Paris, you're breaking my heart.

You got your pocketknife that you're father gave to you on your twelfth birthday and you stabbed it right here into my chest. I didn't scream because I wanted this. I wanted to feel something other than guilt, because I wasn't sure if I still knew how.
But no one is going to love me with these scars.

Paris, you're cold and it's winter. I've never been one for big coats so hold me close and keep me warm. At least keep my fingers from turning blue.

You've ruined me because all I want to do is let you catch me, and falling is dangerous.
I catch myself bleeding for you.
Screaming for you.
I catch myself writing words I never knew I could think for you.



Then sometimes I catch myself thinking about us.

We could've had a love affair made for story books and independent movies.

We'd live in Paris and leave love letters on the pillow when we got up for work.
Our high school secrets and our screwed up families wouldn't matter anymore.

We'd try and learn French but we'd both suck at it, so we'd move on to their fries and their bread and their kissing.

We'd tell our own stories. We'd write the books and the screenplays. And people would grow up believing in love because of us.

But then I remember that I loved you once.
I loved you, and you loved her.
The ink stopped and the printers quit.
And our story ceased to exist. 


the end.

esther.

On the Count of 3

On the flight to Paris I read all the fashion magazines and practiced all the "common phrases" in my French-English dictionary.

I stepped off the plane and got gum stuck on my shoe. 

"Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Paris."

At first Paris flattered me. 
The way the lights hit my face made the French boys go crazy and the way my words left my fingers made love take a second look at what it means to be.

I held up my skirt and I curtsied. 
(That bow was the beginning of the end of it all)

Within 2 weeks I ran out of money and I remembered that I came to Paris alone. And I don't speak French.

So I melted into Paris.

None of you saw me, none of you knew I was there.
Because to you I was just the girl working in the Café down the street. My hair was always in a bun and sometimes I wore my glasses because I couldn't afford new contacts.
My heels broke on the asphalt and my legs were covered in bruises.  

I cried for you, but you never heard me.
New York was breaking me.
London was teasing me.
Detroit was calling me.
San Diego was missing me.
And Salt Lake was pulling me apart.

But when I became too weak to stand any longer it was the Eiffel Tower that I leaned on and it was Paris that held me up.

And I'm still that girl. 
I'm still the girl who spends her lunch break in an empty computer lab and only gets called by classmates hen they need help with their math homework. The girl on food stamps. I'm the girl who can't decide if she's a "right brain" or a "left brain" and doesn't understand why she can't be both.

But Paris,
You made me more than that.

You made me the girl that goes home at night and writes poetry.

ESTHER.
 

a trip down the black hole

I'd like for outer space to come now.

Take us away and don't let us look back.

Just float on forever and we'll hold onto each other while gravity forgets first our middle name, then our last, then our face.

These black holes you keep throwing at me are getting exhausting.

I'm going to let them take me soon.

Please someone come stop me.
(esther)

You're Poison, You Are

This is going to ruin us.

This is going to tear us apart. Our limbs strewn across the checkered tile floor and our heads shaved.

I'll carve "I love you" into your arms.
And you'll carve "I loved you too" into mine.
Past Tense hurts more than the razor.

I want to warn you that this is the beginning of the end. I want to fix this.  But things I try to fix end up shattered, and I never meant to break your heart.

So you keep drinking and I'll keep getting high.

I'll keep pretending I can't see you pulling away. I'll keep saying that I love you, and I do.
But I wish you knew that every time I say it I'm waiting for you to say it back. And that's rare.

I've been shaking all day.
Because for a while I thought I had lost you. For a while I thought you wouldn't forgive me for this and I'd be too stubborn to say that I'm sorry. 
It's this little game God and I have been playing for a while now.
 
Keep Going.
And people will keep thinking I only speak in metaphors.

"Why are you mad?"

"I don't know...I'm not mad."

"You're something."

"It scares me."

"It still scares me too."

TROUBLE IN CANDYLAND

esther

" if all the artists leave"

Broken Poet
By Tanya Davis

Remember, i was a broken poet
holding on to the drama of life in the doldrums
you were a strong lover
in both heart and muscle
you could have been my mother
for all those tears you caught

Remember, i was a fucked up writer
more depressed than inspired
you were sick and tired
of all that i cried
and our lion fire
musta surely suffered from the rain

 *********************************************************************

Because I'm a broken poet too, but I'm still scared to say the "F word."

Because I'm sick of long metaphorical poems stuffed with pretty words and no actual soul.

Because no one will read long metaphorical poems.

Because lately my words have meant nothing.

And your words mean everything.

Because  I'm trying to tell you something.

I'm trying. 

Because giving up sounds so easy and giving in sounds so typical.

Because this is the first year I don't even care what I get for Christmas. 

Because I'm scared. 



(Because I'm) ESTHER. 

Really, Truly, Etc.

I'm sorry I flipped you off when you weren't looking. Multiple times.

I'm sorry your dad left.
And when he came to town I asked you if it was for Thanksgiving.
"Business,"you said, "It's always business."

I'm sorry that I lie to you every time you go out of town. I'm not gonna stop, but I'm still sorry. I am so sorry.

I'm sorry that you study every day and you've never kissed a boy and even though you have a 4.0, I still managed to get an ACT score 5 points higher than you.

I'm sorry you had to get braces after the age of 15.

And I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I'm sorry that now our parents don't trust us and I don't trust us and we're both going to hell together. But at least we'll be together.

Mostly I'm just sorry you never got a real Christmas tree.


ESTHER

You don't have to say anything.

"I'm going to bed now."

"Wait, we just got talking"

"No. I'm going to bed."


Could you hear me crying in the next room?
No?
I shoved my face in a pillow and let it soak in. Because I don't want to have to lie to you.  I shoved my face in a pillow to prove that I could be alone and I didn't need you to comfort me. I didn't want you.

You disgust me. And I don't give a shit if its human nature. I don't give a shit if it's out of your control. And I barely give a shit about you.

 
There are certain things teenage girls should never know about their fathers. 
Like where they keep the dirty pictures on their phone.

My dad is classy, he just saves them in the "Photos" section.



(esther)