Take my hand, I'll teach you to DANCE

a humid summer day in the park behind a local elementary school. sitting on the swings while my mom and her boyfriend walk through the field, an occasional beep as they find bullshit treasure with his old metal detector. I listen to Andrea Gibson as I swing high enough for the chain to buckle just a bit. I grip tightly, always afraid of falling. I’ve fallen before.. fallen down stairs, fallen off curbs, fallen for the wrong people… wrong person. on the way home we passed the church and my heart thumped loudly. it’s own detection of the carnival held in that parking lot. an entire night of sitting on the back curb, behind all the fun, because you were there with another girl. “friends”. that’s what you guys were. but I’d been “friends” with you before. another bullshit word with a miscommunicated definition that you’d say to me. the night was almost through when you came through the back two venders, my knight in skinny jeans and a polo shirt. we walked back to a little opening, away from the hustle and bustle, you cheered me up just by holding me. you asked me back out that night, I said I didn’t know. I wanted to be in control, I wanted you to be the one kept waiting.

snap back to reality:

now I’m home, typing this dumb text post that no one will read, with hands raw from gripping so tightly.

I tried so hard not to fall.

now I’m home, typing this dumb text post that no one will read, with hands raw with sadness because they will never again hold your hands with the greatest love I’ve ever been a part of.

I tried so hard not to fall…

the break in your heart,
is like the hole in the flute.

sometimes,
it’s the place,

where the music comes through.

for the record,
if you have ever done anything for attention,
this poem is attention,
title it with your name.
it will scour the city bridge every time you stand staring at the river.
it never wants to find your body doing anything but loving what it loves.

we wear our traumas
the way the guillotine
wears gravity.

our lovers’ necks
are so soft.

it’s the storm in me.

I wanna know what you see in the mirror on a day you’re feelin bad.

I wanna know the first person that taught you your beauty could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass.

thank you for your beautiful words that distract me from my fucked-up life.

thank you for being there when I need you, for being the only one I can truly count on.

I don’t know what I’d do without you.
so thank you so so so fucking much.

love,
katie.

well first of all, Andrea Gibson (who I fucking love to death) has a new poem called The Nutritionist which is a response to suicide and stuff like that that I’ve been having a really hard time with lately, so like the timing was perfect. the beginning was The Madness Vase and I started getting really angry cuz I didn’t think it was going to be new but it was and it was amazing and gave me crazy amounts of goosebumps like she always does with her poetry.

AND

there was an assembly at my school today which was only supposed to be for the freshman but a club i’m in (S.U.R.E. club (students united for respect and equality)) got to sit in on it and it was MY FUCKING INSPIRATION FOR WANTING TO BECOME AND INSPIRATIONAL SPEAKER. like holy fucking shit. the same guy came to my old school when I was in seventh grade and he completely made me want to become an inspirational speaker (which I’ve wanted to do ever since) and I got to see him again and he’s so impactful and just amazing and omg I was so fucking pumped. and I cried. like it was just so good. even better than last time. which I didn’t know was possible but it was. and omg. today is just a really good day. I needed it to :) ugh, just lovely lovely lovely :D

how am I gonna save the world, if I can’t see somethin in the world worth savin?
so even if it’s one tiny flower growin from the soil they’re gonna dig your grave in,

you’re gonna find beauty here,

‘cause you can’t afford not to.

pain cast its line and like everybody else, it caught you,
but the hook in your throat and the tears in your eyes taught you to look for sunsets in the flashlights of thieves,
listen for symphonies in the B flats of forgotten dreams.