Friday, November 14, 2014

just practice

hello from the trampoline we used to jump on. from the dried flowers on my desk. the sleeping pills in the trash. your stuffed bear in my arms. the early mornings. the dirty laundry.

i miss you from the driveway where you lingered. from ancient greek class wednesday nights. the chair i hang my bag on. your shirt on my shoulders. the happy days. the soft alarms.

come home soon from my house's welcome mat. from the colored haydn in my binder. the letters by my lamp. your things in a box. the hurt inside. the autumn grass. 

seaweed, ghost crabs; they don't care about makeup or deadlines,
but i'm learning.
not theory

but how to look at my hands
for four hours a day
and not see yours in them.

and how to breathe without
my lung
(i left it on a beach.)
(our beach, along with
you, my dear.)

interrupted facetimes
wooden buttons

and i'm talking about old uncertainties
and how much they don't matter.

there was never anything more quiet than dawn between trees.

and i'm trying to understand how your favorite place can be anywhere without me in it.

do you want to come over
and help me fall asleep?
i still can't seem
to breathe right.

it's been weeks but
i can't

please don't say it
say it. say everything.
i'd rather know
i'd rather not have something
to know.
words are better than hands
but i like your hands.

can i talk about your eyes?
smooth, like lava, and so bright
and so hot and so all over

and your mouth, so slow
so soft, like the sunrise
we woke under.
and desperate and wanting
like the storm
we didn't sleep through

and my bed's always been empty
but it's emptier now

barely beating hearts
are still beating.

hello from late evening phone calls.
i miss you from the stacks of stamps.
come home soon.

Tuesday, November 4, 2014

some things that are you; september 5 (aka i have literally no clue how to write anymore so here's an old draft enjoy)

red perfume
mint chapstick
all chapstick
usa tshirts
tribute bites of burgers
the purple stuff
black wallets
leggings with pockets
purple toothbrushes
every boy
really long hair
dark thin sweaters
giant teddy bears
sleepless nights
empty nights
polka dot socks
the pavane
stiff beadspreads
magnetic poetry
blue pillows
never-ending tears
no makeup mornings
tools in building 9
wide eyes
warm hands
constant comparison
bare feet
dogs that don't bark
conditioner healing
knots in my stomach
sad eyes
final nights
the fetal position
lip health
jumping on lovesacks
my smaller earrings
the rose pinned to the wall
mount timpanogas
whiteboard markers
tfios soundtrack, all
but mostly wait (m83)
and all i want
all i want
count down apps
mascara stains
can't-catch-my-breath hours
state street
motorcycle greetings
the walking dead
brown sandals
imagined snaps
warm beds
hormones for sure
g2 pilots
other pens on shirts
keys off lanyards
tool tanks lol
3am wake-ups
hearts out of chests
any red things
good black ties

Wednesday, August 13, 2014

translations and changes from then to now and how maybe they aren't lasting

find him sleeping in her words
tangled in her hair
breathing in her thread
muddled in her work
belonging on her page

the three that changed her
she'd let them again
but bitterness claws
its way out of her heart

one for the brightness
and for the discovery
the concept of happiness
is never a whole one

two for the silence
for the nots for
the burning

and she doesn't trust
but she still cries.

she hasn't cut her hair
but other things.
she's quieter now
less interested
something like subdued
abandoned well
deep and empty
and her thin fingers still
but her opal dusk eyes don't

i want you to ask me if
i am your fault if
you made me this way
i might not say yes
but i hope you'd care
to look hard at my face
and see the tear marks
and the anger and 
the Hardness and the blame
and know that to you
i will always lie.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

[too late for a high school post//sorry for that]

i'm too content to write anything gripping or heartbreaking or beautiful or even anything lovely or nice or sweet. i finally found something i like to eat for breakfast and i take a nap some days and i still practice the piano and drink a lot of crystal light and i guess nothing has changed since graduation because today i got an email about online health. (even we are still the same minus our excuses and i miss them all.)

Monday, July 21, 2014

sydni, introduced:

i want to talk about me. and poems and summer and you and pavanes. and snowcones and hammocks and couches and rocks. and headbands and yoga and milkshakes and stars. i like parallelism and mikell abernathy and the way trees look when i wear my glasses and my sage-colored blanket and that malt shop in provo.
the happiest things: my little sister. mugs. rain and sunshine mixed. naps. the prettiest things: my little sister. daisies.
my real favorite things.
x. harry potter (by the way today is the seventh anniversary of the seventh book's release and you bet i cried)
x. bath and body
x. relief society (this is not a joke)
x. gossip girl
x. monday emails
x. like crazy
x. grapefruit candies
x. piggy banks
x. crying
x. almond milk
x. subbing for the primary pianist
x. seth
x. unrequited love poem
x. masaman
x. opi nailpolish
x. the keyboard by my bed
x. swinging
x. dresses
x. state street grill
things i'm really going to miss.
x. alex
x. alex
x. alex
x. baths

Thursday, July 10, 2014

'you are best friends, after all'

subtitle you summed it up perfectly, sorry(notsorry) it's years long, of course it's you,
 two am at the kitchen table - so many notecards i remember because i read them in your voice - you once told me there was a really great pizza place in new york but never told me what it was - you ate my whole bagel sandwich in two bites - you always wore a hat after soccer games - and summer before sophomore year at a party at the top of cedar hills that turned into that party at the top of cedar hills - i finally know the dogs' names (took me forever) - i remember henry wadsworth longfellow and none of his poetry - you wore a green button up pinstriped shirt in eighth grade that's a weird thing to remember - going to mcdonalds for breakfast and i think it must've been after we went to attendance school, but mostly i just remember you were in my passenger seat - at first i could only find your house because of the rose bushes on the corner - soccer and football with my little brother who loves you so much - the snaps of you singing apologize you probably don't know your friend sent, and you say i've never heard you sing and if we were texting i'd add a wink there - walking to orange leaf in ninth grade - your phone call after registration. "i think we made a mistake -- we didn't plan our schedules together." i was in the hall behind the auditorium and my heart constricted a little and i shut my eyes and stopped walking, and it took you a term but you fixed our mistake (thank you.) - recycling at mountain ridge - and me and my "chastity cocoon" (yeah no.) - pirates of the carribean 4 and you sat in front of me and not next to me and i was less than thrilled. you asked and i gave that movie an 8/10 which was just not true, it was awful - the dream team (sorry i quit) - i don't remember our first facetime but i'm going to miss that for two years, and you - when harvard law was your background - your beat up blue sperry's next to my front door - and mandy moore lol - i remember your tears but i wouldn't be surprised if you denied them, "if we hadn't watched that stupid play" oh please - ken burns movies about electricity and the radio - you drew on my blue binder in mrs. rowe's seventh grade science class. you wrote your name in black pen that i never tried very hard to scrub off and everything is a metaphor - and that pen was probably mine because in all this time you've never kept track of a pencil. and you used to return mine all chewed on the ends but it became endearing by tenth grade - bowling, and i'm still just as bad at it by the way, but thanks for the lessons - how many mullets? - birrell and woolsey incessant in their questions for three whole years and the first time we were in the same room for it. and one of the later times sydney "the look on syd's face was priceless" and chambers "so was the look on his" - i remember your first kiss even though i didn't hear it from you, i'm not sure we were really friends then so - midnight pasta and how you always eat bread with pasta even though we only had the end of a wheat loaf - stepping on your foot (still embarrassed about that) - i have pandora stations that appeared on my account because i logged in with you - and finally speaking out loud "it fits. it took us til we were grown-a adults." which was some combination of so funny and perfect and maybe sad? - she was asleep on the couch at 3:30 am, and the trampoline a few hours earlier. - so many other 3:30 ams, arm over me with eyes closed shut, mind probably in that place mine sometimes goes where unspoken lines aren't lines anymore - i haven't closed your grooveshark and it's been searching for "pink houses" since may - like i looked for a way out until i realized that wasn't a solution, something i think you've known longer, but hey, you've always had math and i've only had words for paper that never come out quite right in the car - and i've loved all the years and feeling safe with you,

Friday, June 20, 2014

i'll be wearing sweaters and you'll be wearing sandals

maybe you won't be able to sleep your first night away from the phantom pulse of my lips on yours. maybe you'll double-take at a dark-haired girl you see. or a second. or a third, and it will hurt in your chest because you know it's not me. maybe you'll reach for my hand in the earliest dawn before your body understands the time difference, the tide difference (and how it pulled you away from me.) maybe you won't be able to try the best sushi on the island because you'll taste me in every drop of the soy sauce and grain of rice on your plate. maybe you'll text me when you land or send me a postcard from your dorm, or call me all of the days you're gone or maybe none of them. maybe you'll cry about our first week away and maybe i will, too.
but maybe, 

maybe i'll stay inside, lamenting my own tears and how only some are shed for you (and how they're mostly for missed opportunities and somewhat for fear.)

maybe i'll be fine by friday.  

Thursday, June 5, 2014

it's spun glass

he put my mom's vacuum together and kissed my forehead before he left for work.

i'm excellent at goodbyes but that doesn't mean they're not hard, and The Goodbye that should make me hurt more than any other ever has doesn't even scare me.

his mouth forming words makes my heart pick up speed, til we're stomping on real love and laughing at the future.

he slept over after the all-night party and i tried to stay next to him, but my heart wouldn't stop from the quick kiss goodnight, so i moved from our beanbag to the small, empty couch because i knew i'd never sleep with his heart so close to mine.

it's a problem, the lack of fear.

we made pancakes at noon and guys, he poured my orange juice. an hour later, he didn't have to ask if it meant we aren't cheap. but i knew i had to answer.

and there's a reason i have to try when i talk about the racing. a gardener can't be a painter. my skin still sings with the pulse of an artist but the portraits are tired, tired and alone. they've grown weary of the same brushes stroking over their flaws, and the flaws are sick of being ignored.

i'm sure i'll keep on covering. (because sometimes it feels like honesty and even i'm not sure what's real and what's not)

but now my dissolve cut clean the creamy strokes and exposed the old splatters beneath, and it somehow felt better than just okay.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

dear: sydni 16

keep walking, keep walking. no one looks if you walk fast enough and your hair blocks your face. just keep walking. 

but i know your eyes are SCREAMING and your heart says nothing, nothing, and all you want is to hear a little knock at the door, and you don't care who's doing the pounding. darling, i know how much you hurt when you fall out of bed every morning, and you say it was from scraping ice off your windshield, but you were frozen even in sleep. i know you froze in the spring, covered in your own flood of hardened Caring. i only want to tell you, i know, i know. all you needed was someone to understand.

this is about a box cutter, a safety pin, an earring, a knife. (plastic.) this is about under your bookshelf, where secrets stay hidden and the air reeks of copper. this is about a bracelet, the bed frame, a keychain, a knife. (steel.) this is about the hated glow on your left. this is about how comfortable the bathroom floor looks when blood is rushing away from your head and all you can think of is that you didn't know how beautiful the color red looked against porcelain. 

this is about nostalgic rust and how you'll always keep your flint next to your pillow. 

poor girl. you just don't know that it's easier to leave your senses untouched or that falling in love doesn't mean heartbreak. 

ps. i'm sorry about your feelings leaving. they'll come back soon. 

Sunday, May 11, 2014

i remember

i remember watching 500 days of summer four times in two days, half of those with wilson. i remember my first time babysitting past midnight; it was the night before seventh grade started and at first i was bitter they kept me out so late but they paid me so much money i got over it real quick. i remember halloween when i dressed like a fairy, i remember my eyelashes, too, and i remember borrowing scarlet carol's little sister's pillow case.

i remember getting hooked on mumford the moment i heard after the storm. i remember arranging a meeting with the guy selling concert tickets in a run-down gas station in salt lake. i'm still not convinced the tickets were real but i used mine anyway.

i remember my first kiss. (brandon robbins.)

i remember how hot tar felt on my feet (literal and not a metaphor). there's no way to remember the amount of people that said "now you know how joseph smith felt!" i remember the cute "congratulations" card rothko painted for me when we both made student council. i still have that by my mirror. also the toothbrush she gave me.

 i remember the melt-down with my mom when i decided i couldn't quit piano and in fact i was going to major in performance. i remember the first song i ever accompanied for lois, august sophomore year and my hands were shaking so hard i could barely play.

i remember the first time i cried about a mission call, the only time actually, and it wasn't even at the real opening. i remember mikell's perfect attendance award and all the mini candy bars she threw across the room at me whenever i fell asleep. i remember trevor powers singing the smiths and i said "i love the smiths" and it was totally the aforementioned movie and ps i think we could have been friends based solely on love for that show.

i remember my civil war group with jackie but i don't know if we did well on it or if we just made temporary friends for christmas break. i remember lola franklin sending me a song two years ago and it was so perfect i cried. i remember going to real (as in the team) soccer games and always wishing i sat in the riot which i know is ridiculous but still.

hi moon. i remember all these little things about you, and i have a long list of them in a draft and a longer one inside, but i'm not ready for you to read it yet, because those things are mine that i can't just give them away, not even to you. but just know i remember all the little things because that's all there ever were.

and to him:
i remember your wool hat and red sweatshirt in lincoln center where we met. i remember i wore pinstripes before our first date. i remember how much you loved ender's game. i remember black ice. i remember bean bag nights, my favorite nights, your favorite nights. i remember when we almost fell down the stairs. i remember eating kumquats and mangoes by my fireplace when my parents were in europe. i remember dancing. so much dancing. (but we've never danced in the refrigerator light so does it even count?) people honking at us because they thought we were cute, and also obnoxious. and i remember the bridge and more than one waterfall with you. i remember exactly when i started thinking i knew what "whole" meant. i remember the bus ride in brooklyn, and i almost don't want to remember the me before that. i remember touch. i remember you called my chacos cute, an utter lie. i remember thinking it was fate that on both plane rides you sat next to an empty seat for me to fill. (you're welcome daveni, you two actually sat closer than if you had taken that seat.) i remember tie shopping and running in to hayden and ashlyn all week long with you. i remember you trying to do that lady and the tramp thing (fail). i remember my first time hammocking with you. i remember having the most perfect week i've had in new york with you.with you.with you. i remember, with you.

Thursday, May 8, 2014

grey picture frames and slivers

years of science class, and i'm just now realizing it's only light for half the day. i'm exhausted from trying to lock cheap drapes.

i haven't been sleeping well at all.

Monday, May 5, 2014

the light at three a.m.

i'm sitting where i'll sit when you leave, by a tree you've never noticed on grass you may have set foot on, but not with me (so it shouldn't have anything to do with you but it does.) and i guess this is some sort of pathetic prequel to Absence instead of the cheered toast it ought to be, and normally i'm at my least selfish around you but that hasn't mattered much lately.

i've been thinking a lot about what it even means to move on and how maybe that's best.

but i have things with you i don't have with any other person, and ever since you read my words i only want to give you more.