Just a girl and a boy and a one way ticket

He was a teacher and I was a listener and I think he helped me see why I needed a god but more so why I needed him 

He was clumsy but I was still the one falling and when he showed me there was more to life then minimum wage jobs and Bologna sandwiches I never wanted to go back 

Hug me tighter kiss me longer and show me not every man will leave 

He put a ring on my finger and made me feel like I could be something more then my mothers daughter 

We blossomed 

But too deep in I realized my roots were his roots and I had none to grow on my own 

So I watered myself in self pity and alchohol only to wake every morning wishing I’d never wake again 

No dignity left, just a pale blue soul and good intentions 

Hug me tighter kiss me longer and show me  not every man will leave 

And he stayed 

aRt

Shoot for the moon darling (live blog)

Someone once told me if I looked up at the stars close enough I could see the face of god

I started painting solar systems on the backs of hands caught shooting stars instead of butterflies, and counted sheep at night with Neptune

I graduated from rocking chairs to rocket ships from Skechers to moon boots and preferred rings of Saturn over cherios for cereal in the morning

I played hide and go seek with the moon and learned to tie my shoes along side Jupiter telling secrets to the sun are sharing my favorite after school snacks with mars

I knew an absent father and a drinks too much mother would call for a lot of talks with god

this way if I built my life in space I wouldn’t end up with neck problems

Love letter from a gummy worm to a sour gummy worm

I’ve always had a thing for bad boys

but they told me I was meant for a sweeter life

They say you’d make my eyes water and my mouth feel raw

But I see right though your sour face

and I ‘m confident it won’t last long

I know one taste of you would send my sweet side out the door

and I’d like to think one taste of me

would leave you wanting

more

I may seem plain and I don’t hook people quite like you

but I can promise I’m sweet all the all through

and I’ll go though as much sour as it takes

to pull the sweet out of

you.

Because I’m still scared of sharing in front of the class

Hopefully knowing you’ve all seen this will give me a little more confidence to share something less embarrassing in person 

yours truly 

– bailey walker  

Scratch paper veins

It was somewhere between my first and my last day of school that I discovered the veins in my wrist weren’t for playing hop scotch

That the color blue didn’t always mean sad

and sometimes when my wrists turned red it wasn’t a sign of weakness.

but only when it came as a last resort
It seems we lost ourselves in the midst of playing hide and go seek

when instead of being found we turned all of our flaws into metaphors and sang songs that only made sense when we were dancing

Or pretending we knew how to dance
Because maybe if we pretend for long enough we’d learn

And that’s when we’d finally be free

and I wouldn’t have to keep cutting the strings on my wrist loose like ropes

because I won’t be tied down by my own insecurities

But that’s unrealistic

I’ve never been good at pretending

And no matter how hard I dance the songs never make sense

They say It’s all about fitting in and I’ve always fit in small spaces but I never pick the ones that people like

They say it’s all about standing out and I’m different then them but not the kind of different that humanity thrives on
I’ve learned that life doesn’t play by the rules and I hope one day it kicks you like it kicked me

not because you deserve to be hurt but because you deserve to be heard

and no ones going to listen to someone whose never seen darkness between the finger tips of light
I missed my shot of never letting life break me the second my tongue spelled suicide without a second opinion from my mind

So I hope you learn from my mistakes and never let a flaw go un touched before you pretend it’s just a metaphor

and I hope If nothing else

you’ve learned that your wrists aren’t scratch paper

and they’re much prettier without the scars

thoughts from the 8 year old I never got to be

Ive been told that I’m growing up too fast

but I still feel more traces of 8 then 18 in my blood and I’m not sure if I’m just good at hiding my immaturity or if the veins in my baby hands are telling a less significant story then the maturity of my hazel eyes

it was somewhere between my last attempt to spend a whole day alone and my first attempt to spend a whole day with him that I discovered hiking alone made for a lot less memories and I don’t want to die with empty space in my head

knowing I’ll live forever makes me feel infinite and insignificant all at the same time

and my tongue still feels twisted when I try to tell him how much I like his compliments about my teeth or the way I slice apples

I think he has the most beautiful mind

and  I’m scared of holding hands but I think I’m more scared of not

and maybe if we meet in heaven I’ll tell him about the time we were up until four talking and once he fell asleep I laid awake the rest the night counting the hours until we could talk again

he makes me feel like the 8 year old I never got to be due to the repercussions of a mother that never did my hair before school in the mornings

It’s hard not to think we are reflections of those who couldn’t love us but he makes the escape from my insecurities look as easy as 2 + 2

It’s nice to find someone else that wants to run away and pretend we know how to make something of ourselves in a world where the only thing that matters is how good you are at proving you’re not a racist.

In all honesty we’re too busy learning all the Hamilton lyrics to worry about what color of skin the cashier at 7/11 had

I’ve been told I’m growing up too fast

and I think a green eyed boy with big dreams is just what I needed to slow myself down

Little girls gold

My head is spinning again 
Kiss me on the forehead 

Tell me I’m important 

And let me leave my jacket at your house on purpose 

So we have an excuse to talk right when I get home 

blue eyed babe

milky ways and blue gatorade

a little boy that never stopped pretending

17 and still as big of a harry potter fan as he was 6 years ago

in love with the idea of magic and the possibility it opened up of getting to know his dad

I think he thinks I’m selfish

but we just want different things from each other

I know he loves the sound basketball shoes make on hardwood

and never will you find someone that can memorize sport statistics like he can

or read the new J.K Rowling screen play that fast

he loves 30 but not as much as 32

it’s as close as he comes to wearing his grandpa on his sleeve

he always listens and I cry way too much

but there’s failed to be something a hug and his blue eyes can’t fix

everything he does is for other people

and he still hasn’t learned that what he wants is important too

he never cries

well only once on that fateful Sunday last spring

I wished then I had blue eyes and long arms to heal him like he always did me

I don’t know how to tell him it’s okay if he can’t be around me while he’s dating her

while still giving off the vibe that I miss him being my best friend

or even my friend at all

I cry a lot

but I cant seem to cry over slowly losing him because I refuse to except it as reality

I need to stop trying so hard to stay in his life

I just hoped it wouldn’t come to that

I still sleep with the blanket he gave me every night

not in a romantic way

in a I miss watching late night basketball and drinking nesquik chocolate milk with him kind of way

I still haven’t washed the paint off my heart from that one time we made glitter art and I don’t think I ever will

he can say he’s done and act like I’m an inconvenience

but he will never find another girl that likes his glasses as much as I do

 

 

moms and boys and lots of bricks

 

I never learned how to throw a brick

I was too caught up trying to be the nice one

it took me 18 years but I’m finally starting to see

putting everyone else’s lives a head of your own doesn’t make you the nice one

everyday I’m getting better and better at telling people how I feel

everyday I’m getting better and better at throwing bricks

A brick for the boy that loved my body but never loved my mind 

and another for the time he told me I would never find someone else to love me 

and one more for the endless anxiety attacks he provoked and then made me feel bad about 

and a brick to me for ever dating an idiot like that in the first place 

a few bricks for addiction and the consumption it has on my mom 

a few for anorexia and the way it changed my sisters mind 

and definitely a few for Whats Eating Gilbert Grape because my heart still aches just thinking about it 

A brick to my mom for never caring enough to sober up 

and another for lying her self through my childhood 

and another for playing with my heroes heart 

and 200 more for all the things she said while she was drunk or high or whatever 

and a few for me for holding a grudge. 

a brick for all the teachers that wrung the creativity out of me 

a brick to the tile floor in my kitchen for ripping a hole in my favorite socks 

a brick to depression for taking Teriks life 

 and another to the rain that took my cousins 

 

and one more at me for taking 18 years to learn how to throw a brick