have killed us, but instead that is the space
in which we found home. It is the
same place that I cuddled up to at night
to keep my cold heart warm enough to
I could talk to it again in the morning.
Wordlessness could have hurt us
but instead that is where we found
answers, and meaning and
more questions to ask than we could have
ever imagined even existed.
There is no us though. Just you
and me and silence and
no more words.
It’s not like I left home forever. It’s actually the smallest amount of actually-leaving-but-I’ll-be-back-soon, kind of leaving. That is I have left and I have returned and left again in cycles of weeks or months depending on how long I last out here. College. It has changed me in so many ways and then I go home and everything is the same enough to forget momentarily that I left at all. But every time I go home I have left a piece of me in this state, the state that is not my home. The place that is becoming my home because I chose to be here. But in leaving myself here, and myself there I am torn, always.
Right now I try to swallow the stress and all consuming need to break down about what I need to accomplish and what I cannot accomplish, and freak out about how similar those circles are. It makes me miss when my mom would talk me down in high school, when she would come into my room late at night and tell me to just go to bed, to stop worrying. It makes me miss the hot cups of tea she would give me when I needed to relax, or the jokes my dad would crack when he knew I needed to laugh the most. I miss my room and being able to close and lock the door with clarity. I miss being able to sing in the shower and let the steam burn away the world that was weighing down so heavily on my skin.
And when I’m home, I miss here. The way there is always something to do, someone to see, somewhere to be. The mess, the noise, the chaos. There is always something to laugh at or freak out about. There is the feeling of doing and needing to be done. I miss the people, the people that have become my family in this state that I never really saw myself living in. I miss the feeling of being a piece in something greater.
So I am torn. Always. And I cannot always imagine exclusively being not home, or creating a home that isn’t the one in my head right now. But right now, I long to be there.
I am always to be found in the spaces
of you that you never thought you would need anyone to fill.
The crevices of a heart that once told you, you liked
to be on your own. In the
neurons of your brain, the same that
you thought were too full of memory and
heartache that another person could never fill.
I am not yours, you are not mine,
we are not a we in the sense
of togetherness. But you carry me alone
and I carry you along
when the burden isn’t too heavy to bear.
I hate to shamelessly self promote, although I feel like I’ve done it more in the past two weeks than I have ever done in my life, but I wanted to inform you (see how easy I hid the self promotion) that I have a twitter feed for this blog!
Although I have always had my personal account: @KateRobinsonPSU I wanted to have a twitter feed exclusively for this blog. I would love if you would check out either of these accounts, and as always, thank you (:
“I don’t think I want to be strong anymore.” I yelled it to the wind.
Although yelling can be strong and
I dislike contradictions.
Except when they are okay.
The wind whistled back, answering like I always need it to.
“Be still and strong and human.”
“Why human?” Wasn’t
I human simply because one day I didn’t exist and
then one day I did?
“Humans are weak in nature, and”
the wind pauses, because it has a shorter
breath than you would imagine.
“and what?” my brain grasps the
possibility that the answer will never be reconciled.
“And humanness is contradictory in nature.”
The wind uses the last of its strength and leaves me
to think about if that contradiction is okay.
Maybe once there was a moment of clarity.
Where I knew that everything was wrong, instead
of not. Which is so easy to assume
when ignorance, lies and obliviousness course through
the thin veins underneath your paper skin.
Paper and metal and things that are breakable
even though we pretend they are strong.
You would not create a building of fragile tendons
but you would create a person out of that, and
a love out of the same materials.
Loving you is wanting something different
and knowing that the slightest breath could
knock down the very walls we learned
so casually how to build.
Not even the words taste right, right now.
They burn my throat and make my tongue numb, as if
they are poisoning me from the inside out. The words
they used to always be my friend,
an ally in a world of “every man for himself.”
That world that we created and continue to perpetuate. But
when did they learn to betray me? When did
they became greater than the sum of their parts?
When did I forget how to control them? So much so, that
they went from simple and fluid to