I cannot explain the things I do not know. I cannot explain my hollowed out brass veins and the way they pump acid to my heart, causing it to whither. I am crushed at the weight of the world, and I put this upon myself. I gave my all to save what I could not fix, for nothing. It makes sense now, knowing full well that no matter what I do, it will never be enough.

I have never been as angry as I am now. It is not an explosive anger, it is a defeated anger, the one that forms at the pit of your gut and sits at the tip of your tongue. The taste never goes away.

I want to tell him to watch his back, that I’m coming for him. But that wouldn’t be true, no. He is the poison and she is the antidote. How sick is that?

How can I say I’m sorry, when I’m not?

I want to run, run faster than I’ve ever run before. Run past the billboards and street signs dotting the highway, causing one to stray then lead the way. I want to pack up all of my belongings and retire to my home. To safety. But I might just keep running, until I cannot. Until I die.

Nothing is more twisted this. And there is no one else to blame but oneself. I cannot feel anymore. I have felt far too much. This is the end. 

No one says anything beautiful anymore. I’m used to listening to poetry spew from my classmates mouths so frequently, it became nothing more than inspiration. But here, nothing is sacred, nothing is worthy of admiration. It is all about who said what and how they said it after they did him, that guy no one likes. It wouldn’t have bothered me as much, if i wasn’t so used to being pressed into this cove of greatness. It was like little atoms were swirling about me, charged with electricity and thoughts. I felt steady, and completely grounded. Now, my point of view is mangled and erratic. I feel misplaced and frustrated that I can’t stand up, and take a breath.

I have no room to breathe, to see, to appreciate.
That is why I’m leaving. I’m packing up my bags, and heading home. Because home is all I know, besides this. And home beats this by, a lot.
I’m no longer poetic, I am no longer me. And I can’t say that attending a different school will change that. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get back to where I was.
I was miserable and sadly, content?
But I was constantly looking for something better, and I figured college would be the end all be all. How wrong was I?
At least art school could have offered some more empowering force to snap me into reality, which could possibly be as blurred as my eyes as I tear up, writing this, right now.

How could I lose myself if I never really knew who that was in the first place?
What does it feel like? To finally feel like you truly belong?

It’s been a handful of years since I slathered on makeup, squeezed into a scratchy store bought costume, with my pillowcase in hand, and ventured out onto the streets for Halloween. I think it might have been the destruction of innocence that caused me to stop loving the 31st. It had been there all along, I was just too young and too busy swooning from the sweets to realize how mangled Halloween is. People say it all the time, “It’s an excuse for girls to dress up like sluts and not be ridiculed.” Really? Because to me, the meaning is lost when you take the innocence out of things, it’s…changed, and not the for the better.

Yet, Halloween is fast approaching, and here I am, Cat costume placed on my second shelf of my stuffed closet. I’m not wearing a leotard though, honestly, who would want to see that? Its simply cat ears and a tail. I’ll wear all black and paint on a nose and whiskers.
The End.

What made me want to do this, some might ask?
College did, college made me want to become a cat. Because it’s a different time, and a different age, and there isn’t enough time to protest constantly.

I’m realizing that college is not the end all be all. My life won’t end if I leave this place, and never look back. And dressing up as a cat doesn’t make me a hypocrite, rather a heavily influenced and thoroughly bored individual.
I’m different, and quite possibly bad luck, thus the black cat costume.

I had a feeling that college was breaking my heart. But I realize now that my heart has been breaking for awhile now. It broke over a plane ticket and a crazy summer before everything changed, and it broke when “certain things” never really panned out. So I can’t say it’s college breaking my heart, I honestly think, it’s mending it.
The people here can be outrageously close-minded and downright fucking dumb. But then there are a few out there that put certain things into a different perspective. Take for instance the fact that I have been sick for about four days now and have currently lost my voice. I have been trying my best to keep quiet, but I realize now how words have so much power.

Last night in the cafe (or caf, as we college kids call it) I was seated with a few of my friends for dinner. Next to us was a smaller table with three kids who happened to be theater majors. I happened to catch some of their conversation, and it consisted of one kid dissing the other by telling him “he could only see him in B-list movies.”

Now, before this even happened I pointed out the insulted kid to my friend Sam and said, “Now HE, is sexy. He is my type. Totally.” And he had total movie star potential. Who the fuck was this other kid, telling him otherwise? I’m not the meddling kind anymore (let’s leave the middle school shenanigans behind, kidlets), and by no means did I intend to be rude and eavesdrop. But sometimes, there comes a time when a nice and real thing needs to be said.

So, voiceless me whispered to my friend Annie to tell the kid that “I could see him in A-list movies, and that the other kid was wrong, and I would have told him myself, but I have no voice.” So she said it. And it was awkward, yes. But, it was right. He thanked me, of course, and laughed…it was a little funny. But, it probably made that kid’s night. (Well, I won’t flatter myself, but I’d be pretty pleased if someone stuck up for me like that.) I haven’t done much so far this semester, why let someone else believe they aren’t worth it, when they are? People should be kinder more often. It’s so much easier than being mean (at least that’s how I see it).

Now, onto greater things, such as fighting a bad grade in my college writing class, (getting my voice back before that), conquering the world (perhaps), and hanging with some of the weirdest but possibly the best people I’ve met this year.

Love and Vitamin C,

Emily