Chasing Cars


If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me
And just forget the world?

The lyrics play over and over on the radio as I lie next to it, the beat of the song not matching the beautiful, young girl’s quick breathe and quiet moans as she lies on the bed across from me. My hair is still wet from the warm hot tub we had been forced to quickly exit. Her father’s caring and trembling hands had reached in to pull her out of the whirring waters and then carried her up to her room, with me following closely behind. Unsure if I should be there but also knowing I couldn’t be anywhere else. He leaves us alone and I wrap myself in a towel and fold myself against the wall, trying to make myself as small as possible. Leaving her as much space as she needs in the large room to fight what we’ve learned, may be a losing battle.

I think back to earlier in the day when I first arrived. Excited to see my friend but nervous that the time together would  seem to stretch on into forever. That there would be too many minutes and not enough words, unlike all the other times we’d spent together. As I greeted her smiling face I first noticed the wig sitting atop her head, hiding the patches of bright blonde underneath, and that her clothes hung off her body, like she was a child trying on her mother’s clothes, but when I held her close she still smelled the same. Like hope. I had never known that words could have their own smell until I met her, and it was a word I always breathed in deeply when she was around so as to fill my own being with as much of it as possible.

Watching her frail body heave up and down, too disoriented to even remember that I am in the room with her, I think back to the summer before when a trip away together had taken us to an island that turned into, as silly, young girls, the scariest thing we had thought we’d ever face.

The island we went to set a fire deep inside of us that the mainland had never before released. Suddenly we were curious. We were always the good girls, never daring to take that sip of liquid our friends had started tasting and we had certainly never kissed boys for longer than a few seconds at a time. But in that trip away from reality our inhibitions broke down and just for that one night we wondered what the unknown could bring us. We felt as Eve must have, as she stood there contemplating taking the fruit from the forbidden tree. And like Eve, the temptation was too close within our reach and we couldn’t help but find out how it made us feel.

So later, after the curtains had been drawn, goodnight kisses given, and the doors locked, we held tight to each other and wandered into the darkness outside of the comfort we had found in the little island house. We were looking for a form of trouble we could finally touch and feel. Hoping it would give us life. As we wandered we smiled and joked about our lives being short, never guessing that the eighty more years we guessed we had could be so much shorter. We knew, that as our teenage selves, we needed to feel every crack and bump life had to offer, no matter how uncomfortable it was. As though it was a rite of passage we had to go through; a quest we couldn’t turn down.

What we found as we strolled along the darkened road with only the moonlight to guide us was headlights full of hands that were more than eager to help us on our road to discovery. Those faces with smiles that turned up just a little too much took us to exactly what we wanted; a crowd of people searching for the same thing we were, life as we thought it should be experienced. As we stood in the beach we felt the coarse sand beneath our toes, reminding us that even the most beautiful things in life could still bring pain and we were suddenly scared. Her hand wound its way into mine, weaving our fingers, as if locking our bodies together would somehow make us indestructible against this sudden danger we realized we had put ourselves in. As her hand shook in mine I watched as the excitement of new adventures suddenly morphed into what it truly was, fools dancing around a fire, boys trying to be men and men trying to be boys. And we knew we didn’t belong.

I forced a fake bravery on the outside of my shell, letting her know that no matter what came, I could handle it. The unknown became scarier than we had imagined so we held tight and left. We ran back to the comfort and glow of the old television screen and the snoring caretaker on the floor above us and we felt safe again. As we sat cuddled on the couch we forced laughs at what we had done, pretending it couldn’t have been a lot worse than it was. “This,” we thought, “this is the scariest life gets.”

Now, as I lay in the room at the top of the stairs listening to the music pouring out of the radio, watching her body move slowly up and down I wonder if maybe I reached out and lace my fingers through hers again we could just run. Run away from the danger she faces and the fear that I have. Our demons are no longer figures dancing around a fire, standing too closely to our young bodies, instead they’re forces we can’t even begin to control and that is a monster that rocks me to my core. I continue to watch her as she lays on the bed, strapped down to it by the pain buried deep inside of her, causing involuntary moans to escape her cracked lips. The poison inside of her tries to fight a greater evil making its home inside her delicate frame. And though it is just the two of us in there, the room feels suffocating, as though all of the oxygen is being replaced by the overflow of pain coming from her small frame, and I’m scared again. So I follow the pleas of the music and I just lie there, reaching out to touch what locks she has, faking a strength and bravery I certainly don’t feel. Just like I did that one summer night. And I pray that it is enough.

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He’s another pretty face with a vacant stare. I make a humorous jab at the person on the screen and he mutters a fake laugh, and I can see behind his eyes that he’s trying to search for why it would be considered funny.

But his lips taste like candy and his physique reminds me of the stone statues in gardens.

So I’ll keep him around, until my sweet tooth starts to ache.

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You Are.

20140708-233745-85065620.jpg You have been gone for a very long time, but yet you are still here. You are the whispering wind that sends goose bumps down my spine and the sensation of water as my foot breaks the surface. You are a lover’s fingers on my cheek and a drunkard’s elbow in a crowded bar. You are the grass beneath my toes and the sky above my head. So I smile. Because you are in that too.

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I Will Steal You Back


There’s an empty space in my bed. It’s been there for quite a while, and even when it wasn’t, it was never completely filled.

I hold tight to the empty space in the quiet hours of the night when all I can hear is the quiet whir of my aging fan. My hands graze the cool area, warming it for only a moment.

I never wander over toward the empty space. I revere it with a respect I’m not sure it deserves. I leave it be, as though there is a ghost who comes each night to rest and needs the spot all to themselves.

During the day there is sometimes books, or photo albums spreading themselves over the forgotten space. But then comes darkness, and it’s left alone again, a place to gather all the dreams that torture my sleep.

Some have tried to fill the empty space but I have quickly moved them from the sacred spot. It heaves under the weight of what shouldn’t be there and seems irritated that I would even try to cover it up. So I leave it be and wait for the day the taunting space chooses to set me free.

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Lovely Molecules


Why are you surprised dear girl when that boy asks to see you again? Do the deep, darkish, lines on your skin make you feel like you don’t deserve his attention?

Why do you feel relief when he looks into your eyes and grasps your hand tightly? Is it the extra skin that stretches further than other girls in the pages of magazines that makes you hesitant to accept his devotion?

Why when he whispers ‘You are beautiful’ do you protest on instinct? Does the length of you legs trick you into thinking you’ll never measure up to his words?

Why do you cringe whenever his arms find their way around your delicate body? Do you think all he feels is the way your bones protrude, distracting from the softness of your skin?

Why do you paste your skin with false color in the hopes of covering the beautiful dots that make it yours? Do you not see how much he adores the way they look scrunched on your nose?

And why, sweet one, when he asks for your love do you hold back? Do you feel as though the love you had has been permanently stolen from your trembling hands?

Don’t you know that the lines you hide show maps to where you’ve been. Be careful with them because they tell stories greater than you could ever know. Don’t feel ashamed of the weight you carry because you are strong, and a head held high means much, much more. Don’t forget that the legs you walk on carry you away from bad situations and also toward great ones. The bones that build your beautiful frame should be appreciated, don’t let them keep you from from loving every inch of yourself. You are admired for your distinction, because you dear girl, are not like the rest.

So please love every molecule that builds your beautiful self, for they have a great story yet to tell.


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Shameful Confidence


Have you seen this clip from Louie?

If not, it’s a must see. Louie has been a comedian I have always had lukewarm feelings about, I find some of his act hilarious and some completely uninteresting. But, he really got it completely right this time. He hits on a sensitive topic by talking about the double standard woman deal with when it comes to their weight.

When you’re a woman and decide not to date a man because he’s overweight, you’re a bitch because of course he’s probably adorable and funny and all the other Hollywood stereotypes. Men get a free pass when it comes to dating large women though, because it’s completely understandable. Why would a guy ever be ridiculed or shamed for not dating an overweight woman? Being mocked is actually what usually keeps them away from fantastic, funny, and brilliant women. And the messed up thing is that our society says that’s okay.

This topic hits particularly close to home for me this week because I recently found out that at the beginning of my relationship with my ex, before his friends had even met me, he was already telling them that, “She used to be hot.” He apparently would show them old pictures of me on my Facebook and tell them that prior to meeting him, I was hot.

That stung. I mean, deep down somewhere at my core I really felt the burn of those words. I pride myself on being a very confident woman, I obviously have insecurities but I try very hard to not let them affect my life. Finding out about those comments, I’ll admit, set me back a little. I’ve been struggling the last few months to lose weight and (no fault to the friend who shared that information because I think it was important to know) that was really the last thing I needed to hear.

After the initial hurt of his careless words  started to fade away, I became angry. It really blew my mind. He had chosen me. I didn’t approach him first that late night, he walked over to me. And he didn’t walk over because I was giving some eloquent, brilliant speech in the middle of downtown. He walked over because he liked how my shirt fit. I wasn’t the first one to text constantly asking to see him again, that was him. He didn’t turn me down when I tried to attempt a first kiss, that again was reversed. How could someone be in an over two year relationship and not ever be attracted to their partner? They can’t, it’s not possible. He was even the one that said during one particularly emotional time after we’d broken up that he was particularly bummed because I had the best body out of anyone he’d dated. He then quickly followed that up with, “You should believe me because we’re not dating anymore and I don’t have to lie to you.”


So was it shame that he felt the need to justify my extra weight to his friends? Was it because I didn’t fit into a certain BMI and he thus ran the risk of being ridiculed for going after what he found attractive? No one knows but him and what Louie’s words show us is that there are many people out there who feel the same way as my ex.

It also starts a discussion, why do men feel so scared to admit that some women are the complete package for them, even if the package comes a little larger than some others. I’m lucky in that my body shape distributes my extra pounds in a way that makes it mostly flattering, but the fact is I’m still overweight. I’m still fat, and crazily enough, I still think I’m beautiful, sexy, alluring, pretty, and sometimes adorable. Really they should make a Barbie doll of more girls like me, they’d break a lot less. I still catch myself in the mirror sometimes and think, “Damn!” I buy two piece bathing suits and proudly wear them because a few stretch marks here or there aren’t going to ruin my chances of an amazing tan. I’m still allowed to think and do those things. Just like Louie’s date says in her monologue, why is the privilege of being wanted by someone taken away from me because my pant size isn’t single digit?

My ex doesn’t get to decide when I’m ‘hot.’ He didn’t then and he doesn’t get to now. Back in the ‘hot’ days he was referring to, I was less secure, and wasn’t as driven. Now I’ve added those qualities to my package plus I’ve got an ass that would make J-Lo jealous, so I’d say I’m doing okay. Because of that, I’ll continue on, with my low-calorie diet and daily gym routine knowing that someday, my weight problem might be fixed and if it isn’t, I’m still going to be as fabulous as I am now, probably even more so. He, and others like him though, will continue to battle the inner demons of insecurity and those are much, much, harder to get rid of than a few pounds of fat.

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Worthy Love


You are worth more than the second glances and tired touches he gives.
You are worth more than the 12 a.m. text message he sends when his blood is swimming in alcohol.
You are worth more than the last-minute cancellations.
You are worth more than his receding hairline.
You are worth more than the guilt he fills the private spaces of your heart with.
You are worth more than his tired sighs that synchronize with your gentle touches.
You are worth more than his mommy issues.
You are worth more than the scribbled pages and empty paragraphs he leaves in your story.
You are worth more than his rough, drunken kisses.
You are worth more than time he gives away to others who catch his ever-wandering eye.
You are worth more than the snide comments he gives on the way your pants button.
You are worth more than his shoes he needs tied.
You are worth more than the broken pieces he holds over your head.
You are worth more than the hatred he fills you with.
You are worth more than the tears he causes to fall from your tired eyes.
And you are definitely worth more than the calloused hands he uses to push you aside.

So always remember that you are worth all the songs you choose to sing until your lungs give out, no matter how off-key you are.
You are worth the feeling of tripping, and falling directly into love.
You are worth picking up the hobby of running because you’re going toward something instead of away.
You are worth long car rides with fingers interlocked.
You are worth the ease of being whole; strong enough to forget the pain of being broken in half.
You are worth days filled with laughter.
You are worth discovering parts of yourself you never knew existed.
You are worth feeling like Julia Roberts, Rachel McAdams, and sometimes even Mindy Kaling.
You are worth being free of the grasp he kept tight around your neck.
You are worth tear-free pillows.
You are worth guilt-free nights filled with all the cheese, steak, and sweets you can eat.
You are worth believing that anything is still possible.
And you are certainly worth so much more than him.

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