizza

my thoughts frighten me

i fear the day when my body will fail me and my face will become that wrinkled shirt in the bottom of the hamper

i forgive others because i can't forgive myself

i am lonely but alone has become my shelter from the storm

i guess you knew me when you said you loved me but how could you know me if i don't even know myself