MisinterpretingAnn

you can build bridges from the ash of the bridge that used to be there it will be hard, and it will be dangerous, but at least the person on the other side will know you're trying and sometimes, they will be building to you, and you have to let them. you have to help them. because not all bridges are in disrepair. not all people will try to burn you back. and if the embers where your bridges once stood are still burning brightly as the day you coaxed it into a flame jump in that way when you are writing your Last Poem About Dying the boy down the street will know that you never meant to hurt him and that life is a heart-breaking  

i don't know the sounds of this old house yet and i don't know what time the people here wake or the way they like their eggs or if they can sleep without a half glass of milk i don't know what the temperature is set to or if it changes and i don't know if i'll be able to sleep without your breath in the sheets or if i'll be able to forget you pinching my chin or holding my hand i don't know if i'll be able to write without you and i don't know if i'll be able to sing our favorite songs i don't know if i'll be able without you at all

today i did not feel like doing so i didn't i laid outstretched in our my bed and watched cartoons and ate junk food and tried not to think about you

Do you remember when we were 16 and the only thing we cared about was driving and God and puck rock? And you drove to my house in the middle of the night because you wanted to save me. And you did. You did. (I called yesterday. You were busy. I understood.) Remember the time we parked my moms car on a back road and lay in the dirt looking at stars and talking about college and who we were gonna be when we grew up. Then when we were 17 and your girlfriend seemed so nice but she really wasn't, and I knew but I put up with it because that's what best friends do. (I still have all my shirts that match yours and the letters you wrote to me.)

I am holding Saving a place for someone you thought I could be But I wasn't Holding on For the chance that I fell just short of Just as always I am holding on to one hope that could get me out of this waiting for grace Falling short again You are holding me i cannot take any more of this cold or heat dont let go

there are monsters, you know. nimble, disruptive, porcelain skinned monsters. they are lingering among us, a fluttering, unceasing corruption in sheep's clothing. they sway to the music of sin. they dance to the howl of delirium. there are monsters, you know. their humanness is an ever- expanding firestorm. society hardened them. mistakes tormented them. their angst gave way quickly to pride. they stopped fighting. there are monsters, you know. but in the midst of them, a few remain conscious. they are aching, disgusted, and waiting. they know the truth. they watched the fall of innocence. solace brings them comfort, for the

[I was only eleven.] Center of the social circle, young, blonde, and innocent. It was before. Before the experiments, before the isolation, before the loss of faith. I believed in people, I remember. I only saw the good. [I was only eleven.] The veil was torn off my childhood and taken somewhere far away. Maybe it was Kansas. The doubt manifested in the form of guilt. I couldn't sleep alone in my room anymore, I couldn't look in the mirror. I was afraid. [I was only eleven.] It's been years and years and days since I gave up on trying to forget. At least the vividness has strayed. Knowledge became my vice, and I found out the i