Oh, influence, let me go

The song it is familiar
One I sang in winters past
It's quick and sad and lovely
But it never seems to last

But in a feat of nostalgia
I found it and hit play
Stretched out my untrained legs
And danced the tune away

Daintily, the song sang
About love unreturned
I heard the crying lyrics,
softly danced the way I learned

But when verse led into chorus
I felt sadness I used to know
Shoulders limped and feet gone heavy
My turns began to slow

Each note it was a memory
Each chord an old romance
They haunted me in melodies
And forced oldness in my dance

I twirled the way I used to
I leaped like times before
For this song, it was a ghost
And it's familiar weight I bore

But, no, I shook ferociously
For here I am, so new!
And no matter what the song says
I am far away from you

Sad spins twirled into angry
I jumped and kicked and dove
Trying to shake this haunting sameness
I assumed I'd rose above

I can't sing this song any longer
I don't want to dance this way
But it's impossible to start a new
When your stuck in love's ballet

The last lights on

I am alone for all have gone
Not long before, this house was bright
Now mine are but the last lights on

I thought conversing would go on
The talking here felt safe and right
But I'm alone for all have gone

Rare am I the last to yawn
But something's different here tonight
For mine are but the last lights on

Good company, the night does pawn
So for distraction, this I write
'Cause I'm alone and all have gone

Yet a busy mind will still dwell on
Whatever dark things that it might
When mine are but the last lights on

Now all the curtains have been drawn
Though in my head's a blinding light
When I'm alone for all have gone
And mine are still the last lights on

Where I ate lunch

Today I left my vacation home
With plans of coming back
My boots laced up, my long hair tied
My lunch within my pack

I walked and dreamt of where I'd stop
To eat what I had brought
Through trees I passed and miles walked
I went where I had got

And soon I reached my eating spot
I looked for somewhere dry
To rest my feet and to consume
My sandwich made on rye

I passed a spot beneath a branch
With bugs, I would not share
I skipped across the sandy beach
Hunger surpassed by "where?"

And then I saw a giant rock
Three times the size of me
Amidst a busy current
Yet sturdy as could be

And so I climbed that giant rock
And loosened up my hair
I stretched and laid beneath the sun
And ate my sandwich there

Upon that rock I memorized
The parts that I could reach
And quickly I decided this
Was the best thing on the beach

But when I got to sitting up
And took a look around
I was humble and amazed by all
The beauty that I found

The trees they were uncountable
The clouds, they tried to block
And the mountain that they stood upon
Made a pebble of my rock

So I jumped from off my pebbled rock
Looked at it from below
This giant thing that I had loved
Could be the smallest love I'd know

To measure a moment

When a man dies
At age ninety five
2 years and a hyphen
Prove he was alive

But if that man dies
Before he's full grown
His years, months, and days
Fill up his turnstone

So numbers will scatter
The place we last rest
And they become more specific
For those who lived less

When do seconds mean nothing?
When do hours seem small?
How many must pass
Until they don't matter at all?

Sometimes I wonder
If the best lives are fast
For with too many summers
These minutes won't last

Time may move fast
Or time may move slow
But today will soon feel
Like forever ago

A bigger bathroom

When I was very young, before I spent nights at my dads house, a good portion of our time together took place at Comiskey Park. My dad always had season tickets and, on the rare nights when neither my brothers nor I had soccer or baseball or gymnastics, we would make our way down to section 137, row 12.

Sox games were tons of fun for me. I got to spend time with my two older, cooler brothers and my dad usually bought me a Lemon Chill. I never had to brush my hair or walk much if I didn't want to. It was in those seats I learned to snap, swear, and ask questions. Surrounded by drunken men and crop-topped girls, baseball games always made me feel older.

Most of the maturity I feel in my childhood memories stems from going to the bathroom. These games were a time for my brothers and I to see my dad- not his girlfriend, fiancé, or wife. That, plus the fact that we only had 4 season tickets, meant that I was always the only girl in the pack. So, unlike trips to the mall or church where my mom would insist on enforcing the "buddy system," when the 5th inning became the 6th and I fought up the courage to ask my dad to make room for me in the aisle, I would climb the stairs alone, stick my ticket in my pocket, and walk straight into the women's bathroom.

I think the first couple of times my dad would walk me to the door and wait for me on the other side. Occasionally, he might have asked a friendly looking woman to look after me in line. But, for the most part, I felt alone in the sea of older and fatter legs. I would stand in line patiently. I never talked to anyone. I even tried to avoid eye contact. When a silver door would swing open, I would lock myself behind it and do what I had gone there to do. It was systematic and easy, but I figured it out on my own.

Even though those lines were always indescribably longer than the male counterparts, waiting in them was the first time I ever felt alone. I was 4 or 5 or 6, standing and listening to groups of adults- trying very hard not to disrupt the social norm which meant talking to no one. In that bathroom, I learned to be content within my own head; I didn't need anyone to talk to me or look at me to get done what I needed to. Without my mother or stepmother there to hurry me along, I could take my time washing my hands, watching older ladies brush their hair and fix their makeup. It was a very cool feeling knowing that no matter how long I stayed in there, no brother or father of mine could come in and force me out. I really loved the independence of Comiskey Park's bathrooms. On days the Sox weren't playing too hot, I would stay inside the bathroom for close to an hour. I would stand and watch the women do old things and enjoy the thoughts I could form for myself in my head, though I always was sure to make it out in time for the 7th inning stretch.

Now I am 18 and US Cellular had bought and renamed the stadium I grew up in. My family still goes to games, although work schedules are surprisingly harder to clear up than AYSO schedules. I am heading off to Wake Forest in less than a month where, for the second time, I will have to fend for myself. I will be alone, no father or friend to hold my hand in line or tell me to wash my hands. I only hope that I can learn to love that independence as much as I did in the bathroom.

I am so happy

I want everyone to know the bliss I know right now.

My new cactus

I went to Walgreens today to buy my friend jelly bellies and I saw a tiny cactus there much like the one I wrote about in my last post. I bought the cactus for $1.29.

When I got home, I put the cactus near the window instead of beside my bed because that's where cacti should be. It isn't nearly as beautiful as my last cactus, but it is a plant and it will grow and so I will love it with as much of my heart as I can.

Frankly, that last cactus was too good to be true. It's pot was hand painted in bright colors and intricate patterns. When i bought it, I was given a pack of chemical cactus food which would guarantee the cactus would grow at least twice its predicted size. It was an unnatural way for a cactus to live. This new cactus came in a standard pot and will be fed a few drops of water once a week. This is how cacti should live; it may not be as beautiful, but it just makes sense.

I could never replace the cactus I once knew, but, with this new one, I will wait and watch something beautiful grow.