It only took me 22 to years to not fear.

If you were the person I need you to be, you would be here now. I would tell you how they burned down a mosque in Texas and that my heart is breaking and what I believe and those who stand for it are the same people who burnt down a place of worship.

See, if you were the person God wanted for me, I would tell you how I know I’m not meant to have children anytime soon because I refuse to raise babies in a time where this man is our president.

If you were the person that I dreamed you up to be, you would tell me everything that could calm me down and maybe you’d believe in prayer for a second and pray for this place with me, pray for our nation and this devastating power that has it seized.

Prayer for our leader to be surrounded by Godly men and women, pray for him to know Christ and how the God I worship is a God of peace. How my God does not shun those who leave but calls them back and welcomes them with open arms, freely.

This is not a love poem.

This is an outcry of me wanting to make a change in a world where injustice is happening right inside our doors and I have no power to do anything.

If you were the man I fell in love with three years ago…That’s not even correct. More and more as I draw closer to God, as I rever being alone, I realize who I fell in love with was only a dream. I felt heartbreak at the thought of being lonely & you left me and there was nobody.

And yes I wrote it out. And yes there was so much on the point of obsession and yes, I don’t 100% regret it, because it was coping, because it made me who I am, even if I still fall for the same kind of man.

But you see, I am alone right now. I am breaking at the thought of our country’s future and yet I am dreaming and chasing goals that I can reach without the distraction of you and know that He will take care of me.

As tragedy strikes and you’re not here to calm the nerves, I know, more than ever, I’m where God wants me and needs me to be.

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Gabby, circa 2013

The only way I know
how to put this
is that you met
the mess of me.

How the night
before I met you for coffee
I couldn’t sleep.

How the last time
I saw you I was
unnecessarily petty
and unhappy.

I know I’m not the girl
you met;
I know you never loved her
like she loved you,
but now,
I miss her the most
out of everything.

Unearthed

Our eyes meet
and suddenly we are an excavation sight.
I’m pulling you out from my smile
and you’re scrubbing me out from under your nails.
We are laid bare,
fossilized laughter
and tear stains.

They find an urn of us
mixed with my childhood memories
and your grandfather’s ashes.
It says:
“Here lies
vitality,
promises,
stone warriors who didn’t dare budge,
who couldn’t for the life of them
imagine simply leaving someone.
Who had the courtesy to be cold to the touch.”

They’re dusting off your scar now;
brush strokes like my finger tracing the back
of your hand.
Like security in something;
love in someone,
even if it’s just at a personal level,
even if you just adore their smile.
Even if your heart stops when you see them months later and no words bubble to the surface,
but you’re now drinking coffee and they’re avoiding your eyes.
They’re just trying to get by
and accepting the change of seasons.
You’re no longer asking for reasons
to why they didn’t stay.

And once again they walk away.
And things could never be the same.
Your best friend is mad because of all the pain
you went through,
but you’re not “her” anymore.
And he doesn’t say goodbye before he leaves the store and it’s like you never happened even two summers ago.

They found the wreck of us, kid.
Picked it up and held it in their palms
as gently as if it they could break it further.
They heard all the words we said at night,
saw all our shared smiles.
They held back from brushing the tears off my face when I cried.
They saw the way two hearts beat in sync, but one still had to break,
because taking that leap, wouldn’t have guaranteed for an easy landing.
They saw what was,
compared to what is,
broke the bubble of what
could have been
and decided to bury us,
give my mind some rest,
once more.

My Goals for 2015:

Getting over you.

It’s not prettily strung together in poetry.
It’s not a voicemail begging for what we used to be.

It’s accepting that you have all the power and effort that I have to make this,
to make us work,
and instead,
you harness it.

You hide it in shadows
and pull me out
like a skeleton from your closet
to scare away the mistakes that linger
like monsters under the bed.

I make you feel strong again…
because whenever it comes to you,
I’m weak.

And I’m not…
I’m not who I want to be.
And I don’t
love me.

Because somehow,
though who I am and who I was
are polar opposites
you want neither
unless one is convenience.

I am not an ATM.
You can’t cash out for free.

I am an investment,
a risky endeavor.
You’ve gotta put some effort,
some time into me.

And in 2015,
the clock will run out
& nothing you can say or do,
no rash deposit,
no bail out money,
will be as good as
the love
I’m going to give to me.

Night Wonderings

I want someone to talk to.
To want to feel my pulse in their ears when my head hits the pillow.
To wake up buzzing with the thought of my skin as an echo.
I hope they dream of the smiles that they could carve on my face
like Michelangelo.

I hope they aren’t all like you;
that some find me good enough,
and others refuse to let go.

Kiddo

I will always be a child to you.
I may never get the responsibilities laid upon your shoulders
and my back will never be strong enough to carry them for you.

Once,
in the fall,
the sun beating on our backs,
and with the weight of fifteen pounds on my shoulders alone,
I asked you to carry me.
You said okay,
but I’d have to leave my bookbag behind.

I am sorry
that all this time,
I was the biggest burden of all.

I am sorry
that I have let you live as a personal burden
not on my back,
but rooted in my soul;
nourished by false hope and heart-wrenching dreams.

Despite what I’ve seen,
I am always forcing you to walk beside me.

You never came back to
(let alone for)
me.

Searching for Oxygen

And I want you;
more than ever,
the way that my right hand
wants to snatch a pencil
from my left
because it knows the left
will not treat it correctly.

The way you never
treat me correctly—-
now.

But back then…

My God,
you were my right hand.
Reaching inside my chest
and tying tourniquets around
my bleeding heart;
the one he left a car crash
mess.
Telling me to breathe easier,
the room is not filling up with
gas.
I’m only drowning myself,
so you will drive a little longer
to get me out of my cesspool head
and into secure meadow,
head lying in the grass.

You—-
saved me.
There was the
car turning into parking space I did not see.
You grabbed me,
moved me.
Safety-
net;

and yet

again
I fall back into step
with you
comfortably.
Easily.
Asshole
and his sidekick,
willingly.

You only held one arm out to hug me.
But when I wrapped my arms around your neck,
you pressed my back into your chest,
and maybe that is when I started
to breathe again.

I let you go off somewhere else,
where people know how to swim,
hearts beat,
and there is no me.
I am not certain,
but others have assured,
that when you’re without me,
you seem to breathe easy.