"I'd offer my soul
if I thought it might help at all.
and I'd follow you down that road
If I thought it might help at all"

I always expel a gasp of pain before I get hurt.
And I'll make a barely audible noise even
if the pain was not that great.
I'm always getting hurt, or so it seems.
Bruises and cuts, scrapes and dings.
My body is tarnished with lavish displays of accidents.

I pricked my finger. Blood surfaced. She brought to me a band aid and peroxide. With tenderness and sincerity, she gently dabbed my finger with a cotton ball. The next day, she made food for me. She's always telling me to take care of myself. She's always reminding me to breathe, a seemingly easy and natural task to most, but for someone like me, it's detrimental to have constant and loving reminders. Most of the time I feel unworthy of her, but she knows that I would give her the world if I were capable of doing so.

My bed has become a perfect place to store
the things I no longer have the time to sort through.
My car seems to know only one destination.

Their support is waning and their doubts
are growing at an exponential rate.
I can't prove to them that my
choices are in fact good ones, but
I can't be bothered with what
people want me to be.

It seems to make most people happy.
But I'm afraid I'm just not wired that way.

There is a slight chance
that there will be room for error.
It has very little to do with loyalty or faithfulness,
but the truth of the matter is keeping
my head and my heart in sync
is something I've never been able to do.
But I'm learning.

I can't wait until the bridge is rebuilt.

I went back to save the bird but it was too late.

I am the richest kind of poor.

"We once belonged to a bird
We cast a shadow on this world"

In addition to my poorly constructed inner clock I mentioned previously, I have come to learn and accept that I was born with an inaccurate inner compass rose. Even when I am following the most intricate and seemingly exact directions I always manage to take a wrong turn. And instead of realizing my mistake, I continue to follow the wrong turn with an aching sense of hope that I am in fact traveling in the right direction. The frustration that ensues when I realize that I have to turn around and start over is overwhelming and at times deafening. I eagerly await the day where I reach my destination without needing a map. I eagerly await the day where my destination is clear.

While resting on what has become a familiar and loving shoulder, it hit me and I started to cry. I can't face another let down. I can't let myself down because I know what will end up happening. I will become a bore. My elusive, illustrious, visionary personality will evaporate into more of the same and this will fade before I'm ready. There is no proof, however, that this is the direction this venture is taking, but I know that I am almost entirely incapable of keeping the attention of someone I am learning to care very deeply about for more than five minutes. I don't see how I'm worthy of such patience. I am a troublesome juncture. I am an elaborate ruse.

I will never let the simple act of having the car door opened for me become an unappreciated part of our routine. Nor will I allow myself to wander too far.

I am officially now a part of the industry.An over sized black book and a signed contract with misleading agreements. It became real and I am someone new.

There's something I want to know before I can keep going.
Okay. I lied. I need to know everything.

Would you mind leading the way? Knowing me, I'll just end up lost.

"When there's nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire."

There's something wonderful about
being cold during the summer months.
There's something wonderful about
knowing it will rain tomorrow.

I have a stray kitten in my bed.
I named him Rhubarb. I think I have fleas now, but I don't care. I want to keep him, but I know that I can't. He fell asleep on my face. I forgot how beautiful it is to feel so enraptured by something as simple as a sandpaper kiss. It is a remarkable feeling to love and be loved by something so small and unassuming, so quickly. It reminded me of being a child which reminded me that perhaps I'm growing up too fast.

When I said I have one kitten, I meant I have two.
It is a new feeling for me. It is nice to feel special.
Although this kitten and I have failed to define our relationship,
I am quite content with whatever it is we have.
That isn't to say I don't have my reservations.
That isn't to say I'm not being cautious.
But, regardless of what happens or doesn't happen
I'm happy as of right now. That's gotta count for something!

Patching holes is a good feeling. I fear if I spring another, I will eventually become a living, breathing void. I want to avoid becoming my own black hole.

I'm losing sight of what it is I've wanted to do my entire life. All thanks to pesky flashbulbs and filtered dreams. Of course they aren't entirely to blame. I think I may be too ambitious and too unfocused. Regardless of the source of error, I've let things get in the way and now there are words I have to learn all over again. Definitions and all.

There was a moment. I was standing in the broken dusk, white feathers swirling beneath my feet, my hands blackened by soot. I spread my arms, as I often do, and it was then that
I silently revolted against everything.

I have yet to meet someone who understands it. All I need is a 10 inch by 10 inch patch of ground to call my own. Enough room to lift a leg, sway my hips and cautiously toss my hair side to side. The satisfaction that comes with reaching that burst of cool air that awaits patiently above the crowd. The way the smoke dances around faces, making everyone beautiful. Pulsating drum beats in sync with stubborn heartbeats. It is the only time in my life where I feel unified and safe and free. Last night was no exception. Actually, it may have set a precedent for what happiness, true and unbridled happiness, should feel like.

I am a lucky girl. My life is abundant in smiles and snorts and is filled to the brim with amazing people. This, however, makes my weak moments so much worse. I go from appreciating the ground I walk on, to cursing the world and all of its inhabitants. My weaknesses tend to prevail but I'm working on it.

It is truly a strange comfort to see someone you haven't seen in a long time and there is still a thread of familiarity. I like that very much.

My horoscope said something about freeing myself.
Freedom in what capacity, I am unsure.
But I would be a fool to not consider it.

"The sound of my heart,
it startled me."

The songs I've spent the past few months listening to, usually on repeat, usually in between sobs and gasps, no longer apply to me. They are still great songs, but they fail to trigger that feeling I seem to have abandoned. I'm no stronger than I was before and I'm certainly in no better shape, but there is something magical about having to search for a more suitable soundtrack to new and unfamiliar feelings.

I have an outstanding fear that I'm not going to make it. That my work will trail off into the sea of my past. I can't let it happen. Not now, anyway. It hit me yesterday. The sun was going down on the city of Pontiac. A cotton candy colored sky to my right, an empty stage to my left. I was wearing a black vintage Christian Dior shift, grass tickling my ankles, my friends playing in the patches of dusk, the sounds of shutter clicks and ambulances swirling around. It hit me. This is tangible if I allow it to be tangible. I can make this happen if I want it to happen. The only question I face now is, why?

As much as I say I cannot stand children, nor do I want children of my own, I always am surprised to see the uninhibited nature and unbridled honesty of children and how refreshing it is to hear such free thought. I can't help but smile and wish that all the children of the world understand that there's no hurry to grow up. Everything they know and everything they don't know is completely beautiful. I actually tend to tell children I encounter to not grow up, to stay as they are. They usually tilt their head and ask why. But during yesterdays encounter, I bent down to tell the sparkly, wide-eyed seven year old to never grow up, she threw her arms up like two, stringy question marks and said, "But I have to grow up. My birthday is in October!" I told her that my birthday was in October, too. It was then that I came to the obvious, yet insightful conclusion that yes, my body and mind must mature with the natural progression of age, but I never have to forfeit the sweet, unassuming naivete of my inner child.

I had a brief moment of weakness, which is not uncommon, let me assure you. I knew what I was doing when I made the choice to look. And when I did, the sparks reignited. So, I wrote it down again and set it on fire again. I awoke to nothing. Nothing had changed. It just didn't work. Maybe I don't need it to work, because it never will anyway.

I need to purchase a calender or a planner. I have dates and times and locations and lists, all creating clutter and mess in my head. I've asked my inner child to clean up a bit, but she's stubborn and defiant. So, I'll have to do it myself. But it can wait until after I've run through my neighbors sprinklers, barefoot and giggling.

"What you once were isn't what you
want to be anymore."

I truly believe I was born with a poorly constructed, slightly damaged inner clock. Please don't ask me to give a specific example as to why I believe the previous statement to be true, just trust me. Too little, too late. Too much, too soon. These cliches are the bane of my existence, of which there are several.

How is it that I am always the one leaving notes on peoples windows and doors? I try so hard to make people realize that I care about them. In regards to my most recent case, she won't respond. Not even a handwritten note could save this now.

I don't blend in anymore. When I was a child I wanted nothing more than to be normal. When I was a teenager I wanted nothing more than to be different. And now here I am. Standing out. I don't know what to think of it. I don't believe the nice things people say, not because I think everyone to be a liar but because I am most comfortable disliking myself. I'm being asked to carry myself differently and to change all the things I feel most comfortable doing. Perhaps this is a mid-mid-life crisis. Or more so a identity crisis. The point is, blending in is easier. Was easier, Jerilyn. Was.

I can't bare to look at myself anymore, in any form. I'm exhausted by my various painted faces, curls and swirls, pigeon toes and blank stares. I'm a one trick pony, anyway. Everyone will see it soon enough and all of this will be merely a freckle. A freckle easily covered with some foundation and concealer.

I should have realized I wasn't love bound when I was in the fourth grade. You see, I fell in love with this Russian kid who moved to Michigan (to my fourth grade class) And when I say love, I mean love. He wasn't nice to me and when we passed notes back and forth his replies usually contained misspelled curse words. I wrote him poems and eventually forced him into being my boyfriend. To summarize my traumatic, elementary love affair, I was too much in love to see that perhaps love wasn't for me. Isn't, Jerilyn. Isn't.

I'm just now learning from past experiences, just one confirmation of my malfunctioning clock.

It seems as though I am constantly tiptoeing around as to avoid upsetting anyone. But very few people show me the same graciousness.

I turn everyone I meet into my therapist.

All I've got is the Ace of hearts.
I'm all in and I think I should fold.

"No one ever said it would

be this hard.
I'm going back to the start."

Clarity is a funny thing. We crave it and beg for it.
But somehow when we actually have it
we want to return to our familiar state of blurriness
because, after all, moving on is always more difficult
than standing still.

For the first time in my entire life,
I did not apologize for anything.
It felt electric.
I feel as though I've added a
new word to my vocabulary,
or perhaps I've removed a few.

I'm the type of person who apologizes to a chair if
I happen to bump into it. And although I will still feel
awful for doing so, I will now at least acknowledge the
chairs wrong doing in the matter.
Instead of waiting to be forgiven,
I will open myself to forgive.

In the spirit of funny things,
I would be foolish to not mention the funny nature of truth.
We hold honesty and truthfulness in such high regards.
Yet, sometimes we use truth as a last resort.
Like, it's our only option after we've done something we are sorry for.
Very rarely do we fall back on truth before the road forks.
But in my very vague case, it's nice to hear. Even now.

Someone special told me recently that they think I'm on the right path.
And for the first time in my entire life,
I would have to agree.

To put it simply, we are not perfect and it's okay.
In regards to the aforementioned
clumsy, over apologetic girl,
she's going to be fine.
Trust me.

"I chose to feel it and you couldn't choose"

I finally saw fireworks. The best kind. The ones that take you by surprise. Falling embers, falling stars. Taking cover from man made meteor showers. As fantastical as they were in the sky, it was their reflections on the water that I found to be most magical. Dreamlike, yet tangible.

The past few days I've been forced to face music that I've been more than reluctant to listen to. But I'm taking it all to heart. Although the aforementioned heart is confounded and weak, it is feeding on the brutal honesty of this chorus; learning from these scattered instrumental interludes. I think I have become better suited to keep rhythm. Well, at least a beat or two.

I initially traveled north to find peace and quiet. I would have settled for one or the other, really. But the noise found its way to me somehow. Paradoxically, the noise was not music.
It was steady and constant. It was foreign to me then, but now has become a vivid part of my presence. The fresh air, which usually inspires me, left me lethargic and heavy.

I miss very much the land where feet are stained with earth and where people paint their houses whatever colors they like.

I befriended a dog and smoked too many cigarettes. I told her the saddest story I knew. She told me even when I'm happy I'm sad. She wants me to find the missing piece. I asked her where I should look. She didn't know.

I've been frequenting a different area with a new group of people. I'm surprised they let me in, seeing that I am much younger and have retained all those annoying, youthful qualities. But I enjoy the change of pace. I enjoy their company. With them, my laughter is never forced.

While downtown, standing amongst a sea of the same, I felt my progress dissolve. Those lousy two steps that took me forever to take, faded to nothing as I quickly moved 10 miles back. So, I am back at square one. You have to start somewhere, right? Right. The car ride home was particularly painful. It was 4:30am. I was on empty in more ways than one. As I was coming undone, it all came together. I refused sleep, but sleep won.

I wrote it down and put in the fire.

People are most vulnerable when they're at their happiest.

I've never feared ghosts until now.

Yesterday, upon my return, things began to unravel as I knew they would. She wants to give up on us. Kind and unexpected inbox confusion. Police have too much power. The girl's moving out and moving on. There's not much I can do. I can fight, but what's the use?

My mother called me fat.

I better start looking for the missing piece.
But where do I start?

I blame the change in weather.
I know it's unfair of me to blame the weather, a non cognitive entity,
but what's a girl to do? I'm sure weather will understand.

Coming home when the birds are stretching their wings awake and
sprinkler systems casually erupt is becoming something I am starting to enjoy. I could do without the endless paid programming on television, though.

Part one:
Excessive snorting fits, memorial dance party, harmless flirting, drunken clumsiness, misting rain, raccoon eyes, making people laugh,Kings and Aces, being snarky, misinterpreted winking, playful glances, turning around one last time and handmade unicorns.

Part two:
Sun sans screen, midday sleep frustration, tuna sandwiches and Oreos, volleyball, friendly vulnerability, sunburned cigarettes, wanting shade, telling secrets

Part three:
Matinees, playing dress up, vintage Jean Paul Gaultier, ancient sequins, cheese pizza, free haircuts, being adopted, being thankful, late starts, touching everything, overcast skies, broken bicycle chains, confident sheerness, wind blown hair, changing in cars (again), bare feet on city pavement, off brand cereal, cold cement and finding a wrinkled and weathered copy of myself.

Part four:
Name induced smiles, new car bitterness, revisiting an old infatuation, cheating on forgotten vices, pop its and sparklers, counting pennies, taking back empties on empty, spurts of creativity, enunciating my A's as Ah's, couple triple, sketchy drugs and lessons about hooking up, night to morning conversation, dinner for breakfast, waking in the afternoon and cursing the heavens.

I feel like I'm spying on hidden parts of myself.
I am a fake and a fraud.
I'm getting really sick of carrying this with me wherever I go.

I'll be clearing my head over the next few days, in a cabin by the lake.

I want to feel fireworks again.