You're on my brain.

I cannot tell you why I connect every experience with a collection of words. I just know that I try to make something beautiful out of even the most horrible things.

It's a peculiar thing, how a cluster of lines and predetermined sounds can create something that holds the power of either life or death.

They can create wars. They can end wars.
They can make peace. They can end peace.
They can express love. They can express hate.
They can end friendships. They can create friendships.

The possibilities are endless.

Would you just trust me?

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie

1 John 4:8

When I turn 18 I'm getting a tattoo. Not because I'll be an adult making a decision without parental consent for the first time in my existence, but because my 18th birthday is on a Monday and nothing good happens on Monday's. Especially not on that Monday. It'll be the Monday after Easter Sunday. At least it will be for all you white folk. Greek Easter is nearly a month later. But hardly anyone celebrates Greek Easter unless they're Greek or are very close with someone that's Greek. Which is unfortunate for me since I don't know too many Greeks. Since nearly everyone in my life is white, and not Greek, my birthday will be masked by the death of Jesus. So I'm getting a tattoo. 

It sounds blasphemous when I put it that way. The truth is that I've wanted this tattoo since I was 14. And like most things in my life it doesn't appear to resemble much of anything scripturally. But if you ask me about it I'll have something to say. 

It bothers me when things are redundant. Like "hahah lol" or using two of the same words in one sentence. Sometimes it annoys me when people use two of the same words in the same paragraph. Unless they're anything like me and or the Old Testament of the Bible and use the same word over and over and over to make a statement. I'm hypocritical and I'm okay with that. There's a time for all things. There's a time to be simple and there's a time to be verbose. 

Knowledge is to know a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is to know not to put a tomato in a fruit salad. 

I want to love hard and get married and have a house with a pond and have babies and raise little people into big people. I want to show someone that I know how to give my heart away. I want someone willing to receive it. I want someone to encourage me spiritually, be there for me emotionally and give me a good foot massage every now and again. I want to live in Montana or North Carolina or somewhere with a lot of open space and no one to be in my business. I want a house painted blue with white shutters and a deck that goes all the way around it. I want to be able to swim in my pond in the summer and ice skate in the winter. I want to have something be mine. 

I'm afraid of things changing. I'm afraid of things changing between Him and I, between him and I. I feel stuck and crazy like there's no where to go but down from here. I want Him, and I want him. I know He wants me, but I just want him to want me. 

It's time to take in that long overdue breath. Just breathe in and out. There's nothing to prove and no one to prove anything to. 

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie 

My heart feels so empty. But my soul is alive.

I opened my white-wicker toy box. The hinges creaked from neglect. I pulled out the decorative pillows to reveal my oldest friends. Memories of rabbits and pigs and monkeys and dolls flodded my mind. I pushed them all away in a search for the one I needed. Once I saw her, I wrapped my fingers around her arm and pulled her out of the box. It had been a long time since I last needed her.

I sat on the floor with my knees facing up, holding on to my childhood bear. I heard footsteps on the other side of my shut door.
"Ali are you okay?"
I'm never okay.
"Yes mom, I'm fine."

I shut my eyes and despised the need that was inside my chest. I could just imagine what I looked like. My eyelashes clumped together because of the wet mascara. My short sausage legs appearing larger than normal because of the pastel rose printed pants I was wearing. A young adult clinging to a childhood notion of companionship.

I shook my head as I reopened my eyes. I reached for the pillows I tore out of place and returned them to their home.

I crawled onto my bed still holding onto my bear. All I wanted was your tender and strong hand to stroke my back and ask what I was thinking of. I wanted you to brush my hair away from my face. I wanted you to kiss my head and tell me I'd be okay. I wanted your hands to be on me, comforting me, instead of mine trying to comfort a lifeless teddy bear. 

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie

Baby Soap

My toes were pruned from being in the water for too long. The bubles had become nothing more than whisps of white over the water, licking the the exposed parts of my body. They covered none of my imperfections, just slightly mask them.

Taking a deep breath and plugging my nose, I sunk my head below the water line. I did some of my best thinking underwater. I opened my eyes. It was like trying to see through saran wrap. My vision was blurred, but I could feel my hair branch out and float in the water. I looked up and counted the bubbles remaining on the surface. I think there were four.

Ideas about life and death penetrated my mind. Questions about why nothing is ever perfect. Wondering when things would get better the way you always told me they would. I was able to appreciate the promise you made me, but I was jealous of your content.

I lowered my elbows to the bottom of the tub and brought my head above the water. I held still for a moment and appreciated the solitude I found from the water and my Johnson's bedtime baby bath soap. It smelt like lavender. I decided to make lavender my favorite smell.

I sat up so my upper half was vulnerable to the cold air. I left the damn window open again. I stretched over to grab my razor and shaving cream. I sprayed the pink foam onto my leg and started doing my thing. Baths remind me of you. They remind me of the friendship we had. It was the closest one I had since L left. You were just like her. Your brown curly hair and freckles that kissed your nose. Your oversized brown eyes. Your fears and your hopes. Your sentiment. The way your promises began to sound like forever, and slowly dwindled to an empty, "we'll see."

That's when I cut my leg. The thought of deceived friendships always made my hands unsteady. I ran my palms over my smooth skin to make sure I didn't miss a spot. When I finished I slid my leg back into the warm water. I watched the blood dissolve into a cloud of red until it slowly vanish. I moved onto the next leg.

I ran the razor up my leg as I thought about the way you kissed me. How it was soft and polite. How you tucked your hand behind my neck. How you stopped and made me watch the movie I so adamantly chose. I wished I had done today different. I wished I hadn't let the circumstances at home affect my demeanor throughout the day. The pms got to me as regret swelled in my eyes. Stupid. So Stupid.

I stroked my leg once again to make sure I didn't miss a spot. I put down the razor and lowered my body below the warm water line. I rolled onto my stomach and rested my head against the cold porcelain tub. I inhaled a deep lavender scented breath, and exhaled all my rueful thoughts.

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie

I Make Everyone Proud But You

I can't sleep. Your repentant words echo throughout my head. 
"I've created something selfish and spoiled, something that I now regret." 

I'll be getting ready for a long day come the early morning rays of sunshine. I'll turn on my Christmas lights, open my blinds, feed my cat, make my bed, brush my teeth, pull my hair into a bun, get into my freezing cold car and leave for school. As I do my morning tasks, your words will haunt me. They will chase after my brain and remind me of everything I'm not. The problem is that you won't remember. You never remember.  Many hours after I leave, you will wake up from your sleep. You'll roll out of bed, take out your night guard, go pee and turn on the coffee. You'll mosey your way back to your bedroom and lay on your mattress. Maybe you'll think about our fight from tonight. Maybe it'll cross your mind that there was no end result. You taught me to never go to bed angry or upset with another living being. But here I am, laying in bed, waiting on you as you're probably waiting on me. 

I'm sorry for yelling. I'm sorry for being disrespectful. I'm sorry for being lazy. I'm sorry for being selfish. I'm sorry for disappointing you. I'm sorry for not being what you expected. I'm sorry for not being what you wanted. I'm sorry for becoming something you regret. I'm sorry for not being enough. 
It's never enough. 

"It's okay that you are the way you are though, it's my fault."

You can blame yourself for me turning out this way. That's fine. Blame yourself. Beat yourself up for the terrible human I've become. The bottom line isn't whose fault it is that I turned out this way, it's the fact that I've become something you're ashamed of. And that isn't anyone's fault but mine. It is me that is disappointing. It is me that is the regret. It is me that is selfish. It is me that is self seeking. It is me. It's me. Despite me being my own person, you seem to believe I've become a fuck-up because of you. If that's what you want to walk in, then by all means. Do it. 

Because I couldn't have possibly turned out to be this way because of my own thoughts, actions, desires, wants and needs. It couldn't possibly have to do with me continually overworking myself because I try to be enough for you and everyone else on this God forsaken planet, but never measure up to what I should. It definitely isn't the fact that I'm a candle that's been burnt from both ends. It is absolutely, 100%, undoubtedly because I want to make your life as miserable as possible. 

Yes. That must be it. 

But you don't have to be disappointed in me, hate me, or regret me. I already do all of that enough for the both of us. So stop wasting your time and realize that these not-so-sober arguments get us no where but deeper into this self hatred I'm already wallowing in. 

Yours until the goddamn pigs fly, 
Alessondra Marie

1 Corinthians 13:4-7

I frequently listen to the shitty recordings of your songs. The guitar is well balanced. But your voice floods only my right ear. Your songs get stuck in my head all the time. N1 still makes my heart flutter. Not in the same way, just an endearing, "I miss this" kind of way. I miss you. I miss the way you understood me. I miss your constructive honesty. The way you'd hold me accountable. The way it would make me furious. The way you'd nearly sing me to sleep on iChat. The way I'd click on the end button because I didn't want you to watch me sleep. The way you begged for me to just be my honest self. I often find myself asking if what we had was real. We were so young, but does that really discredit the sincerity of what we felt? Does it abolish the feelings I couldn't explain? 

But I'm older now. I know it was unreasonable for me to expect you to walk through my bedroom door when I was home alone and afraid of the groans and whispers the house walls made. I know it was unreasonable for me to hope you would surprise me by coming home a day earlier than you told me you were going to. I know it was unreasonable to expect you to say the exact right thing at that exact moment. You taught me that the right thing wasn't always nice. Nor was it usually what I wanted to hear. But you were capable of that heartfelt honesty. 

You came into my life at a pivotal moment. It was an essential time in my adolescence and my walk with Christ. Meeting you swayed the decisions I made regarding school and friends. I was so alone. I was surrounded by people that I knew, but I didn't know any of them. No one was interested in the things I was learning. No one was concerned with the crosses I bore. You were an instrumental piece to my growing pains. 

Now I know that it's okay to wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm allowed to have feelings. And although sometimes they're going to be rejected, it's far more important to let them be known than allow them to be a mystery. You taught me that taking the risk is sometimes the most significant action in a relationship. If I don't, then there won't be a relationship. I've realized that I can't keep everything locked up. Most of the time, it'll be more beneficial for me to tell someone, anyone, than no one at all. 

I loved you as much as a confused fifteen year old girl is capable of loving a seventeen year old young man. Unfortunately for our relationship, I have since surpassed my fifteen year old capabilities. But God has a reason for everything. He gave me you so I could learn how to love someone to my fullest potential. 

Although I am entitled to my fantasies, I'm not allowed to literally expect them from a man, and get upset when it doesn't happen. I no longer have these disillusions of what could be. I realize what is and I'm content with that. I'm easily satisfied. 

And I owe that to you. 

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie

Lessons Learned

This is me learning a lesson. 

Trust no one,
feel nothing, 
do not invest, 
and never be like that. 

Yours until the pigs fly,
Alessondra Marie