So what's new?

It's so much easier to have a broken heart when you need one.

I don't have anything wise to say.
I don't have anything profound to say.
I hardly have anything to say.

To you.

Or to anyone for that matter.




I'm afraid I've been silent for so long I'm afraid I've lost my words.
I'm afraid that my words have found a new body to house them in.
I'm afraid I've been silent too many times sitting in the passenger seat of your car.


You tell me it's going to be okay.
"You're okay. You're more than okay."

I say.
"Hopefully"

You've always had more hope than I have.



You've seen my gold curls rope around and become nooses.
I've seen myself put the step latter underneath my curls, and step up.

Slide in.
Tight fight.

Step up.
Step up.

STEP.
UP.








I'm apathetic towards you.
I just couldn't stop thinking tonight,


Holy H*CK, I will never miss you.

I'm better off without ya.

11.02.2012

The way you and me

We,

The way we communicate, is something

different. 

Words do not need to exchanged. 

nor does eye contact.

The way, we communicate,

is through our breath.

If you are still breathing, 

and I am still breathing,

then I know,

you still love me.

If we are walking through

a winter night.

and smoke leaves your lungs.

So does your love. 

The rapid pattern,

of your breath,

is the constant reminder,

you know who I am.

and what I stand for.

The way your breath sounds,

over the phone.

in the middle of the night,

breathes words of tired love.

When I look at you,

when we see each other, 

I stare at you mouth,

watching for your breath. 

- November 02.2012

I wrote this a few years ago and stumbled upon it tonight.
I don't mean to be nostalgic. 
Everything is always warm in familiarity.

I wish the best for everyone who is leaving their familiarity. Dress warms Darling, it's cold out there.

-SJT

THINGS THAT ARE THINGS.

THINGS I KEEP TELLING MYSELF:
1. Send out good vibes.
2. Accept your lots in life.

THINGS I REALIZED OVER THE WEEKEND:
1. I'm more like my mom than I could have imagined.
2. Soul searching is painful.

THINGS I FEEL APATHETIC ABOUT:
1. Long prom dresses.
2. Online classes.

God drew me with a crayon.

God drew me with a crayon.

He started with the eyes. He taped together a sky-something-ocean-blue crayon and a pine-scented-asparagus-green crayon and went to work. And God, He colored outside the lines a little bit because something about a metaphor about looking beyond yourself. 

“Look closer,” He said. 

“Look harder,” He said.

Next, He chose my mouth. He splashed my lips with hints of indigo and canary and filled my tongue with colors like watermelon slices and rose petals. My teeth were like the ivories on a piano and my smile was made with colors like jumper cables and car batteries. 

God said, “Speak kindly.” 

God said, “Taste sweetly.”

Next, the nose and cheeks. He drew the outline of them with a little too much blush and a little too much sun. I get embarrassed and sunburned way too easily. He sprinkled tiny dots colored like chestnuts on my nose and called them freckles but deep down I know they’re really angel kisses… and lately I've had to look harder in the mirror to find them.

He rounded off my joints with colors like mud and bruises because God wanted me to keep standing back up even after the third prayer in a row because He knew that the bruises on my heart would heal just like the bruises on my knees.

He combined colors of the sun and a strawberry field and added them to my hair so that I would know what love felt like.

God filled in the empty spaces with colors like the starry-sky and the rolling mountains. He said, “Remember.  Remember how it only took me one week to make all this and it’s all yours.”

Finally, God completed me with a heart full of the best books and the best music. Colors like floral prints and log cabins surrounded my lungs. God soaked my blood in waxy, bittersweet lavender. It pumps to my arms and legs and I cry purples and midnight blues, always with Him on my mind.

Then I would be His and He would send me on my way.

Barefoot, braided, and sun kissed she entered the world.

And God smiled.

-Nattty Taylor.
I basically wanted to highlight the entire thing.
So beautiful.
I needed this tonight. 

Selected Memories.

I remember playing tag at recess and giving the boy I liked an Indian burn. I thought it was love. 

I remember sitting in laundry baskets while my dad pushed me around the house.
I remember the Fourth of July and the Buttler's house. My mom had short hair, and so did I. We were twins. 

I remember hiding in the corn rows of our garden pretending I was lost in Africa. You could always see me and I always told you to pretend you didn't.

I remember showing you how to kiss. We were laughing so hard. 

I remember making blanket nests. I was 5 and you were 7. We both wanted to be birds. I was a blue one and you were purple. 

I remember waking up and wising my eyes never opened again.
I remember the first year you said, "This was going to be our smallest Christmas." 

I remember you said I must be the smartest girl in my class because I knew how to spell the word, hospital. 

I remember selling candy on the street. Everything was melted. I remember lying and saying it wasn't. 

I remember when my dad slapped me. I was making an egg salad sandwich. 

I remember the first time I made out. 

I remember when I liked Pokemon but didn't tell anyone.

I remember making pancakes in the basement because my sister asked me to. I hid the griddle in my room for weeks. 

I remember when my brother got suspended because his friends dared him to go in the girls bathroom.
I remember when all the girls asked me if I wore a bra or not. 

I remember when the worst word I knew was crap.

I remember meeting at LP pond. You were shaking so bad. I borrowed my brothers bike to get there. 

I remember being alone. I remember how real it was.
I remember sitting at the cemetery and wanting to talk out loud but being too much of a coward to do it. I left my mittens there on purpose. 

I remember when we watched the Magic School Bus for science.
I remember listening to Death Cab for Cutie the summer of 2012. 

I remember the first time I snuck out. We went to sliding rock. The water was freezing. 

I remember when you told me you could hear me crying at night. 

I remember when $100 was a lot of money. 

I remember having a crush on my cousin and feeling very nervous about it. 

I remember less than I probably should.

Just this.

There’s something thrilling about children with gold hair. They calmly, simply, merely, wait for something remarkable in the making. Hands cupped into binoculars, looking through child-hood eyes, they’re dripping with youth. Fragrance of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, spill from the roof of their mouths; and roll over the tops of their teeth. Honey sweet magic on their lips; thick like melted chapstick. Endless summer days, lined with crooked teeth and sun-kissed bare legs. Skin burning red.  Hair gold and long, with those fingers gold and strong. Waiting for mother; chasing butterflies. Facing laced lies. Scanning for spies. Planning for the prize. Covered in skies, fries, supplies and allies. 

Look both ways when crossing.

I swore I would post something earlier this week.
Here we go again.



-My uncle asked me today if I'm money hungry. I looked at him and said, "I guess I am."
He said to be careful.

You know, it's funny what time can do.
What it can do to people and minds. And how I've managed to manipulate and warp time into my hands.
Right between each finger, and under my fingernails.

Playing wild cards and dealing them out; each drunk and written with conspiracy.

I rub out the practicality
and sting of it all

Cradling the familiar indents impressed into me. Creating painful spaces between you and me; and my fingers and fingernails. Licking my chapped and cracked bones. Cracked lips.

Cracked me.

Bleaching my blonde hair even blonder with the chemicals  pressed into my roots.
Pressed into me.

Tired secrets and tired scenes; smeared on the outer most extent of my skin. Pealing with pride and prudent pleasure. The kind of pleasure that promises you interest. The kind that possesses your darkest emotion. All wrapped in box and bow.

Timid and unsure I crawl home with my heavy elbows and knobby knees; into my hardly involved bed. I count back and think; "I've forgot to measure the distance; yet I know how far I've gone. How far we've separated".
How much I've changed.

My skin to scales. My personality to pay checks.
Gripping for mercy

And time.

My knuckles and static hair infatuated with the delivery of selected love. Collecting my sweat and anxiety. Labeling them, organizing them into files.
Stored away for the spring.
Only increasing their numbers. The heat and pressure of this all; weighing my shoulders.
Weighing my eyelids.
 
While I continually count faces and tap my knees out of habit.



I'm different and time is unchanging. I'm changing and wishing for Lord knows what. It's funny what I blame on time; and how it's power hungry and I'm power drained.
We are a beautiful team.
I have a beautiful system


Teach me to write and I'll give you anything.
-s

This wasn't about shoes. Sorry. I really tried to get it out of me, but it just wouldn't come.