Letters to Them

Dear Heart,

I'm sorry. I wanted to write about my strengths, but lost my vision after I saw him rhyming, her kissing, them dancing, and all the while you and I were still trying to find one another. Brain wrote me a while back, and said, “ Oh, Tyler. Don’t you get it? Your strings have already been plucked by the greats. Your pen hates your clichés and your blog thinks you need to stop taking yourself so seriously.” I probably should have come to you for therapy, but was to ripped apart by regret. Sometimes I feel like that’s the only thing brain makes me feel anymore.

I also remember a time- about three months ago- I wanted to quit my job, but my brain told me to shut up and get realistic. I know you don’t like brain( and lots of times I don’t like brain), but we actually kinda need him.

We don’t really spend enough time together, Heart; I want to change that.

            Probably not till the end of the term, though. Brain’s got me in a freaking boot camp at the moment.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Tyler

Dear Tyler,

I’m not going to pretend like I’m not hurt, by how much time you’ve been spending with brain. But I also know you guys are doing great things, and I wish I could play more of a part in it.

            It’s not entirely true we don’t see each other, anymore. In fact, just today, we caught a glimpse of each other’s eyes, when you mastered that song on the guitar. We waved at one another, remember? But then you got distracted and left. It’s fine, though. It didn’t sting as bad as it has in the past.

           I’ve got to be completely honest about something- got to get something off my chest. I’m still in pain about our encounter two nights ago.

           I was in that poem with you, friend. We worked so hard on it- remember how we lost track of time and the hours glided by like curls of fog in the wind. But you put it away. You crumpled it up and put it in the trash, and for just a moment it felt like you were taking me, and crumpling up me, and tossing me in that trash bin. That hurt.

           I still enjoy your company and sometimes wonder if you enjoy mine,

Heart

Dear heart,

I’m not sure what to say.

Brain hated it. He talked about how people would start to view me as over dramatic or mentally unstable.

I’m sorry.  Maybe brain and I don’t get along as well as I thought.

Sincerely,

Tyler

Dear Tyler,

Stop freaking writing notes to your heart. You have homework.

Goodness,

Brain

I Remember Watching Her Break

We’re all humans. Why are some people so brutal?

17 years old.  She cries to me, because she hates herself. She feels so disconnected. So hated. She tells me that her life feels worthless to her. I can’t tell if she actually means it. I worry for her. I’d do anything for her.

16. Her bulimia has almost got the best of her. I’m not sure what to tell her accept a cliché , “You’re perfect the way you are, Bailey.” Because it’s not like I need more than one bandage to reattach a heart.

15. Her words cut into me- our first real argument- and I don’t go to school the next day. I can’t help but wonder how she got to be so harsh.

14. I start talking with the pretty girl in the back, who likes my best friend. She’s changed a little from when I last knew her. Still doesn’t have many friends, and struggles to reach out.

13.

12. She looks happy.

11.

10. She doesn’t fit in.

9. A boy yells, “Bailey licked the water fountain!” Everybody laughs and moves over to the fountain that she didn’t ‘lick’. I know she didn’t actually lick it, but I wait in the longer line, anyway. She cries in the corner.

8. I see a boy push her over

8.  Five guys start the chant, “Ug-ly Bai-ly, Ug-ly Bai-ly, Ug-ly Bai-ly”. I can see how she is wilting.

8. They make fun of her for having cheerio breath.

8. The teachers don’t say anything

8.Like a shadow, I don’t say anything. Like I could ever cast my vote, simply as “present”.

                                                “Present” isn’t a vote.

7.

6. First grade. I meet a happy little girl in a happy little dress.

She looks friendly

, but I decide not to talk to her.

…She’s just a little too quirky for my first grade, egocentric eyes.

5.

4.

3.

2.

1. I didn’t know her before first grade, but she tells me that she was happy-

 just as little kids are

Before the humans,

-Violent and Critical,

Broke Her,

As though

she wasn’t

one

of

us.

Riptide

By Hector Vance

I once got caught in a riptide

My feet yanked out from under me,

salt water stinging my eyes, my hands dragging across the sand.

I once got caught in a riptide,

A question like, “Do you love me?’ was a disgusting profanity, a curl of water that pulled my view from the shore.

I once got caught in a riptide

It was only after it violently wrenched my heart in half that I understood it was called a RIPtide.

I once got caught in a riptide.

The halls were crevasses and the classrooms were caves, and yet, although it seemed like there would be handholds- the only person holding my hand was the sick grasp of death.

I once got caught in a riptide.

I speak for that screaming moment when they bowed their heads, and my head went stiff , my eyes stuck open, I couldn’t do anything but glare, and I prefer to think that was never glaring at god,  but when I was young I learned that god was ubiquitous so if I scream at the sky, or sing to my friend in the ground,  god hears every word, every thought.

It’s a riptide

Riptide.

I once got caught in a riptide.

I once got caught in a riptide.

Riptide.

I once got caught in a riptide.

I once got caught in a riptide.

We all came into this world screaming.