IN CASE YOU AREN'T JIGGY WITH IT

first of all, i really don't even know what "jiggy with it" is supposed to mean. like, what the hell is a jiggy and why do you want to be with it? anyway, if you want to be jiggy with it and don't know what i'm going on about and are suddenly BLOWN AWAY BECAUSE WHERE HAS ERIN BEEN SINCE GRADUATION because, again, you aren't jiggy with it, i've been at cawlijj since late june. i am, however, still writing. if you care, which you may or may not, and aren't already aware, which you may or may not be, my current musings are being posted on a new blog. in case you notice that there are approximately 3 months of poetry/random stupid stuff about my life missing between my last Alis post and my first hbhb post, it is on another blog i used during the summer. AND NOW YOU ARE ALL JIGGY WITH IT. CONGRATULATIONS. this has been an unnecessary post spamming your blog feed and you are welcome.



YOURS WITH JIGGY,

--ERIN

Quite,

This is a greeting.

This is the hello spoken between the title page and "chapter 1."

This is the real El Dorado and this is the pyrite on your bedside table.

This is an old man yelling at you to get off his lawn and this is the smell of the cookies his late wife used to bake.

This is the promise that nothing will change and this is the certainty that nothing is static.

This is the balloon blanket you carried around for years and this is the day you realized you had lost it.

This is your mother kissing your newly bandaged knee and this is the lifeguard blowing the whistle at you for splashing.

This is a rogue planet and this is a strawberry patch.

This is a visit to the dentist's office and this is the reason you don't like the right side of your face.

This is empathy and this is apathy.

This is the ring on a seventeen-year-old finger and the wedding dress with room for the baby and this is a Facebook status three months later about the husband's creepy inmates.

This is a motif of birds and this is a cliché called "the whispering wind."

This is the broken bone in PE class and this is the line between "friends" and "more than."

This is the wall you built around your happiness and this is the tunnel it dug to free itself when it heard you crying.

This is this is the scar on your knee from shaving and this is the laugh lines your mother is starting to get.

This is a refrigerator magnet and this is the ice cream melting when the power is out.

This is a wish upon a star and this is the star's mother asking him to come home for Christmas.

This is a knife in the toaster and this is the feeling of her hand in his.

This is a pair of sweatpants and this is a girl who doesn't wear heels below three inches.

This is a word and this is a warning.

This is a poem and this is a broken bottle in a high school parking lot.

This is a question asked and this is a teacher who doesn't like being interrupted.

This is the uncertainty in your eyebrows and this is the swear words you no longer notice you say.

This is a plastic bag in the breeze and this is the ground view of the Eiffel Tower.

This is a birthday the day of graduation and this is the relapse that made his mother cry.

This is a religion and this is a mythology.

This is your heart and this is your left lung.

This is your appendix and this is every organ that actually does something.

This is an interpretation and this is a reality TV show.

This is confusion and this is the curiosity that killed the cat.

This is the boy who forgot about alliteration and this is his brother who can't spell onomatopoeia.

This is a rock star and this is a local radio station.

This is your green eyed family and this is your genetic difference.

This is a one word answer and this is the draft you had saved as "like srsly wat."

This is the scar on your elbow and this is the chip in your tooth.

This is the shirt that fell on the ground in the back of your closet and this is the skirt that your mom bought you that you've worn once.

This is more than a dream and this is less than a nightmare.

This is the lighter fluid you used to start the fire and this is the burning newspaper you can't look away from.

This is your conscience questioning your motives and this is your muscles remembering how to speak and walk and run and dance and breathe and blink and smile and cry.

This is your reason for getting up and this is the reason you can't fall asleep at night.

This is a first impression and this is a closed-casket service.

This is the broken front door latch and this is the spider you asked your father to kill.

This is your heart written on the back of a scan tron and this is a question asked to the callous your pen made.

This is the neighbor's fence and this is a "beware of dog" sign.

This is saying harmless and this is saying "innocent enough."

This is a lie and this is the red leaves falling.

This is everything you deserve and this is nothing you've wished for when the time is all 1's.

This is a coil of wire and this is the smell of the mulch your father and brother spread yesterday.

This is exact and this is estimation.

This is the journey and this is the name of the infinity symbol.

This is an ampersand and this is everyone who didn't know what an ampersand was.

This is all you want it to be and this is more than you told your mother about.

This is the inside of your soul

And this:

This is a goodbye.

--Erin

Random thoughts as graduation looms over my head:

My fourth pair of pointe shoes and my second pair of Latin heels are hanging on my closet door as trophies to remind myself of the pain I've gone through for them. My ballet costume is in the closet and my medley dress is back at the school.

There are three garbage bags full of clothes I never wear anymore on my floor, waiting to be sifted through by my sister before being donated to the DI.

My duffel bag is covered in sequins and glitter from costumes it no longer contains.

A box with a new duvet cover and sham should be arriving from Pottery Barn soon and my mom is trying to plan a trip to Ikea.

I put in my two weeks notice at work and my manager said she'd try to get me off the schedule next week.

I need to buy a laptop sometime in the next few weeks.

The sign-in book for Cassie's wedding just came from shutterfly. She and Michael are living representations of Ken and Barbie. Not like the weird people who got sliced and diced to look like dolls, I mean they look like Ken and Barbie if they were life-sized and normally proportioned.

The poster I bought for my dorm room just got here. (Ignore my toes in the shot)

I'm going to walmart to find lipstick to match the kind I stole from my mom so that I can give that back someday.

****update****

Replacement lipstick has been acquired. Also, nails have been re-painted. It also appears as though my room has gotten messier.

Remind me to write a check to David for $50 from that one time he ordered rhinestones for me and to give Alyssa the $6.50 for leotard straps.

I need to stop buying so much food. I promised my mom I'd buy her butterbeer while we're at Harry Potter world for my graduation/birthday trip.

I decided to make a bucket list on the back of an envelope from someone's graduation announcement, mostly because of this post.

Now that my days aren't defined by when I have dance and what homework needs to be done, I have been taking naps on the couch with increasing frequency.

Like, what am I even supposed to do with my life? Eat exorbitant amounts of goldfish and watch Criminal Minds reruns?

I feel purposeless right now, even when they tell us "a new chapter of our lives is about to start." The end of this chapter probably won't be terribly gripping, considering all I'm gripping at this point is a remote in one hand and a Popsicle in the other.

--Erin

because it was 3:22 when i started this post and i have 7 more class periods of high school

i haven't slept with a nightlight since i discovered my lack of fear of the dark.

i probably should, because now i've started to wonder if i'm one of those girls who looks better with the lights off.

i still sleep with a stuffed animal, a dolphin corinne bailey rae gave me for my birthday a long time ago. we were friends, but she was always better than me. sorry for that. i named him edgar by the way. he has your eyes

i wonder if he keeps the dark safe for me. i wonder if he cares about my safety.

this is why i need to learn how to fall asleep faster.

i've discovered that if i try to go to bed after two, i just stare at the dark, blurred ceiling until i hate myself.

i wouldn't call myself an insomniac, because i really do sleep a lot at night. i'm not nocturnal, as much as my mom might think so.

i am a fairly paranoid person, and i was always afraid of getting stolen walking down the street back home from my friend's house at night, despite the fact that she lived 5 houses away and Alpine is about as safe as you can get at this point.

in solitude here, though, i can pretend that i didn't waste years of my life on the maximum ride series and i can pretend that no one needs my help and that no one thinks about my hair color and i can pretend that i'm done with small talk about what i want to do with my future and i can pretend that my grandma will stop trying to convince me that i should be a pharmacist and her skeptical looks will stop criticizing my choice to go into English.

i can pretend i've never felt judgement and i can pretend that i'm good enough for everyone's expectations, including mine.

this pillow holds the ghosts of old tears and my bedroom is better at keeping my secrets than my eyes.

goodnight, consciousness.

let me be, tonight.

let me be.

--erin

Talk is real (not cheap)

Hi, I'm Erin.

I like long walks on the beach and taking pictures of the sunset.

No, scratch that. Starting over.

Hi, I'm Erin.

I like long naps in my bed and writing poems at sunset.

I'm Erin,

And I'm always the first m name called on a role because we spell it M-A-C. When asked how to spell my name, all of my family has the same response. M-A-C lowercase D-O-N-A-L-D. My sister is marrying a guy whose last name is Arntsen. She won't get a break from spelling mistakes.

I'm Erin,

And my uncles used to call me Erinski.

I'm Erin,

And when my mom had me, they gave her the epidural too soon, so it had started wearing off by the time I was born. She still gives me grief for that.

I'm Erin,

And I'd rather take a bath than a shower.

I'm Erin,

And sometimes I have to keep myself from yelling, "I'm smarter than you" at people when they have a condescending tone.

I'm Erin,

And I drink more Dr. Pepper than water.

I'm Erin,

And sometimes I'd rather stay in and read a book than interact with society.

I'm Erin,

And I'll never get over Augustus Waters.

I'm Erin,

And maybe I'm just a contrary teenager, but people telling me what to do makes me want to do the exact opposite of what they've told me to do.

I'm Erin,

And I don't think I've been to a party since sophomore year and I don't think I've been invited to one since maybe 8th grade and I haven't even had a birthday party since I was thirteen.

I'm Erin,

And even though my dog is almost 11, arthritic, nearsighted, covered in lypomas, prone to seizures, and likely to bark at what I can only assume are ghosts at the door, I still call him a puppy.

I'm Erin,

And I've been on both ends of unreciprocated feelings.

I'm Erin,

And I don't really know how to decipher my own thoughts at this point.

I'm Erin,

And I cry during movies and reading books and I cried when I watched the trailer for TFiOS the other night.

I'm Erin,

And I also cry when I laugh, but mostly out of the right eye.

I'm Erin,

And I'm going to BYU. I'm going to major in English. I'm going to be alone there.

I'm Erin,

And one time my friend's mom was in the room while my music was playing and she called The XX "getting high music."

I'm Erin,

And I'm terrified of a lot of things, including, but not limited to, spiders, rejection, failure, driving on the freeway, death, uncertainty, my new husband smearing cake on my face at our wedding, and never having a husband.

I'm Erin,

And I've written multiple love poems about one boy.

I'm Erin,

And I've loved and I've been loved but I've never been kissed.

I'm Erin,

And I started crying when someone made fun of me for it, even if it was just "harmless teasing" from my best friend.

I'm Erin, 

And I have been that girl crying in the bathroom before, and I have no desire to be her again.

I'm Erin,

And I have been hit in the face with a banana peel.

I'm Erin,

And I've been to four concerts, including Hannah Montana when I was 11.

I'm Erin,

And I'm not super comfortable with my body because the mirror tells me I'm fat even though my mom tells me I'm curvy.

I'm Erin,

And my parents have told me I'm their smartest child and we all hope that Cade and Summer can get scholarships for football and cheerleading, respectively, because, let's be honest, they're not too focused on academics.

I'm Erin,

And I drive too fast and I roll my windows down even after the A/C has cooled off and I listen to my music too loud but I'm pretty sure the bible says, "thou shalt not listen to Sleigh Bells at a volume below 30." (I pulled into my driveway with the volume at 36 today and my little sister's friend standing down the street heard it well enough to start dancing to it.)

I'm Erin,

And I graduate from high school and childhood on the same day, but I usually feel like I'm already finished with both and as much as I wish I had, I've never felt different on my birthday. I have a feeling that 18 will just stay a number. 17 felt the same as 16 and 16 felt the same as 15, because as much as I told myself I'd get my license and a supermegafoxyawesomehot boyfriend as soon as I turned 16, that was never very realistic.

I'm Erin,

And I probably shouldn't swear as much as I do.

I'm Erin,

And I couldn't even be bothered to go to seminary graduation.

I'm Erin,

And my aunt once described our family as "righteous but irreverent," but mostly I'm just the latter.

I'm Erin,

And I used to think I was a pessimist, but I'm calling myself a realist now because if I can't hold on to reality, I have nothing.

I'm Erin,

And apathy sleeps in my bed with me.

I'm Erin,

And my eyes are blue but people still tell me they're green or they're gray and if we can't agree on something as simple as the eye color of a seventeen year old wanna-be poet from Utah, then how are we supposed to find world peace?

I'm Erin.

Erin Nicole Macdonald.

And I'm done being afraid of my potential.

I

Am 

Erin

And I will live like someone cares.

I

Am

Erin

And I will live like I care.

I

Am

Erin

And you will remember my name.

I

Am

Erin

And I was always Erin, even when I was Alis.

I

Am

Erin,

And I'll never be anyone else.

I

Am

Erin

And I'm moving to Paris.

I'm moving to Paris.

Don't try to stop me.

Just you wait.

Wait for the cliche yet obligatory pictures of me and the Eiffel Tower, because Paris said the words that Mesa and Alpine and Provo could never quite get past their teeth.

He said, "I love you, and I'm willing to wait."

I love you, too, Paris, and I'm on my way.

I'm on my way.

--Erin

#plottwist

You went to her yesterday.

She broke it off.

You still won't tell me who she even is, but....

Her loss.

That's why I think I'll tell you that I think I love you and I think it'll make our friendship awkward but I think that even if we had a relationship it would be awkward but I also think we'd be perfect and that's why I think I need to tell you.

You probably aren't God's gift to women, but I'm still hoping that you're his gift to me.

I love you, and I need to tell you. 

As afraid as I am of feeling my smile turn to stone again, I'm more afraid of never being with you. I'm afraid of the urge I get to talk to you whenever I have extra time and the smile I always have around you. I'm afraid of how easily our conversations flow and I'm afraid of how natural it feels to be near you.

I'm less afraid of you and more afraid of myself.

That won't stop me, though.

There's a chance that you could love me and I'm not going to waste it because i don't want to be a coward. I don't think you could love a coward. I'm going to be brave and I'm going to tell you how I feel.

I wish you could hear my heart right now because it's whispering hope.

--Erin

Colors and carbs

I know it probably doesn't matter at this point, but I want you to know that a lot of what I write is for you.

I know that you like someone else, so what I feel for you doesn't really come into play, but you should know that when I think of you, I see the color yellow. Maybe it's because I see light when I'm with you. Maybe it's because you're blonde or maybe it's because your eyes are the color of leaves in late summer and the summer always seems yellow to me.

I know you're going to leave. You'll leave me for two years and I won't have anyone that will take me to Panda on a Tuesday night because I want some won tons/rangoons or whatever the hell you want to call them because they're fried and cream cheese heaven and also I don't want to study for calculus. You're going to go preach in Peru or something (I guess we'll find out soon enough), and I'll be here trying not to rip out my hair from the frustration of being alone. I know, I know. I won't really be alone. Just don't play the God card on me, because he and I aren't really on speaking terms right now.

You're leaving to teach a gospel I only half believe anymore, and I know that that doesn't really matter because I'm not the one going on a mission so it isn't really a problem. Honestly, though, I don't even know if I can call what I have belief because I'm pretty sure there needs to be a conviction behind it and I don't really have that. My belief in the emotional healing power of carbohydrates is stronger than my belief in the church. The fact that I find more truth in an Asiago bagel than the church that I was raised in indicates a problem, especially because there will probably be more prayer at BYU than bagels.

And you're leaving me to tell others how true you think it is.

Yeah, it's probably good, but when you come back, you're probably going to try to tell me to turn off the TV because television is the devil just like Vicky Valencourt and foozball and I'll laugh in your face and press the power button just to annoy you.

I don't know what I'm trying to say, but I guess it's promising that you didn't tell me to change the song when "Little Lion Man" came on in my car.

I was born with a pen in my back pocket, and that pen works so furiously that it just needs a break, but the words flow when I think about you and cheesy love songs come out of my heart when I'm around you and I'm trying to keep them from coming out of my mouth while I also try to discourage you from reading my blog because, obviously, nothing good could come of that.

I guess I'm trying to say that I'll miss you, and I won't even have this summer with you because I move into the dorms the day after my sister's wedding in June and I just hope you come down to visit me, because Provo will be really lonely without you.

I won't have anyone that will go get Slurpees with me on a weekday just because they have the same emotional healing properties as bagels, but you'll probably never know why I need the emotional healing, because I can't tell you that you're the reason.

You're always the reason.

The reason I've written all these poems.

The reason I've kept my eyes dry since I found out, because if I let one tear escape, I'll be sobbing over you and I've been told that no boy is worth my tears but I still wonder if you are. I wonder if you are the only exception and I wonder if I'll sing that song to you someday, and I probably already have, because I sing a lot of songs to you, but it's usually just us pretending to be in love but I'm not actually pretending anymore. Some want to see their name in lights, but I like seeing mine on your lips.

And maybe this is a premature goodbye.

I don't know.

I don't know.

I don't know myself anymore, so maybe this is a goodbye both to you and to the me that I am when I'm with you because I'm happier and while I usually associate myself with dark blues like navy and royal, with you I feel like the color of the ocean on a sunny day, because you're still that bright, burning circle in the sky bringing new life and I hope you're reflecting onto me because the light hurts my eyes but the pain feels better than the sand between my toes,

and I guess that explains most of my feelings towards you.


--Erin

All I remember

My first memory is of standing in front of a vending machine in Moab watching the pink Granny B's sugar cookie fall to where my small hands could reach.

I remember being a poodle in tap shoes and looking at the feet of the girl next to me as she looked at the girl next to her as she looked at the teacher for direction.

I remember playing Scooby Doo in preschool with Haley Smith. We were both Daphne.

I remember the paper Barbie tablecloth at my fifth birthday party and how it caught fire because my dad thought it would be a good idea to use trick candles.

I remember playing horses in the field at recess with the cool girls in first grade. The only time I've been somewhat popular.

I remember getting in trouble in second grade, so my teacher told me to stay in class while everyone else walked to the lunch room and she said she'd come back to bring me down there after they sat down. I remember sitting in her darkened room crying through lunchtime because she forgot to come back for me. She seemed surprised that I was so obedient and didn't just walk down to the lunchroom on my own. I remember being forgotten. Completely forgotten.

I remember deciding I hated Connor Bartlett in third grade. No one was ever sure why. Especially not me.

I remember winning the "guess how many candies are in the candy jar" game in fourth grade because I figured out the teacher's pattern. 214 candies for Valentines Day. You sneaky mom.

I remember my fifth grade teacher being proposed to in the middle of class and how I thought it was so romantic. Because nothing's more romantic than getting engaged in the middle of an elementary school. I mean, it smells so good, like cafeteria food and children who don't use deodorant yet.

I remember being in Athens with the smart kids instead of Sparta with the cool kids during our Greek unit in sixth grade. I'll be honest, I was never considered an athlete in any way, shape, or form.

I remember seventh grade when I was reaching the end of my awkward phase but my stomach was still bigger than my chest and my braces cut my lips.

I remember the cops getting called on us during my thirteenth birthday party because we were terrible children.

I remember slapping my new group of friends in eighth grade as punishment for swearing. I remember them all getting their first boyfriends, first kisses, first heartbreaks. I remember listening. I remember being a third wheel almost anytime I tried to hang out with anyone. Little has changed.

I remember stuffing our bras before stake dances because we thought that would make us more appealing. Well, I'm not stuffing now, but guess who still hasn't gotten her first kiss? I've been told it's because I'm kind of abrasive. Whatever.

I remember getting hit in the face by a flying banana peel in ninth grade and how the boy who threw it and his friends all laughed. I think he felt bad, but how ridiculous is it that someone got hit in the face with a banana peel, right? What could be funnier? I remember trying to laugh it off, but I remember tearing up. Projectile banana peels to the face actually do hurt, in case you were curious.

I remember tenth grade when a boy finally liked me and I remember liking him back. I remember him telling me that he didn't want to pair off. I remember finding out two weeks later that he and my friend were going out, as of two days after he broke it off with me. I remember not blaming her. I remember that I had never actually told her the situation with him. I remember that I was really only mad about the lies.

I remember eleventh grade. I remember gaining new friends and growing away from old ones. I remember my friend trying to kiss me. I remember him telling me he liked me and I remember my response when he asked if I liked him back. "I don't know." I remember telling him it couldn't work the next Monday because his mission+my awkward=sucky relationship. I remember it being more about his permanent residence in the friend-zone and my inability to see him any other way. And I still haven't written him. Whoops.

I remember twelfth grade. I remember AP tests and D minuses in calculus and writing poetry instead of FRQs. I remember Alis and The Truth and Priscilla informing me of it as I ate cheesecake pancakes at an IHOP in Southern California. I remember connecting pen names to faces and wondering if I actually know anything about anyone I've gone to school with for years. I remember trying to stay out of drama and I remember getting sucked back into drama. I remember that it was never my drama. I remember pronouncing drama with the first a pronounced like the a in "stamina" and I pronounced the word "samba" the same way. Lambda. Delta nu. I remember Legally Blonde and I remember Death Cab for Cutie, and I don't know how the two connect to each other and to twelfth grade, but if I find out I'll tell you.

--Erin

Not about me.

I feel unseen.

The windows of your house.

You only notice when I'm absent.

I hope it's darker without me there.

Look at the light coming through me.

You see it, but you don't see me, letting it in for you.

I don't think you ever even notice that I want you to notice me.

I'm always there.

I don't know how I make you feel, or how your eyes look at me, but I guess it's different from how you see her.

Because you said Significant Other.

And I sewed my lips shut to make sure they wouldn't betray me and I pressed them into a smile that didn't reach my eyes because pretending is easier than explaining why.

Maybe we're too close.

Maybe friends is all we can be.

Maybe it was a stupid idea anyway.

Maybe we weren't meant to be in love, but I sometimes feel like God created us for each other

Because I feel so comfortable with you, always. More than with anyone else.

Because I breathe easier when you're around.

Because I can pretend I love myself when you're here.

Because my heart split when you mentioned her.

And I don't even know who "her" is.

I'm sorry.

I've been selfish.

I've only thought about what I feel for you and forgot to ask you what you feel for me.

I almost told you, actually.

I almost let you read my blog.

I almost went over to your house on Monday night to let you know that you make me happy.

You make me feel like the world isn't dead

And you make me feel like I haven't cut the tongues out of my emotions, but now their silent stares are reminding me that I destroyed my own humanity.

I guess you won't know that.

I want to tell you that you make me want to be better.

You make me want to return to God.

You make me want you.

Not your body, per se, because it isn't actually about sex this time,

Because I want your mind.

I want to have a conversation with you for hours because we never run out of things to say to each other.

I want your sense of humor.

I want you to make me laugh when I've given up on the world and myself.

I want you to tell me I'm beautiful, not because I have a poor self-image, but because I want you to tell me my soul is worth saving.

I want to tell you I love you, but I know that it can't happen,

Because I'm the windows you look through

And she's the stained glass you look at.

I thought I loved you, but you reminded me that I don't know what love is.

I want to say thank you for that, but it would probably be insincere, and the only lies I tell are of omission.

--Erin

Defacing People

(Pictures didn't work out very well. #ohwell)

Love is the national pastime,

The perfect game.

My head would cover the credits that say, "belong."

A former life with only faith to show to her.

Her work may focus on her will.

Believe it or not, sex appeal is not beauty.

--Erin

Things I'm afraid of

(Who cares if we already had fear week. I do what I want.)

• Failing the AP calc test. A big possibility considering my 16% in that class
• The singles ward
• The Truth
• Being kidnapped
• Being raped
• Getting pregnant from being raped
• Spiders
• Being loved
• Not being loved
• People judging my insta posts. Like, all 8 of them
• STDs
• My own heart
• The helium shortage and the threat of never having balloons again
• BYU
• Returned missionaries
• Marriage
• Cancer
• Heart attacks
• Left turns
• Freeways
• Car accidents
• Death
• Having no money
• People not liking my jokes
• People not liking my writing
• People not liking me
• Running without a sports bra
• Running
• People telling me I'm good at something
• Commitment
• Fear
• Alzheimer's
• Having bad breath
• Heaven
• Hell
• That someday I might meet one of my celebrity idols and I'll be wearing my cutoff sweatpants that are covered in paint and nail polish and my shirt from the spirit bowl that has also paint on it (don't be fooled. I don't art. It's from painting walls) and cutoff sleeves again because I guess I just hate wearing clothes and I'll free my limbs whenever possible and my hair will look like I haven't washed it in a couple days and I'll smell like deodorant and sweat but that would probably happen even if I looked like I gave a damn about how I looked because I would be super nervous and I doubt that would make me smell good and my deo probably wouldn't be up for the task and I'd be eating cheez-its or something and they'd be like "should we take this strange drooling girl to the hospital? And by the hospital I mean the local asylum?"
• The local asylum (do we have one of those?)
• Lexi Sheffield because I read her blog(s) instead of the Book of Mormon because I like them approx. 69 times more which is probably one of the reasons I'm going to Hell
• The fact that I laugh at the number 69, which is another one of the reasons I'm probably going to Hell
• You
• Me
• He him that one boy man kid
• Admitting that I'm afraid of God
• God

          --Erin

How to come to terms with who you've become

Leave.

Go to the quiet.

Lose the world.

Lose yourself.

Find yourself.

Find heaven.

Find out you don't really want heaven.

Find Hell.

Tell your calloused toes and your calloused heart to follow you.

Become yourself.

Wander the roads of your memories.

Fall and scrape your knee and your pride.

Get back up because pain is inevitable but weakness is optional.

Give blood back to the ground.

Eventually give the rest of you back to the ground,

Except for your spirit.

Give that to the above or the below.

Give it to the exalted or the damned.

Recover yourself and tell me where it's going.

At some point you'll come to find that optimism is self-deception.

Pessimism is your truth.

Love is a placebo.

The real drug is hate.

High on a grudge, because revenge is sweet and so are the words the devil whispers into your ear.

Start loving Hell because the angels were always too self-righteous.

Get to know your demons, because you'll be spending a lot of time together 

and they've been waiting for you.

Love,

--Erin

Why "My friend, Alis" is a death sentence for my heart

Me: "You're the literal devil."

You: "I highly doubt that."

I don't.

Who else could tempt me this much?

Your eyes are as green as innocence, but what's behind them is anything but. 

I find that kind of thrilling.

Hearing us talk, I don't think anyone would guess that you're a bishop's kid.

Have you noticed that I'm comfortable enough with you that I'll snapchat you even after I've taken off my makeup?

If that ain't love, then I don't know what love is.

You always smell really good, by the way.

That probably shouldn't be important, but everyone knows it is.

I know you've said you love me before.

I know I've said it back.

I just don't know if you've ever meant it the way I have.

It's usually more of an, "er lurve yer" than an "I love you,"

But I mean it.

I mean it as much as I've ever meant anything else.

I mean it like I mean to break my own heart, because I'm sure that's all that I'll get out of this.

I mean it as much as when I say that a broken heart means nothing to me anymore.

I mean it as much as when I tell myself that it'll never work.

I mean it as much as when I say I'm willing to try.

I think we would be the most awkward couple of anything ever and the world wouldn't be ready for us, but we would be ready for the world.

When we were taking those pictures, 

flowers on my wrist and on your coat,

me almost as tall as you in my heels (but not quite), 

still laughing about the fact that you wore brown socks with your tuxedo,

we held hands and looked into each other's eyes.

As I watched the forest and you watched the sea,

I saw love.

Maybe not the right kind, but still.

I'd give anything to see that more often.

--Alis 

Reminders I can't set on my phone

Going to seminary reminds me of how much I don't want to be in seminary.

The red velvet cake in the fridge reminds me of how bad my mile time is.

The 500 hall reminds me of that one time I threw up during child development.

Walking into my bedroom reminds me of the pictures of hurricane Katrina.

Two-voice poems remind me of Mrs. Lefler's class in eighth grade.

The space in my bookshelf reminds me that I lent my copy of "the perks of being a wallflower" to my friend and now I kind of want it back, but I don't know if she's finished it yet.

The two different headlights on my car remind me of that time we got in a car accident and the timp highway/6000 west intersection reminds me of that other time we got in a car accident.

Cafe rio reminds me of when me and my two friends and my friend's boyfriend went to dinner and apparently I intimidated him because I didn't laugh at his jokes.

Pioneer park reminds me of crepes and hoboes and getting beer spilled on your pants when someone reaches up to help a crowd surfer.

Martinelli's reminds me of playing truth or dare in my friend's grandma's basement so that everyone would get a turn.

The smell of roses reminds me of my grandma's backyard and how you can't walk around barefoot or else you end up with thorns in your heels (and I'm sure there's a usable metaphor for love somewhere in there but all I'm coming up with is "use a condom").

Burgess park reminds me of Canterbury tales, as does "A Knights Tale."

Gingers remind me of that boy that I think is my soulmate but I only had, like, a 2-minute conversation with him, and I'm sure he'd run scared if he saw me again because apparently I'm intimidating.

The drying corsage on my bedside table reminds me of that time I didn't make a move and neither did he.

This post just reminded me of why I'm not completely happy today.

--Alis

I'm as faded as your favorite pair of jeans,

but for different reasons.

--Alis' sad chair

The alphabet at 17

A is for anxiety.

B is for breakdowns. At home, at school, in the car...

C is for cutting because it's hard to find people who don't anymore.

D is for damn because sometimes it needs to be said.

E is for everyone who told me I'm too smart for my own good because they're probably right.

F is for faith.

G is for gone because that's where I want to be right now.

H is for hate.

I is for insomnia because I can't stop thinking.

J is for justice because life isn't fair.

K is for kissing, or the lack thereof.

L is for love.

M is for mothers, even if I don't tell mine anything.

N is for nothing.

O is for omission.

P is for pregnancy tests and wondering who is stressing over them today and if any if them are my friends.

Q is for quizzes that I've failed.

R is for running from your problems because I've been told it doesn't solve anything, but it's sure nice for the time being.

S is for sleep because it doesn't happen very often.

T is for traitors.

U is for uncertainty about going to a Mormon university for the next four plus years of my life.

V is for virgin and wondering who's talking to the bishop this weekend.

W is for waist and worries about how many inches it is today.

X is for Xanax and all the people I know that are on it.

Y is for youth because it's harder than my parents remember it being.

Z is for zebra because I don't want to talk about zits.

--Alis

Shadows on the moon

It's a total lunar eclipse right now.

It's times like these when I wish I was a photographer so I could have something better to capture the moment with than my iphone.

But, since I don't, this is the best I have.

Impressive, I know. It looks like a spider egg.

Bet you all wish you were awake right now so that you could see it in a non-crappy picture.

Bet you wish you had procrastinated your calculus homework now.

It is a sight to behold. It's nights like these that I wish I could turn off the lights of the world and just watch the stars. Even the red moon of the eclipse provides light, and sometimes this light is more powerful than the electric ones we use now.

I want to follow the stars.

I want the stars to ask me where I'm going and I want them to make me a map.

A map of light and hope that will tell me how to get there. 

The night is colder than the day, but the stars have apologized for that. 

The twinkling is them crying when a child fears the dark, because they're just trying to light his way.

Beauty isn't manufactured.

Beauty just is. 

Now go out and look at the moon.

You won't regret it.

--Alis