Static.

"You're hurting me."

We should've quit while we were ahead.

This can't be the real world.

We're screaming and I'm still smiling and you're sinking and we won't let go of each other. We can't stop apologizing, because we never meant to hurt anyone.

We're staying in bed all day. We're in high school. We shouldn't be in bed in the first place.
But when I woke up next to you I felt immortal. And the Gods can stay in bed as long as they want.

I never knew I could be invincible like that.
And I never knew how much I wanted the earth to quake. 

Just to prove that it can.
Just to prove it isn't all in my head.  

I want the walls to come down and the streets to cave in and I want us to stay in bed.  Me and you in the morning light and I don't care if we're the only thing left standing. We can live forever.

Because I feel like the only people who really understand us are the kids learning arithmetic in the 1903 school, and that place has been abandoned for years now.

When did we get so old? When did we start watching presidential debates and when does it stop. I've never loved like this before.

When did I give up learning how to do the splits? I can't remember that. 

You're too young to be broken and I'm too young to be shattered and we're all too old to be perfect.

 War of the Worlds is going on inside my skin. 
My heart and my mind and my soul and my blood are at battle. And they're too stubborn to make alliances even if they're all in love. They're going to kill me. Because my head stopped telling my heart to pump my blood and my soul would die of loneliness without this body.

I can't see through the static. I can only feel you. I can only hold you. And I think I'm going to be ok.

 This isn't reality.

Because I can't taste the salt in the ocean and maybe that's because it's 698 miles away. But I think it's because it doesn't exist.

Just don't let go.

Name. Address. Number of scars.  Parent Signature Required.

X_______________________________________________



esther.

Pot holes.

There's a hole in 5th Avenue where my body used to lie. Where for a second my eyes opened and I gasped, before falling deeply in love with the crust of the earth.

Because the asphalt was all that kept me from melting.
And all the little notes that say "you're beautiful" are flaking off the bathroom mirrors.
And all your eyes just keep doing circles in their sockets.

Next time you're in the streets know that I was once the cracks in the pavement. Because when I finally got the nerve to reach for the stars I couldn't even feel the clouds. My fingertips failed me and the solar system mocked me for my adolescent dreams.

I jumped for the atmosphere, and for a second my fingers burned the sun, but I kept on falling.

When as sky scrapers grew closer I wondered if you would catch me, or even look up. But my dress rippled and gravity pulled me downtown. And you got your morning coffee.

This is the story.

There's a hole in 5th Avenue where my body used to lie. Where for a second my eyes opened and I gasped, before falling deeply in love with the crust of the earth.

Written/Directed By:

This has never been my story.

I'm simply here to tell you how it all went down. Because now I know why I've been able to predict the future since adolescence. It's because I'm not the protagonist I once hoped to be, I'm the author. And I'm starting to be ok with that.

This is her story.

It's a story of a girl who signs her death sentence every time she shaves her legs. Because she prefers pants. And shaved legs are only good when they are going to be felt.

It's a story of the girl who is still mad no one got a picture of the Titanic sinking because all she wants to know is what it felt like seeing the ocean swallow the whole world.

A girl whose talents consist of odd human tricks that everyone laughs at but no one actually cares about.

This girl's story is about her fear. And how she doesn't want to die normal or live normal. But no one wants to work 9-5. No one wants to be a trophy wife and no one wants to die alone. But still everyone is and everyone does.

And that scares her more than it all. Because she's starting to realize that I'm the one telling her story, and I'm the one writing the ending.

I'm so sorry.

And she is this way because that's the way I made her. Even if that's not the way I wanted her to be.

I'm the one who made her like books so much and I'm the one who took away her purity with my words and my punctuation.

I'm the inventor of time.

But this isn't my story.

And I still haven't decided if this girl, the one who's world I've been born to create, is going to die young yet. Because dying young is so noble. And dying old is so normal.

Or maybe I'll send her back in time, to get a picture of the Titanic as it sinks.

Esther.

R.I.P.Tides

The waves calm and we're left with salt in our eyes and no tears left to cry. But you're still holding my hand.

"Swim."

This time we only make it 3 feet before the tides come back for their revenge.

The seaweed only grabs your ankles, but I love you.
And I follow you into the deep.


I've always wanted to kiss underwater.

But I've been given a direct order to swim. And good girls do what they're told.  So as soon as I can reach your hand I grab it. Not because I love you but because I'm trying to save you. The tide is still pulling and pushing and we have no way of telling which way is up except by letting out bubbles and watching them float. But our oxygen is precious. Hold your breath.

"Swim."

The whirlpool is too much to let us live. And as things grow black all I can feel is your hand in mine and how much I want your lips on mine and how you'll always be mine. I'm thinking about the 6 hour phone calls and the 30 second phone calls and every time we've made eye contact. I'm thinking about all the times we didn't make eye contact.

"Swim."

This time when the waves settle it takes a minute for me to find the surface. My strength is all but gone, because we've come too far to ever go back. I'm looking to blame you. You did this to us. You're the one who created the ocean and I never wanted to go swimming in the first place.

 But I love you, so it's all my fault.

 I'm swimming and you're sinking and I'm screaming.

We touch fingertips. And the waves won't leave us alone long enough for me to kiss you goodbye.




"Y.O.U.'.R.E. MEANS YOU ARE Y.O.U.R. MEANS YOUR."
Esther.

Falling off Ladders.

We've grown up, you and I
And you watched me as I slowly realized
That the bullet ridden boys across the battlefield
Had monsters in their closets too.
And you're way too far from perfect.
And everyone is way too young to die.

I don't let you tuck me into bed anymore.

Because the devil and the angel
Have vacated my shoulders
And torn me limb from limb
The truth left me broken in an alleyway
And you taught me  how to sin.

The door is breaking down,
And I hold onto all the lies,
Too afraid 
Screaming

Because I haven't been able to touch the clouds in years.

And duct tape won't fix this.
Hell. Super glue won't fix this.

Because I've been a glass ballerina for 4 years now.
I'm standing on one toe
And if someone so much as whispers
My balance shifts and your world shatters.

You're too young for a shattered world, Dad.
Broken glass is dangerous.

And once I cut myself
The sharks come looking for a way in
By this point you're gone
And I'm to weak to fight them off.

So hold in your gasp and close your eyes
It'll be over before you know it, my dear.

"I told you broken glass was dangerous."
Esther.

A LIST

PEOPLE I DON'T UNDERSTAND

• Murderers
• People who always back into parking spaces
• Fascists
• People who blow dry their hair
• Atheists
• People obsessed with their dogs
• Athletes
• Hitler
• You
• Masochists  

At least Hitler wrote a book, and athletes win medals sometimes. What have you done, exactly?

and/or

I've been trying to tell you how I feel.


I know you think I'm trying to make you love me, but I don't need to be loved. As long as I'm your muse.

I want you to look at me and know that when I inhale 1/2 the world is breathing out and somehow that makes me special.

I want you to look at me and fight back tears.
I want to make you write.
I want to make you scream.
I want to make you sing.

I'm your muse. And that's all that matters because if I'm your muse then you are my voice.

Muses never speak for themselves.
Oh, and watch out, because I'm the end of you.

I'm your muse. And It's all my fault. Because I'm the reason countries drop bombs on innocent towns and I'm the reason artists steal. I'm the one pushing you into Washington D.C. I'm the girl behind the scenes who keeps warm towels in your dressing room. I'm your depression and I am your happiness. I'm yours. All yours. And I'm the one to blame.

Because without me art and love and sex and beauty and everything that makes man kind would be irrelevant.
Without me you would wake up at 6 am for the morning news and put on your suit. Without me you'd be an accountant or a nameless worker on an assembly line.

Without me there would be no poetry.

And I cried, that night. The night you cut my hair. And the texts read, "I'm so sorry," but I'm the one who handed you the scissors.
And I kissed you and my hands found their way to yours.
I gave you the scissors, now cut my damn hair. The moment the metal hit my tangles I began to cry. Cut it off, cut it all off.
And I loved you more in that moment than I ever have before.

Because with one movement of your hands you stripped away my beauty and my appeal and my womanhood and everything mysterious about me. But you kissed me anyway, because you're my love, and I'm your muse.

Cut it all off, dammit.


Esther.

A Knock at the Door and A Cold Handshake.

I'm laying in bed thinking about politics. And policy. And sex. And how they're all the same thing and how none of them really matter.


Because I met death when I was twelve.

Death came to me in August. In the basement of my Aunt's house. I was 2 states away and still Death came to warn me.
"I'm going to take him," said Death.

And approximately 29 hours later Death kept her word. And she took you, my silent love.

I know a woman was the one who took you away. Because only a woman could carry you home and only a woman could let Hitler die.

Silent love, I wish I would have known you were my everything before Death stopped by to shake my hand.

When I opened the door and Death was standing there her face was blank but her eyes were alive. And the hissing didn't stop her from brushing the hair from out of my eyes. If anything it made it all the easier. I stood still.

But in reality I was gnashing my teeth. I hit the ground and I fought. I left claw marks in the hardwood floors and bite marks on Death's arms. I was an animal and Death was trying to constrain me.  But when I lost you I had nothing to lose because nothing mattered. Only you, my silent love. And I want you to know that I fought for you, in reality.

But I stood still.

And I still don't know if you can read blogs in heaven.

Esther.