#drafts #realrealtalk #moretocome

Hey peeps. So here is literally all of the things I tried to spit out during the 4 hours it took me to try writing this post. I had been thinking about what to say all weekend but I just couldn't keep it together today. I think the pressure of making it count is what got me. It ended up I couldn't think of anything more real than this at the moment. Anyways, enjoy the realness. Don't worry. I'll post something better later ;) 


   My Mom told me once that I am a creature of connection. That my heart was actually made of silver and that whenever I connected to someone I shone like the moon. Not obvious, but subtle, steady, and beautiful. Not obvious, but alive.
My Dad somehow used to tell me that I was responsible for everyone but myself. 
My sister tells me I am a blessing.
My fear tells me that I'll never stand out. That these 3 precious hours could have been used for sleep.
And my heart tells me to tell you whatever is on my mind. I'm not sure what real talk looks like and I may just post this for the credit.
all this talk about me,

Real talk looks like a long drive in the rain, just so we can hear her voice again.

Real talk looks like not minding no make-up but wearing it anyway, fear of the fake looks or no looks at all. Only the things her eyes would see.

Real talk looks like 5 beautiful blondes, and one average brunette. 

"Hi. I'm Katy. I wrote this poem last night, is it okay if I read it to you? And I'm sorry if it sucks, its only my 1st draft."
"Hi. I'm Katy. I'm the 7th of 9 kids. Don't worry, I'm the only one who acts like this."
"Hi. I'm Katy. Nice to meet you. Do you want to hang out with me and my sister this Saturday? Don't panic, its only to be nice." (its mainly for her, just to be nice)(ends with saying that apologizing sucks, don't apologize for your 1st drafts thats stupid)

I heard a quote once that said "Around everyone's neck hangs a sign that says 'make me feel important.'"
Make me feel whole
Make me shine
Make me feel seen
Help me
Help me. 
There used to be a saying in my house that said "Every right implies a responsibility, every opportunity an obligation, every possession a duty." 
My Dad used to tell me that I was responsible for everyone but myself.
My Mom told me once that I am a creature of connection and that my heart was actually made of silver. Calm, subtle, steady. And that whenever I connected to someone I shone like the moon. Not obvious, but alive.
And my sister told me once that I wear my heart on my sleeve and I am a walking sponge, absorbing every unsaid word, every tear, every cry in the night. 
She told me it wasn't affecting me for the better, but true to her words, I took it to heart. 
On my first day of high school

But even real talk couldn't tell you how many times I had to change scenery, take a break or rewrite something completely different, just for this little prompt. Real talk looks like poetic words and churning depths, but stress on paper. just keeping it simple. Real talk looks like me still hoping to post on this blog when the stress of standing out dies down

Real talk looks like the too-intense desire to be meaningful and different actually make her words meaningless (like it always does)

Real talk looks like the burning desire to make her last words her most meaningful. But maybe thats why this post was the hardest because I freeze up at the thought of goodbyes. I'm not ready to say goodbye to Paris just yet. No, not for me. I may not have creative writing 2 next semester, but I'll be back. 

Never Look Away

Whenever something sad happens to me it has always been instinct for me to look away. My fear of that image being seared into my brain as memory too big for compassion.

  I remember the time my heart stopped as I watched Death do what it does best on the steaming asphalt, under the spotlight of our cars brights. Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. I looked away.
  I remember the time I saw the one and only tear come down Stonefaces' cheek. It can't be real. It would never be what it seemed. I looked away.
  I remember my heart skipping a beat as you passed me in the hall. You didn't look my way, so I pushed on, stinging words swirling in my mind. I was never worthy of that anyway. 
  I remember his calm voice, yet intense eyes that deliver the message: don't feel, don't feel, don't feel. I  managed to look away.
But now I'm standing in the midst of this silent blizzard and suddenly I need my eyes. And I 

can't.

look.

away.

  I remember when I felt a strange, sticky feeling suddenly cling in my chest. People tell me the real definition was "grief". 
And it won't go away.
  I remember going through old photographs and feeling like a mystery no one cared to solve.
And my eyes are glued to her face.

  I remember when Stoneface Jr. suddenly lost her nickname. Mascara still stains my shirt.
As much as I appreciate it, I wish it would wash away. 

  I remember swallowing "irrational" or "petty" tears because now I'm the one who has to carry in the heavy stuff from the car, fix too many broken things, or kill that spider while girls squeal and run for cover. This wasn't always my job. 
And they won't go away.

  I remember seeing him put a gun to her head with his words. But that bullet hit me and her both.
And this gaping hole won't go away. 

  Now I have these images seared in my brain and I remember how I've always wanted to run. To look away, never knowing any different. 

But as I gaze in the mirror, I realize that all I want to do now is look. As gruesome as they are, these memories intrigue me. Who is this girl? What has disregarding her emotion cost her? Are her eyes really as weary as they feel? All those late nights in the mountains, naps in the grass, waves and waves of people, or awe-striking stars tell me that I have never been more alive. Somehow they tell me that these eyes see more than the "general idea". They record the details. And they remember them. 

When I look into those eyes, I remember everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly. This is my life, these things make me who I am. And never again will I look away from anything that has played a piece in creating me. Even if it means dealing with pain. Because facing the truth has taught me what it feels like to live without sight and looking away has taught me what life would be like without a heart. And I don't know about you but my heart has always been something I can't bear to lose.