I hate Ross Geller but this isn't about him, it's about what's next

I was watching Friends but I had to turn it off because I didn't want to miss anything

I didn't want to miss anything

But I missed a lot of school

I missed soccer games and baseball games because of practice

I promised my friends I would go to the next one

But I missed that too

I missed mission call openings and the Senior Dinner Dance

But I didn't miss my brother's wedding

I didn't miss the chance to kiss the boy who made me realize that kissing while slow dancing in the rain was way better than kissing in the backseat of a douchey and conceited Junior's car

I didn't miss speaking at seminary graduation

And I didn't miss the chance to hug my dad tonight

High school taught me that friends are great but they leave much too soon

And you can yell at your family, but they'll still be there in the morning

It taught me that being valedictorian was never what I wanted and I'm much more of an athlete than a nerd and that's okay too

It taught me how to keep secrets from everyone but my mom

That rap music and country and church music all make me happy in different ways

It taught me that I deserve much better than a boy who expects me to keep our kisses a secret 

And that love is a four letter word I can't pronounce

I learned that I may not know how to pronounce it but love is something I do too deeply

I learned that I care more about kids and animals than I care to admit

That cutting in line in traffic is something that makes me feel really bad because Abby told me how much it bugs her

I learned that I care a whole lot more about other people's feelings than my own

I look in the mirror and I see someone so much stronger than I did at the beginning of sophomore year

I don't shy away from raising my hand to ask questions I want to know the answer to

I have a lot to say and I'm not afraid to say it anymore

I'm not afraid of confrontation and talking on the phone is no longer my biggest fear

I'm not afraid of commitment and I know I'm not a quitter

I found myself

After living in fear of judgment for so long I finally learned that I'm my own biggest judge

my name is Emma Victoria Fruehan and it took me all this time to realize that I'm not afraid of anything but the unknown

and even that is a stretch

because the unknown is beautiful and it's the thing we step into on Thursday at 12;30 pm

and I'll probably cry but not because I'll miss high school or all the kids I never really talked to

I'll cry because I've mastered it

I learned how to miss the maximum amount of school without ever worrying about attendance school

I know every hallway and which streets to avoid in the morning if I'm running late

I know the teachers and how to get an A without any effort at all

This place has been my home for three years and this week we get evicted

I guess it's time to greet the unknown with strong open arms

I'm hoping for a warm embrace

For Isaac

I made you a mixtape and then I got assigned your blog and I think it's fate because I used to have a crush on you
All the girls in the neighborhood did actually and I don't know if you knew or not but your name got brought up quite a bit at summer sleepovers when we were naming who we liked in the ward.
(Please disregard this because we were like 12 and I shouldn't be held accountable for anything I did at that age)

Anyway... I feel like anything I write to you or for you would be inadequate
Your words surpass mine by a longshot and maybe it's because I don't have such a broad vocabulary as you do

Each post makes me wonder about the person behind the pronoun
Because you have to be writing about someone

For the longest time, your writing intimidated me
And it must be because I get lost in the metaphors and the uncommon words tested my intelligence, but your words are beautiful and deserve much more praise

The post I gravitated most towards was entitled Raw and the emotion I could feel as I read it could only be described as just that- raw.


A few favorite lines:

"I guess my clothes are more sorry than I am
After all they speak louder than I do"

"Our hands forming their own opinions"

"Love and leave now synonymous"

"Because maybe some of them are still lonely
Because even death isn't the cure-all we hoped it was"

"And I'm beginning to wonder if it's the person or their feelings that are fake"

"I hate you because that's easy"

"I named it nostalgia
And it smells like my dad"

"But to me, cheeks are the most loving
Cause they catch all the tears of sadness"

"Mixed taped and outerwear are no indicator of identity"



Thank you for sharing your words, Isaac. Thank you for allowing us the privilege of reading them.

Burning eyelids

Head down.

Eyes closed.

Sleeping with an awake mind.
Sleeping, but only to the point where I can still hear what's going on around me.

I've been sleeping for the better part of the past month and I don't think I'll be very awake until May 28th.

I really haven't been trying to miss class.
I haven't been trying to miss my brother either, but he's 5,099 miles away and I can't help it.
I can't help it.

At this point I'm scared of waking up.

I don't fit into Creative Writing 2 and I'm anything but creatively advanced.
I haven't been inspired lately and I've run out of things to say.

I've run out of boys to kiss and tell about.
I've run out of sob stories.
Of rants.
Of poems I don't even understand the meaning of.
I've run out of self-love and I think my writing ability went with it.

The sunny days are burning my skin and making my heart burn for something new.
Something to wake me up.
To remind me why I need to figure out my future.
To remind me that I have a future outside of high school love and high school hate.

I need something to wake me up.
Because the alarm clock ringing in my ears has blended into the white noise that teen angst has embedded in my ear drums.

I stopped paying attention.

Until now.

Chronic

I think this is the first doctors appointment I'm excited about
I finally get to rip these stupid tonsils out and end the chronic pain
But to me it's not chronic
I stopped noticing how much it hurt to swallow
Because it hurts a whole lot more to watch my friends go through things I don't know how to help them with
It hurts more to fall in unreciprocated love
It hurts more to see my best friend cry
It hurts

Illness is nothing compared to heartbreak
And I would take tonsillitis over and over again if it meant I could end everyone else's pain

Your pain has always cut me deeper than my own
These tears were never for me

Happy Valley

I didn't show up to school the next day

I told my mom I was sick

But I think we're all sick with something

Everyone was grieving and I was at home in yoga pants watching Keeping Up with the Kardashians

For some reason their stupid dramatic lives helped me escape for a few hours and all I felt was fake

Fake

Fake

Fake

And that felt better than facing the halls of students trying not to cry

Because we're all sick with something

Someone, please find a cure

There are a bunch of suggested remedies out there, but we've yet to find one that's a cure-all

We need a cure-all

Because I don't think happy valley can handle so much sadness

They'll have to rename it

Someone, please find a cure

speak now or forever hold your peace

if you don't say it now, they wont hear you

they've got things to do and places to be and they've never needed your hand in theirs

you're just a person

a person who doesn't have a place to be or a thing to do

you spend so much damn time following other people that you don't even know why you carry around maps

but somewhere near the end of may you'll be alone without a footstep to follow and you'll be thankful for the maps in your hand

you drew them for 12 years because they told you to and the early ones are covered in crayon and the more recent ones are done in black ink

you'll need all of them combined to get you anywhere

and at some point you'll look up from the maps you drew and realize the world isn't as flat as it looks on paper and people aren't as mean as they seem in movies and someone's gonna love you in a way that Nicholas Sparks could never tell in 300 pages

but you won't see it unless you look up

and they won't hear what you have to say unless you speak up

fire insurance not included

I could write a novel about the reason that goodbye was the wrong choice

But I get it

I knew that sparks weren't enough to keep the fire lit

We needed lighter fluid or flint and steel or just a better stack of firewood

BUT I WASN'T PAYING ATTENTION WHEN WE BUILT FIRES AT GIRLS CAMP

I think I was in my cabin screaming because there was a mouse

But shouldn't boys have an innate ability to build fires?

I guess if my plan was to leave it to you then I have no chance at staying warm through the night

Because you weren't prepared, boyscout, and you let me down

But I get it

I knew that learning how to be happy on my own would be good for me and I've proved myself right this time

I'll go back to life without you and I'll forget about the fire you started in my fingertips

It singed my hair and the smell made me sick but I forgot because your eyes were a perfect shade of blue 

The kind of blue that reminds me of Mondays in June

The kind that meant sunburns and open windows in the nighttime and dropped snowcones left to melt

Your smell worked it's way through the fibers of my clothes and it's gonna take more than a rinse cycle to get rid of it

And you smell like campfire and disappointment and every shooting star that just turned out to be a cruel piece of burning rock for little girls to waste their breath on at night

And this time I was a little girl with the naive notion that wishes on stars actually make it past the panes of my window

I just don't remember wishing for blue eyes to break my heart

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.