an honest reflection

There seems to be a misconception
that the roughly-edited, cell phone-taken photos I've posted
provide an accurate representation
of my time away from home.
They don't even come close.
The pictures don't capture
the way I avoided eye contact with TSA
after a weepy goodbye with a boy
that my heart felt so confused about.
There are no good angles
for snapping what facing your biggest fear
and asking the questions plaguing your heart for years
looks like.
And the lighting is never right
for meeting your dad's new girlfriend
for the first time.
If I could've snagged a selfie
of what telling your best friend
they're not a good friend looks like,
I wouldn't have.
And the loneliness that hits
when you're on your own in a foreign land
just wouldn't have brightened your news feed.
Don't think that I'm saying it's been all bad,
just don't think it's all perfect either.
I guess sometimes, when it comes to photography,
smiles look better than honesty.

To Become Real

To be perfect

is to be a porcelain doll

made of a thousand fractured pieces

who wakes up every morning

and pierces the foil on a new tube

of superglue

expending every drop

on mending the fragmented shards

of herself

filling in every gap

ensuring no crack is left open,

no light can enter

illuminating the dark emptiness

that is within.

It is tedious and strenuous work,

the act of being flawless.

But to become real

is far more painful indeed.

For as you let the thick layer of glue

which has become your second skin

disintegrate before you,

piece by piece,

you fall to the ground

and are broken again

and again.

And the brilliance of the sunlight blinds you,

painfully piercing through your very soul

exposing all that still stands

of your splintered, shattered self.

And you reach for that familiar, comfortable dress

that you’ve always worn,

but it doesn’t fit,

it won’t cover you anymore

and so you lay in naked fragments on the ground

unable to speak

only able to weep.

Until finally,

your vision clears

your eyes adjust

and at last, you’re able to see

that the light you were so afraid of,

the illumination that haunted your dreams,

keeping you hidden in a life-long masquerade

is not the light of a burning star

or a hallogen bulb.

When the superglue cracks,

the masks fall away,

and the porcelain shatters,

only then will you truly see

that the illumination comes from within.

BELOVED,

YOU

ARE

THE

LIGHT.

Hide-and-Seek Heart

They told me Love is provision
Why waste time with emotions
When I can buy your love with cash money
I love you, therefore, I provide
I don't have time for your heart, besides
Your heart is wicked and completely deceitful
Crying is manipulation, feelings mislead you.
So shut off your heart and do as I say
Hide your fears, run from pain
Conceal, don't feel, don't let it show

...till my heart had nowhere to go

and I didn't know
that my heart was still there
still crying
still bleeding inside
an internal hemorrhage
no one could see
till I couldn't feel Love
it was a clogged artery.
But I wanted to feel it, whatever it was
Oh, so badly I longed to experience Love
Love is provision, provision is earned
Pay your rent, do your chores
get straight A's, know "The Word"
In exchange, you'll get 3 square meals and a bed
2 "I love you's", 1 hug, and a roof over your head
Fuck it up and you're screwed
(DON'T say THOSE words out loud!
You'll get spankings for sure,
and you'll likely get grounded.)
So I worked my ass tush off
to be
Mary Poppins (without the fun):
Practically perfect in every way,
God's poster child,
teacher's pet
mom and dad's favourite.

And I was! 
....but that's all that I was.

A heartless, perfection-producing machine.
That was me.

Until one day, something inside me
made me remember
A whisper told me, I must have a heart,
because, doesn't everyone?

So I started a heartless search
for the me that once was,
that must have been,
once beating and pumping
and crying and feeling
and living
now merely
existing.

In the search for the hidden heart,
I've mostly found pain,
sadness, anger, fears,
and a lifetime supply of suppressed tears.
Layer on layer,
wall after wall,
I break down
I peel back
I conquer them all.
As I dig through this pile
of rubble and pain
I hold onto Hope that,
one day,
I will see her again:
My Heart.
The Beautiful one.
The one with Courage like a warrior
and Faith like a child
the one that's unreserved,
untamed,
W I L D .
The glittering, glimmering, glorious one
Aged with wisdom, yet eternally young.

No longer seeking acceptance
No longer working for worth
No longer looking for Love.

Because the brave little heart knows she is buried treasure
The hidden heart sees she's been sought after
The lost heart has finally been

                                                    FOUND.

you loved me well in summer

you loved me well in summer

when the sun was hot and the grass was green

and we hunted treasures behind waterfalls

and sunbathed by the stream

and you picked flowers for my hair

and your shoulder was soft when my eyes were heavy

and your heart was ready

but mine was not

it wasn’t time

you wrote me poetry but I couldn’t rhyme

so I left words unsaid and poems unwritten

your heart was open but I kept mine hidden

you didn’t hide but I didn’t seek

for my heart was distracted by other things

and I couldn’t see

but I loved you in autumn

when the rains came, and leaves began to fall

you were the same my heart needed

when everything changed, and the days became short

and the nights became long

but your heart moved on

and green became yellow

and red became dead

and goodbyes were said

and your eyes looked away when my heart was heavy

and now, my heart’s ready

now that you’re gone

and now I must tell my heart to move on

for though we both loved, we both lost

time wasn’t a friend, nor luck a lady

but still my heart whispers

maybe

and I learn to trust the tides,

trust the seasons, trust that in time

whatever becomes of you and me

whatever is meant to be will be