i am twenty years old. the year is two thousand and nine. i am wearing a white dress that i designed and sewed myself. i am not happy with the dress. i don’t like how it fits and i don’t like the way i look in it. i am frustrated and angry that one person is not at my wedding. instead of being glad about all the people who are here to celebrate my special day, i fixate on just one person. i should have had my eyes fixed on my groom. i do not notice the way he looks at me. for him i am the only person that exists today. later i will see it in photographs- the way he looked at me on that day. by the time i see it we are both beginning to believe it is too late.
i am twenty four years old. the year is two thousand and fourteen. i can’t breathe. i didn’t see this coming. i did not believe this would happen. R is breaking up with me. he has fallen in love with someone else. this can’t be real. this isn’t happening. i can’t breathe. please don’t leave me.
i am twenty four years old. the year is two thousand and fourteen. i am single for the first time in my adult life. i am trying to put the pieces of my life back together and move forward. i want to be someone who my sons can be proud of. i have decided that i want to be a teacher. i have enrolled in college classes for the first time in over three years. i believe i can do this. i will not fail this time, this is what i tell myself.
i am twenty seven years old. the year is two thousand and sixteen. R is single and has an extra bedroom. he has asked me if i would like to move in, as his roommate. we’ve started having sex again; we are friends with benefits. it sounds like a good plan.
i am twenty eight years old. the year is two thousand and seventeen. i have just gotten my first paying job of my adult life. it is at a yarn store. i am excited about the possibilities of this. it is a step in the right direction. a stepping stone.
Do you ever wonder what would have happened
if we could have made it work?
If we really had tried everything?
We gave up too soon, I know that.
And I still wonder if it will be me and you
I have hope.
And I’ll always carry that hope,
in my backpack full of bricks,
that I’ll save because they’re ours
to build on.
I’m strong enough to carry more,
more than these bricks and more than my hope;
tell me everything and I’ll carry your tears
next to your joy.
I hope you wonder about me,
I hope you carry hope.
In reponse to
Hi! It’s been a while. In case you didn’t know, my name is Bree, but previously I have kept that mostly hidden on here. I started this blog in 2013 and published two posts that year, neither of which exist anymore. Then I didn’t post again until I don’t remember when exactly, but that post doesn’t exist anymore either. But in January 2016, blogging here became kind of a regular thing and I published something between a hundred and a billion posts over the span of thirteen-ish months, only to drop off the radar again in February of 2017. I definitely didn’t stop writing, I just stopped sharing. I’m not gonna fill you in on my life, at least not right now, but I am gonna post my favorite poems from the blog hiatus. And I use the word poems lightly here, almost none of them have forms and some of them are so far out in left field I doubt anyone will catch them, but imma share anyways. So, hold on, this ride might get a bit crazy.
what is different about my story? what does my voice sound like? what are the recurring elements in my story? how are these things my own?
J and T
places i’ve been
buses and bus stops
they do not manifest the same in another’s life as they do in mine. no one feels the same as i do. my experiences are uniquely my own. even if you were there, it was not the same for you as it was for me. maybe your heart broke, but your heart is not mine, so how could they ever have broken in the same fashion? your eyes may have seen it all, but they are not my eyes, so they have not seen what i have seen. your fingers have traced skin, but they don’t feel the way mine do. the books i’ve read sit on your shelf, but i did not read those that your fingers thumbed thru. your lips have kissed, but we’ve never known the same kiss, the same moment. you have caused pain, but it was not mine to feel. i have written words that weren’t yours to read, but i gave them away. i no longer notice some whose voices aren’t important to me, yet others i read their every word and wish i knew what to say. so, i’ll sit here and try to find my voice.