for he said

     "what is easier, my dear? falling in love, or closing your eyes as you jump from the cliff?"

and without being morbid she replied

     "tie me to the rope that hangs from the ceiling
          because my heart aches too much to trust either."

Great Big Storm

My concerns are not insignificant
because, dammit, I'm trying.
I'm trying.

My concerns are not insignificant
I just need a hand to hold
but instead
all I ever get is reprimanding lips
and condescending tones
and broken promises
and waved hands.

Maybe I have a problem
but my concerns are not insignificant.
I just want to know the truth
truth
truth
is such an ugly word.

I'm just trying to hold my own.
I'm trying.
I just want to know the truth
truth
truth
is such an ugly word.

Great Big Storm - Nate Ruess

a+b=c

and your words are sprouting like daisies in February

and I'll never know what happened.

and your braids cover your ocean of eyes

and I'll always be grateful.

and your arms will lay limp at your sides

and I'll lift up your sleeves again.

and I don't know if I should say something

do I admit it all?

it seems like a trend right now.

I lived for her until I figured out how to live for myself.

and I wish I could say a+b=c

and that could be the answer to everything.

and I wish my words would pierce like daggers for him,

because that's what will make him understand.

and I wish my words would sail into her ears

like a boat on a sea

because that's what will make her listen.

and I wish my words would hold them so close

so tightly

because the will make them realize.

I lived for her until I figured out how to live for myself.

and I wish I could just say a+b=c

and that could be the answer to everything.

but when have we ever had the answer to everything.

the lesson

do i have words in my bones or in my brain?
cause i sit here and sit here and sit here
with a hole in my heart.
so this one is for all the people i'm tired of writing about.

i sit here and sit here and sit here and
and i wonder what for?
what am i trying to do?
because i used to write to feel
and now i feel so much it hurts
and i used to write to take away the pain
but i've written and thought and written some more
but the pain lies in my fingers.
i used to think it was unbearable because i never spoke the words
but everyone has heard it all now
and it's still unbearable.

you know how you can hear something your whole life
but it doesn't sink in until a very specific moment?
well i've had that moment
and i believe
and i want to believe
and i want to get better
so what is the lesson from all this?

and believe me
i think pretty words can come from euphoria just as much as hurt
and i want to read more pretty words that don't make the bones in my back ache.
but i sit here and sit here and sit here
and what flows isn't what i'd call euphoric.
so what's the lesson?

Sundays Are For Thinking

We're 18 years old and we think about love.

We're 18 years old and we think we're in love.

We're 18 years old and we think "What is love?"

We're 18 years old we think we're falling out of love.

We're 18 years old and we think we know love.

                                                   we know love.

                                                   we know love.

I'm 18 years old, but it's still hitting me.

Between the lost notes of Brand New and Taking Back Sunday

and memories of food trucks and Tuesdays

I think I know love.

          I know love.

          I know love.

I looked up "Hipster Stool Photography" on Google to try and find a picture I liked for this post.

I stalk a lot of people on Facebook just to stop myself from clicking on his little picture. I guess the biggest improvement is that I now write about him and not to him. I don't feel that close to him anymore.

I don't know, maybe this has past its expiration date. Maybe my heart has gone sour because most people would be over it by now. I haven't talked to anyone but my basement for a long time because everyone who's "there for me" is tired of hearing it. I guess I can't blame them.

Let me put it this way: I'm over him. I really am. I'm over the romance of it all. The mystery and excitement of what might come. It's gone. It's past. And that's okay. But, I'm not over the hole it left in my heart. I'm not over those whisperings in my brain saying that I'm damaged. I'm unsure. I'm just not quite up to anyone's expectations. He's left me with 2000 miles and the feeling that I can never quite measure up.

Now, I don't blame him. This isn't a post to hurt him with my words. I'm over the angst. I'm over him. This post is allowing me to breathe.

I set my life up like a stool. Three legs. Three people. Two shes and a he. I was the seat. Everyone knew something, but no one knew everything. I don't think I even knew everything.

He was the first to go. I wouldn't classify him as a clean break, but he's the tidier of the two. I think a stool can still function with only two legs. Just be careful where you put your weight.

She broke down second. The hardest thing about it all is that she still tries to stick on. I was trying to help her in the beginning. I jammed that leg into the stub over and over and finally had to stop when the splinters hurt too much. I don't think she sees that her jagged edges are beyond repair. I wish I could tell you exactly what happened with her. I'm still trying to make sense of it. She could talk your ear off, though. Funnily enough, it just never seems to add up the way they taught us in algebra.

Thank God I still have her. The second her. Things might not be as perfect as they appear, but you'll never hear me complaining, cause she's still here. And I wouldn't trade the truth of that for all the Instagram pictures of the blondes and their mission calls.

The problem is you can't put any weight on a one legged stool.
And now here I am.
Here I am.

The One I Sent

(don't ask me why I sent it.)

I feel so open.

Transparent.

Please,

don't take this the wrong way,

it's really a beautiful feeling.

I smile at the little things again.

Weightless.

I like to think the air passes right through me

because there's no reason to hold it in anymore.

I'm no longer holding back.

My potential is endless.

I'm saying what I want to say

when I want to say it

and it's such a beautiful feeling.

(okay, you can ask me why I sent it.

but I don't know.

I don't know.)

(I do know.)

10:30 pm on a Friday

Dear World,

I think I'm mad. I think I'm mad and sad and happy and hopeful and I'm feeling a little let down.

I think my soul is smoke. Not the Las Vegas smoke, more like the Wyoming fog. To be honest, I don't know if Wyoming gets foggy, but when I think of my soul, I think of the Wyoming fog. I think of how some times, it's so thick that you think you can hold it, and how other times, you'd hardly ever know it was there.

When I think of my soul, I want to imagine it open. It's so open, that everything comes flooding in. You'd see words like music and pictures like books and everything would blend. I mean everything would blend.

But yet, here I am. I'm mad. I'm mad at him. This is a poem so old, that it doesn't even deserve to be written. I'm in the same position I was six months ago. A year ago. Three years ago. I've been here a lifetime. And yet, everything has changed. A year ago my soul was chained. Nothing blended. The pictures were nothing more than pictures and the words didn't sound anything like music.

But yet, here I am.

If change happens in inches like time happens in months, this will pass. If I need a yard stick to separate my heart from his, I have to accept that a foot comes before a yard. This will pass.

Much love (I'm trying to put that out in the universe these days),

Baylee

The steps I took to learn to breathe

1. Say what you want to say when you need to say it. This will only produce positive results. (And if something drastically terrible comes from it...well, sorry.)

2. Be more like a snail. No, don't be slow, just appreciate the little things. (Unless being slow works for you, then be slow.)

3. Don't be afraid to let people in.

4. Don't be afraid to let people go.

5. Remind yourself: I'm always exactly where I'm supposed to be.

6. Repeat the previous step multiple times.

7. Be confident. Be bold. I'd rather have you do that than tear yourself down everyday because you don't want to be cocky.

8. *cliche* Just allow you to be you.

9. Remember, I'm always exactly where I'm supposed to be.

10. *another cliche warning* (hey, cliches are cliches for a reason, amiright?!) Don't listen to the haters, or the bullies, or the down-putters, Their opinion only matters if they love you as much or more than you love yourself.

11. Love yourself. Hey, look at me. It's okay. It's okay to love yourself. If no one has ever given you permission, I'm doing it now. Love yourself.

12. It's okay to make mistakes. Be mature. Learn from them. Apologize. Have patience with yourself.

13. Lastly, suck in the air around you and let it fill up your lungs. Let it out. Repeat.

The feels and the tears came back

If my heart were a mat,
Would you use it to lay over a puddle?
Like gentlemen of older days,
Would you hurt my heart
For the benefit of others?
There is a certain beauty to that,
And you know I'd let you do it.

If my heart were a mat,
Would you use it to wipe your feet?
Your wood floors need never suffer
From the storms of God.
That, I would gladly let you do.

If my heart were a mat,
Would you frame it for all to see?
Give it blood for its thirst?
Put it by the fire,
That it might continue pumping?
Treasure it so much that,
Should you be evacuated,
It's the only thing in your hand
As you watch your home curl in the flames?

What hurts the most is not the footprints on my heart,
But the truth that lays in my bones.
The truth of this poem.

I'm 18 years old and I'm sorry, I didn't have anywhere else to write this down.

It's 10:46 and I'm 18 years old.
My brother has a good job
and a wife
and a baby.
I'm 18 years old
and maybe it's the Arizona air
but I'm crying
because my brother has a good job
and a wife
and a baby.
Don't get me wrong, I like all three of them
but I also liked when my brother made pizza
and had a guitar
and brought his friends home.

I'm 18 years old
and I'm going to start playing the piano again.
And maybe it's the Arizona air
but the poetry is suddenly coming again.
Maybe I accidentally blocked it away
cause it's spilling out every pore
but I think that's okay.

I'm 18 years old
and I'm still crying
because my brother has a good job
and a wife
and a baby.











(Please don't get me wrong I really love my niece and my sister in law and this isn't part of the poem and I kinda feel new to this again,k? Not that anyone is going to see this because I'm 18 and don't go to high school anymore. Did I mention I'm 18 now? I think 16 was better on me.)

I haven't written in a really long time because I haven't felt much in a really long time. And I'm grateful and angry for that all at once.

I think I like Thursday nights because they make you think. They make you think about how your sister's last name was Dodge, and now it's Peacock, and about how much neater your handwriting is now that you're a school teacher.

I think that most the time God smiles. I say most the time because frowning isn't futile, and He knows that. I think that when He smiles, He's laughing at us. Not the mean kind of laughing, the kind that you do when you remember something particularly wonderful.

Like where you were when you first heard I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers, or whatever your equivalent is, because I think we all know what I'm talking about. If you don't have an equivalent, you can claim I Wanna Get Better because I've always been good at sharing. Except, not people. I'm really bad at sharing people, because when you walk into my life you automatically mean something, and I don't know if that's good or bad. For you, I mean. No, wait, I take that back. I think I really was talking about me.

Saying goodbye wasn't hard, because I couldn't understand how impossible life would be without you.

my rant on music/life in general

"You've probably never heard of them."
Okay, cool. Introduce me to them, then. What's wrong with us liking the same music? Why is one band or genre of music specifically yours and "Thank God I don't have to share it with the whole world because that'd be just..."?

I get it. You can really empathize with this song, and it feels like yours. It's a little alarming when you find out that other people feel it the same way you do, and you don't want them to. (I recently went through this feeling pattern with the song I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers. Then I came to this realization:) It's really stupid to get your self worth from how many "underground artists" you know. It's kinda ridiculous to be pretentious about your music taste. And, I really don't care if you "found them first". Do you realize that music is what these artists are trying to do for a living? Don't you want them to keep making good music? Don't you want them to get paid? Yes? Alright, then share their music. I'm sure they'd love that more than anything, honestly.

You know, it's okay to like mainstream music. There-I'm saying it. YOU CAN LIKE MAINSTREAM MUSIC AND STILL BE A HUMAN BEING. It's not like you're some kind of animal if you're shut up in your room listening to Katy Perry. You don't have to be ashamed because lots of people know your favorite band because "Ugh, they're so mainstream."

Yes, I think some of today's music sucks. I don't like listening to certain radio stations because the music doesn't mean anything to me. Personally, I take it as a "hate the song, don't hate the mainstream" kinda thing, if that makes sense. Hey, guess what? My favorite band is Fun. Yeah, Fun. The guys that sing Some Nights, and We Are Young, but...wait a second. THOSE SONGS ARE SO MAINSTREAM. OMG. CALL 911. SHE LIKES MUSIC THAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE AND THAT'S PLAYED ON THE RADIO AND IS MAINSTREAM AND OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG NOOOOO. Okay. I still like them no matter what songs they play on the radio. Because I like them for them. For their music. For their lyrics. For the feeling I get when I listen to them. It has nothing to do with their image, I like them for them.

I think that relates back to people, too.

My favorite band is Fun.
And the Beatles, I like them a ton, too.
And I listen to Beyonce.
And I listen to Paloma Faith.
And I really, really like Bleachers right now.
Queen is always a good option.
Terri Clark is cathartic in an alternate universe sort of way.
American Pie by Don McLean is my all time favorite song.
The Avett Brothers...so good.
I listen to Panic! At the Disco.
And I listen to Elton John.
Some days, Keith Urban is just really my jam.
Simon & Garfunkel, though, am I right, or am I right?
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. I still don't understand why.
I listen to Creedence Clearwater Revival.
And I listen to Walk of The Earth.
And you might have heard of these people, and you might have not, but you should go listen to them.

And I can't wait until we (or me, still deciding what I really mean here) get over this whole solitary thing, because I think if we try to just really genuinely care about everyone then we really genuinely care about ourselves, too. And genuinely caring about yourself is a rare and a beautiful journey.

That girl in the airport has really bad anxiety around people she doesn't know (and even sometimes those she does know, even sometimes her best friends) because she feels like she constantly has to be an expectation, and the airport just made it go haywire and she's really really nervous about flying alone and she wants nothing more than to quite literally die in this very moment, and it's not because she's dramatic, it's because she's being honest with herself, a skill she's mastered through the years and it's a scary and breathtaking talent of hers. So please, please don't yell at her next time, because she already knows she's not doing life right.

And, being honest, I'm really hurting because she's really hurting and I get it and I get that there's nothing I can do and that really hurts. But I think it's a really cool thing that somewhere in this world, maybe someone actually cares and wants to be there for me, even if they're 1900 miles away, and even if they can't make the pain go away, and I still don't know if this is a lie, but it still makes me want to push harder and harder.

And this all made sense to me, and ties in with each other, so I hope it did with you, too.

Reckless Love/Strange Desire YOU SHOULD REALLY LISTEN TO IT, K?!

"So give me a chance to remember
                                        what I've given up to defend you
                                         I would burn my dreams away just to stand in the thankless shadows
                                         of your reckless love...



Get out.
Stand back.
If you don't let go,
you're gonna break me.

Get out.
Stand back.
If you don't let go,
you're gonna break me.

Get out.
Stand back.
If you don't let go,
you're gonna break me.

Get out.
Stand back.
If you don't let go,
you're gonna break me...

I burned my dreams away to stand the broken shadows

of your reckless love

your thankless love

your restless love

a thankless love

your reckless love's

a thankless love..."

--Reckless Love: Bleachers

click here to listen to Strange Desire because it's really really really really good.

and I want to walk to Denver

JUST TO GO TO THEIR FREAKIN' CONCERT.

July 19, 2014 (the letter i never sent)

Hey you,

Have I ever told you how much I hate war movies? My heart hurts too much. I know it's stupid, but I even feel for the bad guys. For example, I watched The Monument Men tonight (Have your seen it? The whole time I was watching, I thought of how much you'd like it) and they had some German soldiers as prisoners to get information from them, and I just wanted to cry. Seriously. I just couldn't stop thinking about how the German soldiers had families, too, and how they probably had to miss seeing their kids wake up Christmas morning (Christmas makes me cry too, but maybe you already knew that...) just like the American soldiers had to. And it breaks my heart to think of their wives and mothers. I just get too emotional in war movies, and I know it's cliche but I honestly just hate war. It's so terrible. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for our military, I just wish we didn't have to have one.

When I watch war movies, I can't help but think about everything I hate about this world. I think about how kids get shot at school. I think about how common sexual abuse is. I think about when people get their choices taken away. I think about kidnap. I think about people who slowly and unintentionally ruin their lives with substance abuse. I think about people who do anything and everything to fit in. I think about people living in poverty. I think about parents who have to bury their child. I just can't not think about it.

Maybe it's me. Maybe it's just anxiety, whatever that means (amiright?) but it just makes me physically sick. You ready for my latest big screw up? A few nights ago I was talking to her, and she told me about her anxiety. She told me about all the things that could happen if she left her house. She's genuinely scared. You know what I did? I got mad at her. I stumbled over my words while trying to offer flimsy comfort, and when she expressed herself, I got upset. "I'm just trying to help you!" I exclaimed. You wanna know the truth? I'm not mad at her at all. I'm mad at the situation. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I know exactly how it feels, and I know that it's all dark and no light and the path is rocky. And, I'm a little upset that God doesn't understand that I would go through it a hundred times over before she had to experience it once. I don't want her to feel this.

So just add war movies to the list of things I won't watch. Horror films, and war movies. Although, I did tell you once that I would watch a horror film if you held me and let me know when to close my eyes. The same holds true with war movies.

I love you. I miss you so much. I can't think about you without my throat tightening and my heart hurting. I need you here. I know that you're only fighting your personal battles, but when I saw those soldiers fighting in the movie tonight, I couldn't help but think of you.

I love you so much. I miss you terribly. I want you home. Please understand how much you mean to me.

All the love in the world and more,
Baylee

My knees felt hollow, so I let them hit the wood floor, satisfaction shooting straight to my heart. They had been craving the familiarity and I guess that describes my life right now. Once my eyes closed a battle ensued in my head, and my heart finally won. I let out a sigh, and the spaces between my ribs became a little smaller.

I know I say sorry a lot for little things, but I think it's because I want you to know I mean it for the big things, even when I can't say it out loud. I sang the lyrics of my heart, and I wasn't surprised at who came up with most, and I really want surprised at the ache that held my throat.

Glendale at 11:13

I don't know if it's me,
but the stars seem to be worth less,
and while my possibilities are endless
I'm frozen in the ground
looking up.

things to be grateful for

• High school is over
• Diet coke is only $1 at McDonald's
• Mom is forwarding you that letter
• You're thinking about him and he's thinking about you
• I just can't convince myself that this is all over...
• ^ I don't think that's so bad...

The rant I actually posted.

Sometimes, I think life is a ditch. A dark ditch, and face it, you're afraid of the dark. Now, the only way out is up, but it takes you forever to figure that out. You dig everywhere. To the left, the right, sometimes you even dig the ditch deeper. You can never get out. Once you finally realize that you need to go up, you try climbing. There's no footholds, so you keep dropping. Sometimes you think you get up, you can even see the light, but you just slink back down again, slowly or quickly, it doesn't matter, because you will end up at the bottom. You're stuck there, until one day God's own hand comes to lift you up. But then it's too late, you're finally with God. And I don't know which is better.

I wish there was something else I could write about. I wish that I could stop thinking like this. I know that no one really cares to read stuff like this over

and over

and over

and over

and over...

but I'm sorry, it's all I feel. It's all I see. It's getting really frustrating.

Right now, my niece and my nephew are "falling asleep" watching Peter Pan, and it's all just too big of a metaphor.

This is stupid. I'm sorry, this is all just so stupid. I don't know what it is, but whatever it is, it's stupid.

I know, this is annoying to read. I know, because it's even more annoying to write. But it's simply all I can think of.

I'm never hungry anymore. I literally force myself to eat and then say "Oh gosh, I was just so hungry," to justify it. I'm literally lying to myself.




So this is my rant. Call it a "plea for attention", but I'm simply calling it "survival",