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Medium Visit [18 Apr 2014|08:10pm]
asked if i had a big wedding coming up, told her wedding, she knew i was doing things very different

asked about a older male, richard or robert.

asked about an older woman who had some kind of chest illness who has been gone a long time, she loves me very much, very proud, also loves mom very much and her heart of gold

said i have an old soul and always have, even when i was young i was old, the peacemaker and had an easier time talking to adults, that i work well with the elderly

she could tell thag i used to work with children, but not anymore, but she thinks i will eventually go back to that.

knew travis commutes over half an hour to work...busy with his phone and radio during drive..that he doesn't talk when he is emotional but that isnt againt me, nut it is just how he is

she knew someone on travis family had died a sudden death, had drugs coming out of his mouth, he is okay

someone younger 18 or 19 named matthew with big beautiful eyes who died fast.

knew that there was an Al that i worked with and have a very special connection with.

asked if i had a sister or two, said my sister was my maid of honor, then asked if i had two maid of honors, the other one is my soul sister, asked if she had a person with the name J that she loved

said i am looking to move, where i live has tall windows, says i will have one move before i get to a house

asked if i had someone named helen in my life, 44

knew my wedding was outdoors and something different

said she could tell i really wanted children but i need to wait until i am settled in the new house, she said she saw me having two children

asked if i was working on a passport
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yucky night [16 Dec 2013|10:13pm]
Do you know why it is so easy to stay with someone who cheats on you? Because either they, or you yourself, will make you think that you are the reason they cheated.  You will think they cheated because you weren't enough, not good enough, not smart enough, not pretty enough, not sexy enough, just not enough in general.  And those feelings stay with you for a long time, into your next relationship and then the one after that.  I suppose that's what they call baggage.  So I can still trust my new fiance, but worry that they could some day cheat on me, not because they are cheaters, but because I am not enough.

It is so hard to be a woman.  To be self confident and strong all the time.  I don't feel confident about the way I look right now.  I feel fat and ugly.  But it will pass, I will work on it and I will feel beautiful and self confident again.  But being with me means being with me through out the good and the bad.  And when I am feeling bad I am not out looking for other people to tell me how good I look.  I am only looking at you.

I am not holding your past against you, but really, if there are things that happened in the past that truly hurt me, there will always be scars.  There will always be reminders about what happened and I can move on and still remember those things at the same time.

I just do not want to deal with this...
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finally some closure [21 Nov 2013|07:38pm]
Dear Ken,

You are my birth father, but nothing more to me anymore.  I have a dad and he takes very good care of me.  I am writing this not to upset you, but to let you know that I am okay, more than okay, I am happy and I live a great life.

Recently mom asked me if I was ever going to forgive you, and while I said "no" right away, the question has lingered in my mind.  The conclusion that I have come to is that no, I cannot forgive you. But I do not wish bad on you.  I do not like the things you have said and done in the past and for me to try and forge a relationship with you would be too hard, too hurtful and not healthy for me.  I used to say I was waiting for the day Spencer and Tyler had the same feelings for you, because then they would understand why I was not present in their younger years.  That was selfish and childish of me.  I hope you are able to maintain a healthy relationship with my brothers for the rest of their lives, for their sake and for yours.

I work in a nursing home and I see people who have dementia, mental illness or who are just plain mean.  I see people who have children that will not come visit them or have anything to do with them because of things that have happened in the past.  But I love them.  The man who drank himself into dementia by the age of 62 and who acts out all day, I love hearing his stories of the past whether they are true or not. I can smile warmly at him when his clothes are mismatched and dirty from lunch. I am not embarrassed when he makes a sexually inappropriate comment about me because he  truly does not know any better. I do not know all of his history, but I do not judge him for what I do know. His three sons cannot love him right now, but I can and I do every day.

Loving these people when they have others who cannot, this has taught me a lesson.  It has helped me bring peace and closure into my situation with you.  I cannot love you, but I truly hope and believe that there will be someone out there who can.  I have learned that love and family have nothing to do with blood.   I am going to let myself off the hook now for being unhappy with you, and be content with that fact that I can share my love with these people, and that someday you will find yourself someone, who knows, maybe a social worker, who can love you.
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I'm going to write a social work paper... [14 Jun 2013|09:59pm]
Remembering the Father he Forgot

June 27, 2011

My father forgot himself. Like a lost key or that other sock that never finds its way into the bureau drawer, the Alzheimer's that slowly robbed his mind of the details of his life left nothing but shadow. I first knew him there in the shadows.

The psych ward was a motley mixture of drug addicts, alcoholics and attempted suicides who stood in doorways, stared out windows and mumbled things incomprehensible to the nurses who gently placed pills into waiting mouths and offered compassion beyond the ability to receive. My father was there among them in a chair facing the TV. A baseball game was on, but he wasn't watching it.

His head drooped chin to chest, and a bit of drool dripped from the corner of his mouth like tears falling into his lap. I knew him then. I knew him by what he wasn't anymore. In this, his great forgetting, I remembered him and knew him.

I remembered the smell of steaks searing on the grill and the sound of his laughter drifting up to my bedroom window like a glory cloud. I remembered he and I getting up at 4 a.m., loading sandwiches, Thermos bottles full of coffee and finally ourselves into the boat to spend the day fishing on sunrise- to sunset-colored seas.

I remembered the smell of salt water on sunburned skin. I remembered the sound of his table saw echoing through the hallways as he worked on his latest project in the basement. I remembered his sense of humor that turned horrible into heaven. I remembered the way he'd pat me on the knee to let me know he cared when he couldn't find the words. I remembered him fixing my car so I wouldn't have to overextend myself financially.

I remembered the smell of grease on his hands and how it would sometimes imbed itself under his fingernails like black crescent moons. I remembered the late nights he worked to help put me through college. I remembered he liked bananas, and liver with onions. I remembered he didn't like chicken because he had once seen a hen slaughtered for market.

I remembered he was a gentle man. I remembered him bringing home doughnuts each Sunday morning and never forgetting my cinnamon coffee roll. I remembered his fevered bouts with malaria, contracted from having served his country during war. I remembered the bookcase he made for me with six shelves and rounded corners at the top. I remembered him planting tomatoes and peppers and cucumbers. I remembered how he cried when my brother died and how he didn't eat for days because he couldn't stomach the reality of his guilt and grief.

I remembered he never walked our dog but would take him in the car when he went downtown to get the paper. I remembered our dog's head hanging out the car window, his furred ears flapping like propellers in the wind. I remembered my father accidentally sawing his finger off and how he wrapped his severed digit in a towel, hoping they could sew it back on at the hospital. I remembered how he was correct in that hope.

I remembered the sound of his car as it left the yard each morning and drove into the carport at day's end. I remembered him strumming guitar and tapping his foot in time. I remembered how he used to yodel for my friends. I remembered how he whistled, just because. I remembered how I was always, always good enough for him. I remembered feeling whole in his presence.

Then, I remembered why he was there, how he had grabbed the steering wheel while my mother was driving their car — an act of "mercy," he had said, to avoid hitting the little boy there in the road that his hallucinating, disintegrating mind had magically created from nothing.

"I can't do this anymore. He almost killed us," she said to me on the phone. And I understood. I understood that he wasn't her husband anymore, or my father. I understood that grabbing the steering wheel of a moving vehicle was a deadly deal breaker. I understood that her 80-year-old body was exhausted from guarding doorways in the middle of the night to prevent his attempted great escapes. I understood.

And I remembered.

Jayne B. Stearns of West Dennis is a social worker and freelance writer.

My Response

We are sitting in my office in a very sad silence and I reach over to offer tissues to the man sitting in my office.  I turn my head, offering this 50 year old man a chance to cry without my 25 year old face looking at him.  He tells me his father in law in the same age as his own father and he is a functioning man living in his own on the community, and how much he wishes that his father was that way to.  Instead he gets weekly phone calls from nurses in the nursing home updating him on behaviors, falls, and antipsychotic medications.  With his eyes still damp and his cheeks red, he looks at me and says "Today he didn't even remember who I am.  It hurts me too much to come here every week and see a man who is a total stranger to me."

I want to tell this man that it is okay for him to have these feelings.  That myself, and the other staff here at the nursing home, love this man too.  It is okay that he doesn't come and visit every week, because he also has a family here.  We will never replace his real, blood family, but we love him in our own way and he has become a part of our family. When he can't stand another moment of watching the father he knew as a kind, polite gentleman who was still married make suggestive comments or pinch the bottom of a CNA, its okay for him to leave because we will stay, knowing that he has lost his impulse control located in his brain due to his dementia.  We wont take any offense.

When it is too hard for a woman to watch her mother burst out singing "All I want for Christmas are my two front teeth" on a extremely hot day in July, its okay for her to leave because I will stay and sing with this woman and to be honest, it will be the best part of my day.

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I carry guilt around like it is my job. [22 Apr 2013|08:41pm]
I carry guilt around like it is my job. And I do not know how not to.  I don't have the typical "my parents got divorced because of me guilt." Nope, my father caused that divorce all on his own.  But the fact that my mom had to continue to deal with him for years and years because of me makes me feel guilty.  After all the things he said and did to her she should have been able to have a clean break and start fresh.  I have this memory of my mom and my father fighting in the living room on Osceola Street, and my mom had my sister in her arms and my father had be and it was this big battle.  I have no clue what it was about, but it is a memory that haunts me often.  And I want my mom to know I never wanted to be in my father's arms.  I always wanted to be with her.  But I could never make my sister go to him.  It was just easier to go to him and pretend like it was what I wanted because it kept the (or at least some) peace.  And there are so many times when I wanted to tell my mom, "of course I want you, of course I choose you" but I was too little to explain.  I was too young to put into words what I was doing, I just knew it was what I had to do.  And I kept things from my mom, not really secrets but I never told her how when my father picked us up for his nights that we never went to dinner.  We just rode around in the car, Kelsey and I buckled into the front seat together while he screamed at us for hours and hours.  Kelsey probably had no clue what was going on, and wouldn't have even known how to explain to my mom, and I just kept my mouth shut because I was scared of my father.  But I carry around the guilt that I should have told someone, and then Kelsey wouldn't have had to go through that.  I had a special moment with my mom last weekend and she probably doesn't even know it.  We were talking about Bob and some shirt that didn't fit him and she told me that his lack of caring about dressing nicely was one of the things that attracted her to him because it was so different from my father.  And though I have had a week to think about that comment, and I am the queen of over analyzing things, I do not know why it meant so much to me that she shared that.  Maybe it was the reminder that she did get away from my father and found someone who makes her happy.  I know that even when I was little wearing leggings instead of jeans was such a big deal to me.  And to other people it sounds so silly, but my mom and my sister get it.  I have done to many things to distance myself from my father, and all of those things are accomplishments that make me feel good.  So maybe mom saying she found a man who didn't care if they wore sweatpants and not jeans was a little bubble in my head saying she has done things to distance herself from my father and maybe I can let just a little bit of that guilt off my shoulders.  I carry guilt around for getting arrested.  I carry guilt around that maybe I wasn't the best sister for Kelsey and it might contribute to some of her issues today.  I carry guilt for months if I even mess up a little at work.  Here is a good one, a few years back my mom ordered some ugg boots from an online website because I had told her how easy it was to order things online and when the boots came and she though they were rip offs I cried and cried because I felt like she had been cheated and it was my fault.  I carry guilt around for the way Kelsey treats Bob sometimes.  She obviously doesn't have to have the same relationship with him that I do, but when she is not thankful for everything that he has done for us I feel guilty.  My mom is at a point in her life where she is letting go of things she cannot control.  I certainly admire that, but I know that I cannot, at least not at this time in my life, just let things breeze by me.  I grab onto and carry around these thoughts in my head and it is exhausting at times.  All in all, I don't regret my life because I think it is made me into the social worker I am today, but I wish I could take away any pain that my mom and sister felt.  I am not a violent person, I don't even think I believe in the death penalty, yet I would kill my father.  Or at least wish him dead.  Or be okay with him being dead.  I should probably carry some guilt around for those thoughts too..
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The song remembers when... [27 Jan 2013|07:43pm]
Just about everyone loves music.  If you play it loud enough, it can even make your bones rattle.  But I wonder if everyone has a few songs that come on, and they just lose their breath.  The get cover with goosebumps and their eyes fill with tears.  I have some of those songs.

I remember being very young and riding around in the car with my mom, country music playing.  She would always take the time and explain what the lyrics of the songs meant.  It may sound like no big deal, but I think it was a strong lesson in empathy.  Even at 8 years old, when the song "How can I help you to say goodbye" came on, she would have to change it quickly because I would start balling.  She showed me that music is more than just sounds, it is feelings as well.  It may seem kind of silly because between my mom and I, we couldn't play an instrument to save our lives, but I know we both have these songs that we can FEEL. 

The song "Dear Mr. President" by P!NK is a very deep song.  The message of the song is very obvious.  But for some reason, especially when she sings about the homeless people, people making a bed out of a cardboard box, I am practically shaking.  I have no specific connection to the homeless, but this song makes me feel like I need to be out there daily doing everything I can to help them.  I am starting to realize that this is who I am.  I care so deeply about the actual people in our community that need for something.  I feel so strongly about the homeless.  About the elderly.  About the mentally ill.  I want to help, to fix, to change.  This is me.  And this is how I want to live my life.  Travis says to me "you can't fix the whole world" but I want to spend my life trying.  I am really starting to realize that.  Sometimes, when I want to share the things I have done, I feel bad.  I feel like people will think I am looking for recognition but I truly am not.  I want people to see that one person can make a difference.  I want them to hear what I did and go do something themselves.  And I am slowly learning that I should not feel bad for doing what I love and telling people about it.

Ever since being with Travis, who is such a wonderfully talented musician, I feel like I am talentless.  I cannot draw, I cannot play an instrument, I do not play any sports.  I spent a lot of high school and college feeling like I did not fit in, at least not into any designated category.  But maybe, and I am saying this as humbly as possible, maybe helping people is my talent. 
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Death does not scare me. [23 Jan 2013|08:07pm]

Ya wanna know something funny?  I, Kendra King, the girl who is scared of everything (spiders, throwing up, driving in the rain), am not scared of dying.  Someone at work today made a comment about how scared they are of death, for others, for themselves and everything about it.  I am not.  I am not sure if it is because of my job or because I know, deep inside of me, that when I die, when I take that last breath, I will simply float up to heaven to be with my Grandpa and my Papa.  It might sound naive or childish, but I truly believe that is how it will happen.  And honestly, while I hope that I do not die until  I am an old woman with many children, grandchildren and great grandchildren, I would be happy to be with my Grandpa and Papa again.  I miss them so much.  Big life changing moments make me miss them, little everyday seconds make me miss them

I want my Grandpa to meet Travis.  I wanted him to know that I found a wonderful man who treats me so well.  I want to tell him about my job, about my life and how much he influenced me.  I want to tell him that I saw him give that homeless man money, and that shaped my entire view on how we should treat people less fortunate than us.  Grandma says that he always gave homeless people money, even when people said 'oh that man will probably spend that money on drugs or alcohol,' he just said 'you never know' and gave them the money.  Grandpa-I give homeless people clothes, food and even sometimes money.  And I found a man that will ride around with me to hand out chicken to the homeless.  He may not agree with it, but he goes along to keep me safe.  If my grandpa were still here I would ask him to walk me down the aisle at the wedding with Bob.  Because he was a father figure to me.  He taught me things. He kept me safe

I want Papa to know my children someday.  I want him to show them how to make any situation in life fun and bearable. How a silly rhyme will make even the crankiest teenager smile. Sometimes on the worst days at work I will say something silly.  People laugh and I smile because Papa showed me that a smile goes a long way.  Look at the things he went through, he fought in a war, and still turned out to be a happy, joyous old man.  I want them to see how he treated Nanny, like a queen.  One of the last things Papa whispered in my ear was "make sure someone always warms the car up before Nanny gets in."  What a simple statement, what deep love.  That was Papa, pure love.  He loved Kelsey and I without hesitation, without doubt.  If my papa were still here I would ask him to dance with me at my wedding.  We would laugh and smile while he sang along, making up the words.  He would spin me around and make me so happy. 

So I am not scared of death.  Actually, I think it is kind of beautiful in a way.  It gives the person who leaves us a time to rest. And it gives us a time to reevaluate, to remember and to rejoice.  Life has cycles and this is one of them. 

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warning:this will not make you want to be a social worker [20 Mar 2012|08:39pm]
[ mood | tired ]

Today I am very overwhelmed with...well I guess with everything.  My job, my feelings, other people's feelings, money. Being a social worker can be emotionally exhausting.  Sometimes I miss school.  I was good at school.  I knew what was expected.  I knew if I worked hard I would get good grades.  There were syllabus, outlines, explanations, people to ask questions to who pretty much always had an answer.  In real life, in this job, I feel like I am just winging it.  Today someone came to me with an eviction notice.  How am I, 25 years old, supposed to be in charge of helping someone with something as important as housing for himself, his wife and his ten year old child.  I had this man, who is much much older than me, with no clue what to do, coming to me and trusting me, looking to me for answers.  Since when did I become the person with the answers?  I had a grown woman in my office screaming and crying...wait a minute...isn't that my part? Not anymore.  I was calm, reassuring.  I started making phone calls, one call after another to figure out a plan to keep a roof over this family's head.  And after two long hours, I actually had gotten somewhere.  I mean, hello, when I am at home sometimes I break down and cry over having to make one phone call about my mail or a medication.  How did I keep it all together and actually help these people?  The best answer I can come up with is: my mom.  She taught me how to be strong, organized, patient, graceful and helpful.  That and a damn good education at Bridgewater.  Tonight I do not really feel like giving myself any credit.  Because after leaving work I feel cranky, irritable, tired and snappy.  I suppose if I had it all together I could come home and be normal.  How on earth will I be a social worker AND a mom someday?  I guess I will just have to keep working and find out.

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papa lou [16 Feb 2012|06:58pm]
piano piano vol lun tano

ie skating

apple picking


taking me to the doctors

always proud

picking blackheads

exercising his face

back rubs


building with bob

always busy

his hands

hair cuts from mom

duct tape on nose


white tshirt

avril lavine

fondue-only eating bread

falling asleep on new years

sending me new paper cut outs

PAPA(pain in the ass)

always busy




new balance sneakers

how he opened cereal boxes


war bread
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happy birthday dear kendra [26 Jan 2008|06:44am]
 Today is my 21st birthday.  i can't sleep.  i have so much going on in my life and in my head.  henry and i are fighting.  big time.  this may lead to a break up.  its not that i want to break up with him, but i am just so sick of drinking and partying always meaning more than me.  is it so bad for a girl to want her boyfriend to take her on a date once a weekend? especially if she doesn't see him all week? i am not paying 500$ to have my car here just to go party with him.  thats who i am.  take it or leave it.  i understand he is a party person and i accept that, but if he doesnt have time for me or cant make time for me then i dont know if it is really worth it.  i am so sick of this feeling.  the feeling of never being enough.  yesterday i wanted to cut again.  like really bad.  i havent had those feelings in such a long time.  fuck all the guys who have ever made me feel this way.  i know i am young and i expect a lot more drama and heartbreak in my life before i find the person i want to marry, but henry and i were just so real.  it was actually healthy.  i am ready to move to a different point in my life, to grow up some, and he isnt.  i thought that would change after his drunk car accident and totaling his car but i guess not.  i miss grandpa.  i miss writing good poetry.  i finally am starting to feel close and have fun with my friends again.  maybe i need something extra in my life like religion.  i just don't know.  wi my father send me a card today?  will my brothers even know its my birthday? i just dont think so.  i want one great day to be about me. 
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almost 21 and this is how i feel [22 Jan 2008|08:48pm]
 "I'm Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman"

I used to think
I had the answers to everything,
But now I know
Life doesn't always go my way, yeah...
Feels like I'm caught in the middle
That's when I realize...

I'm not a girl,
Not yet a woman.
All I need is time,
A moment that is mine,
While I'm in between.

[Verse 2]
I'm not a girl,
There is no need to protect me.
It's time that I
Learn to face up to this on my own.
I've seen so much more than you know now,
So don't tell me to shut my eyes.


I'm not a girl,
But if you look at me closely,
You will see it my eyes.
This girl will always find
Her way.

I'm not a girl
(I'm not a girl don't tell me what to believe).
Not Yet a woman
(I'm just trying to find the woman in me, yeah).
All I need is time (All I need),
A moment that is mine (That is mine),
While I'm in between.

I'm not a girl
Not yet a woman
All I need is time (All I need),
A moment that is mine,
While I'm in between.

I'm not a girl,
Not yet a woman.

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bent [26 Nov 2007|12:45am]

"Can you help me Im bent
Im so scared that Ill never
Get put back together"

And that is how i feel.  will anyone ever be able to help me?
henry tells me he loves me with his whole heart.
i tell him i love him with all my pieces.

does my dad ever think of me?
does he miss me?
does he regret what he did and what he didnt do?
did he molest me?
is he lonely?

i dont miss him.
i miss him.

bent is better than broken.

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sick and lonely equals deep thinking [17 Nov 2007|11:34pm]
 I am home for the night
It always feels funny to come home after being away for so long
Part of me feels at home
And part of me feels like a stranger

I am really sick
like, not just depression sick
I have a cold I think
But it is just really tearing me down
My throat hurts and my chest is killing me
My head hurts and I think I have a fever

So I realize that  I have a very good life
I have a cell phone, an ipod, a car and a laptop
I am at college
I went down into my room and saw all sorts of things 
I don't even use on a daily basis 
But I am still lucky to have
And I saw so many memories
The sand from California
Tshirt from Florida
Just so many things
I always had what I wanted,
cds when they were cool
nice clothes from the good stores
more than enough shoes for 4 families

So then I wonder why I am depressed
Or why I have so many problems
Yeah my father is/was pretty screwed up
and I think some things happened that I don't even remember
but here, my life is good
My life is above average

I just don't think I give my parents enough credit
Sure they drive me crazy
And they treat Kelsey so differently that it hurts me sometimes
but that is all normal

So my point is, 
Why am I so fucked up?
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Two Years [08 Nov 2007|11:52pm]

Today is the
two year anniversary
of my rape

think about that
for a minute
for a year
for two years

will it ever get easier?
will it ever stop making me sick?

i don't feel like a survivor
just someone who made it out alive
i won't be a survivor
until i am strong

will i ever be strong?

i wonder if he knows
what today is
does he remember the date
the minute
the seconds
the ones i had to count in my head
just to keep on breathing

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ocd [30 Sep 2007|04:16pm]
 My boyfriend's friend's grandfather passed away this weekend.  we went out and got him a  card.  after i wrote in the card i basically shut down.  i was so sad about missing my grandpa that my body couldn't handle it and i got sleepy.  so sleepy i pretty much fell asleep while i was driving.  then after i got back and spilled my milkshake on my feet as i was trying to carry armloads of stuff back in to my dorm i had a panic attack.  i can't do this.   it is too much.  i need to sleep.  i washed my feet off, wasn't good enough, showered, wasn't good enough. my feet wont stop feeling sticky.  i can't do this. maybe it is this. maybe it is something else. maybe it is everything.  who wants to date someone with ocd.  who wants to date someone so unstable..cant do this..sticky toes..dirty..
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I don't [30 Apr 2007|05:20pm]
I don't want to be in this class.
I don't want my grandpa to be dead.
I dont want school to end.
I don't to move home.
I don't want to remember last night.
I don't want grandma to be alone.
I don't want to get out of bed.
I don't want to think about him.
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not enough [01 Apr 2007|12:32am]

I am good

                 but not good enough.

I am smart

                 but not smart enough.

I am creative

                but not creative enough.

I am thin

                but not thin enough.

I am pretty

                but not pretty enough.

I am funny

                but not funny enough.

I am bad

                but not bad enough.

I am a good girlfriend

                  but not good enough.

I am a good friend

                    but not good enough.

I am a good daughter

                    but not good enough.

I am a good sister

                    but not good enough.

I am poetic

                   not poetic enough.

I am artistic

                   but not artistic enough.

I smile

                  but not enough.

I laugh

                but not enough.

I try hard

            but not hard enough.

I cry

           but way too much.   

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tell me when [18 Mar 2007|01:31am]

tell me when
being myself will be good enough

tell me when i can stop having bad days

tell me when my thoughts are correct

tell me when i can start showing my feelings

tell me when
i can get over you
and your touch

tell me how i am supposed to study
the language of another man
when i cannot even understand
the words of my own heart

tell me why i should study rocks
and what they are made of
when i all i want to do
is pick them up and throw them at you

i have all the sensible answers
the ones i would give a friend

tell me when
i can understand why i feel the way i do
then i don't know
how long i will last

is so confusing
is so big
how can i not just be one soul
lost somewhere between
6.4 billion and 6.5 billion 

'hold me closer tiny dancer
count the headlights on the highway
lay me down in sheets of linen
i had a busy day today'

they seriously need to start having classes
on the important things in life
like how to say goodbye
how to interept your own heart

what good will it do you
to know of aristotle's teachings
and newton's laws
if you don't have a life to live
or a reason to learn

sometimes there is so much of me
that i feel like i am going to explode
in every which way
there are so many aspects and angles
to who i am
that they can not physically fit within my body
there are so many things i want to do
but never enough time
or energy

our sex has a smell
but that drawer full of condoms
wasn't meant for us

maybe someday
someone will make me as happy
as i make you

my ears are ringing
thats the alarm going off in my head
telling me
that there is thought overload
and it is time to shut down for the night

what would you say
if i told you
i love you
but i am okay without you

in your arms
how can two bodies
fit so perfectly
if they weren't meant to be

how can your skin
make my entire body melt
rough never felt so soft

there is just too much to say
and my mouth can't move fast enough
my brain can't think fast enough
and my fingers can't type fast enough

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RIP grandpa 2/28/07 [04 Mar 2007|01:10am]

blueberries milk and sugar
making knot blankets
whip it
the puk
his dollhouse
the way he walked
golf cart in florida
grapefruit from a tree
picking up sticks
the boat
golf on tv
history channel
discovery channel
black shoes
those blue jeans
fleece pants
pole barn
safe with guns
computer room
bed partners
pocket knife-always there to cut a tag off
my pocket knife
christmas in garage
hot tub
motor home
candy store
guest house
marble lake
weeping willows
shirts with elastic
drives to ma
the letter game
'your welcome as a snow ball in hell'
'oh hell'
his chair
applebee's ribs
spikey hair
town hall
pucker kisses
good and plenty
licking fingers
computer classes
helping me make tools for my greek project
his own room
ribbbed tank tops
the way he put his socks on
the way he could fix anything
carrying his oxygen downstairs so he could fix a stool for grandma
his handwriting
the wooden box in his room
his smell
his skin
cinnanmon buns
getting all the extra icing and licking his finger
powder doughnuts
the way he ate soup
how proud he was
van with vcr
frosty boys-chocolate malt
peanut butter popcorn
black shoes
'where is the dead guy'
always pushing the cart
waiting while we shopped
spoiling me
buying me facewash and ginko biloba
always knew what to do in any situation
see so much of him in mom
easy going
king electric
playing in king electric
always prepared
low tide
funy sounds
make us laugh
"oh marilyn"
twiddle his thumbs
sunflower seeds

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it hurts so bad [04 Mar 2007|12:47am]

it hurts
so fucking much

i want to scream
as loud as i can
for as long as i can
just to get this feeling
out of my chest

i miss him
so much
the only man
who i can ever say
was truly a constant in my life
from day one
saving me from my father
and many other things
teaching my mother
the grace of the world
so she could pass it on to me

it makes me sick to my stomach
to think of you as gone
sometimes tears roll down my cheeks
and other times they just flood

there were so many things
i still needed to tell you
but i never quite had
all the right words

i know that you are an angel
in heaven with your brother 
your mom 
and your dad
and the pain of the cancer
is no longer inside your body

but if i had just one wish
i would wish to spend one more day with you
eating blueberries milk and sugar
watching bullriding on tv
or to go for a ride on the puk
asking you to hit all the bumps
feeling the wind blow through my hair
and feeling so safe in your arms
i was too little then to know the word
that best described how i felt
and even now, in college
not one word seems quite good enough
but if i had to label it
i would call that feeling invincible

but maybe that is a lie
the story of my one wish
because if i had the chance to be with you again
i'd hold on tight and never let go
my love for you is insaitable
and i will do everything
to make you proud

i never thought this day would come
but maybe god needs you up there
maybe he needs you to help build the skys
becuz he saw how amazing 
your doll house was

so much of me wants to be up there with you
but i know that my time here isnt done
you have given me so much
opened up so many doors for me
so once i am done
making you proud
and doing all the things you knew i could do
then i will come up to heaven with you

grandpa, do you promise to take me
for a gator ride in heaven?
i'll even help you pick up sticks
and we can be bed partners again

until then i will sleep alone
wiggling my toes in my sleep
while i dream about you

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