I Just Want to Be Happy

Why do you run?
That's what they ask.
Everyone's favorite question.
What's wrong with you?
Nothing, I say.
Things don't work out as expected.
Best laid plans go south.
I find unhappiness.
Or it finds me.
Permeates everywhere I look.
Sweet words dissipate. 
Bad moods prevail.
Harsh words, hurt feelings.
Fear of who they are now.
So I run.
To find that happy feeling again.
To chase my next high.
The next thing to make me feel good.
My next source of pleasure.
So even now,
I continue running.

The Beginning of the Prom Scene

Sailor awoke that morning, full of dread. Today was the day she was being forced to go prom dress shopping with her hateful stepmother, Satan. I'm not even sure I care to go to prom she thought. I don't want to see Mason and his new girlfriend. I'm not really feeling prom season. She began her makeup, got dressed, and went downstairs to find Satan's family waiting in the kitchen. "Hey, what are you guys doing here," she said to the room full of people. "Oh, they're going to the mall with us."
Shoot me, Sailor thought, this is the most embarrassing moment ever. I don't want to try on frilly dresses in front of a bunch of people I barely know. Sailor reluctantly got in the car and off they went. Sailor looked around, store after store, dress after dress. Nothing fit right, nothing felt right. "Sailor, what are you looking for?" "I don't know," she said. All Sailor could see in her head was something pretty and sweet. Something Mason would look at and stop him dead in his tracks, make his heart skip a beat.

Also Temporarily Untitled

Your words,
A continuous flow of hatred.
Lips, tongue, and teeth,
Spewing destruction.
Causing tears, sobs, sadness, and hurt feelings.
Is it worth the price to you?
Does it feel good to hurt?
Is the damage just chalked up to,
Another casualty.
Do you sleep at night?
A baby, no remorse.
Or do you repeat the words,
Over and over until they meld to your brain.
And see the hurt faces,
Over and over.
A never ending cycle.

Meet Me When It's Over

Tell me,
That at the end of the day,
After all the adventures have been had.
You've seen the world's offerings.
You are old and so am I.
Our youth worn away.
Our feet black with the ashes of roads traveled,
Our fingers tired from grabbing
at things we could never reach.
The universe had it's laugh,
And we had our fun.
We'll come exhausted.
And our souls will meet at the front door.
Anxious and happy.
We'll rest and reminisce.
Until it's all over
The last flower blooms,
and the last leaf falls.

I Don't Want to Be a Dead End Human

Shug, what makes you happy? Better yet, what feeds your soul? Is it drugs, always chasing your next high? Is that who you are when no one is looking, is that what your soul aches for? Do you long to not feel lost anymore? Do you want a place to feel at home? Happy and peaceful? A place you can rest. Or do you want that adrenaline rush? I yearn for a place to run to. A place to unpack and call home. I ache for a good book and the perfect cup of coffee. The idea of learning something new and life-changing, of being a different person than I was yesterday. Every day, more sweet, more kind, more understanding. A chance to feel my feet in the sand, the wind in my hair. I want to live and then come home to my porch and talk about all the living. I want to go. Just go. Japan, Amsterdam, Australia, Madagascar. Sylvia Plath said she wanted to be everyone, a preacher, a prostitute, and come back and write about her experiences. I want that. I don't want to spend every day in a haze of unremembrance. I don't want to spend every day living the same life, especially without someone to make it interesting, until I wake up and realize I have no more days left. Everything I have ever learned about how to live, I learned from you. You are too smart to waste away in a dead end life, to be nothing and nobody. You were my first and perhaps most solid definition of love, you were the reason I started writing, the reason I wanted to be a good person. People who are so unique that they have the power to change someone's lives are very rare. Don't diminish and squander that. It's important.

The First Go Round, Nonexistent Book

Mason saw her standing there, jeans, black band t-shit, Chuck Taylors, back turned to him. His heart skipping a beat thinking of the sweetly eloquent words she had tried so hard to convince him of. In that moment, she turned around, her eyes immediately finding his as his approached. "Sailor, I missed you," he said. "Well," she said, "I've been waiting an awfully long time." "Ok, I know what I have to do. I'll be back," and with that, Mason walked off.

Mason walked up to his girlfriend, some girl he had been talked into dating by his friends, in place of Sailor, and ended their short beginning. He walked back up to Sailor, grabbed her face in his hands, and kissed her. Then the two of them fell into a feeling that neither would ever fully recover from.

Dance With Me in Hell

Can I be?
Your today, your tomorrow, and all of your yesterdays.
Will you take me where you go?
Can I be?
Your favorite photo,
The one you feel compelled to stop and stare at,
Every time you walk by.
Can I be?
Your first thought in the morning,
Drink me with your cup of coffee.
Breathe me in with your cigarette.
Your last thought at night,
The peaceful thing that drives you to sleep.
Can I also be,
All the thoughts in between.
Can I be?
Your favorite prayer,
The one thing you really hoped for.
Can I be?
Your favorite demon.
Ready to dance with you in happy, hot bliss.

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My life, a mess.
My soul,
tired.
I long for a place.
Where my mind can rest.
I can repaint my walls.
Open up my windows,
sunshine for the first time.
Lay it's metaphorical feet up.
Life fueled by understanding.
Open ears, ready to listen.
Late nights, real dinners, warm fires.
Unpack my baggage
and call it home.

One Preceding the Letter, a Transition, More Parts of a Nonexistent Book

Mason sat at his desk, unable to focus on class, terrified of what he would find in that envelope. He waited til he got home, ran upstairs to his bedroom, though twice, ran to the porch and let a cigarette. After smoking and a failed attempt to calm his nerves, he went inside to face the truth.
Mason stuck his hand inside and pulled out a book. Skate by Michael Harmon, a book he had let Sailor borrow a few months ago. Took a deep breath, reached in one more time, and pulled out Sailor's letter.

Why Are You Here?

Do you know me at all?
Do you know what I've seen,
Where my mind goes when it drifts off?
Off, off, off
Until it falls right off the Earth.
Favorite song,
The one I sing to break my heart
Over and over again.
Favorite movie,
That always excites my personality.
Favorite book,
That always leaves me inspired and craving life.
What brings tears to my eyes?
What gives me the warm, fuzzy feelings.
Am I just a toy to you?
New and shiny, for the moment?
Until I'm thrown into a corner.
With all of your discarded things,
thought, and feelings.
Left to collect your dust.

Speaking of Things Down the Rabbit Hole

And here we go again,
I fell down, down, down
Down into that mysterious hole.
Where I always find you waiting.
Waiting to take my hand.
And fuck me up all over again.
Would it make you sick to your stomach
To know?
Or some sort of twisted amusement?
Everything is an illusion.
My words, coy.
My actions,
An unintentional game.
With a prize I'll never win.