i figured out what we’re missing
i tell you miserable things after you are asleep
"Abel, my mind’s gone loose inside the shell"
The National embroidery
I am winter and you are summer
you moved away from the gray
and sold your home for the glow
you say you can’t handle the dreary weather
you say it settles in your head there
like the chill locks inside your bones
you can’t call the darkness your home
and in a second I know what you mean
and for a minute I remember what it’s like to be without it
to pray away the winter and trade it for the summer
but see, it’s not about glow or snow or palm trees or rain
or being a prisoner in your own season
it’s about the fact that at one point or another
I invited you into my dreary winter mind
and I learned what it was like to be kissed by the sun
Do not find homes in people. Do not settle in someone’s else’s skin for the way they make you feel. Plant your roots next to theirs and watch each other grow. Do not fall in love with temporary places.
"I crave touch, yet I flinch every time someone is close enough."
Each time I’m asked to tell about myself, I find myself starting the same way: “My name is Kelsey and I’m nineteen..”
but what I’d really like to say is:
“My name means island of the ships but once
I found a translation that said I’m a burning shipwreck-
not a burning ship but a ship that has caught fire
after the wreckage and well, I’d say that’s more fitting.”
I’ve learned that people don’t have time for about me’s.
They need two things: a name and an indication you’re someone special.
The doctors, they want facts not details.
“I broke my leg when I was three, it’s a funny story actually-“
The right or the left?
The teachers, they want interests, hobbies.
You’re sad, yes, but what do you like to do?
The adults are a spew of questions.
What school do you go to? What classes are you taking?
What do you plan on becoming? Got a boyfriend?
People my own age are the worst.
“I’m planning on an English degree with a concentration in creative writing.”
Yeah, aren’t we all. So how many times have you, you know,
I’m pulled apart, my interests travelling highway 2
my goals at a stop light at traffic hour,
my medical history on a billboard for the world to see.
But what about me?
Where’s the chance to say,
“I hang on to fistfuls of poetry like loose change in my pockets,
and I keep waiting for the day that the world turns upside down
so I can swim with the stars.
I’m not afraid of darkness, it’s a loneliness I can empathize with it.
It’s the blackholes like cigarette burns inside of me that get troublesome.
I walk through graveyards and read the dashes between years,
each a story I’ll never know. Sometimes I create my own.”
No wonder none of us know who we are anymore."