Hero.

I'm five years old,
I'm sitting on my grandfathers lap and starring up into his glasses, as if his blue eyes were crystal balls.
He asked me, "Who is your hero?"
And I say, "My daddy."
I'm ten years old,
I'm sitting behind a rusty iron desk tapping my pen & raking my brain for what I want for lunch.
The prompt askes, "Who is your hero?"
And I say, "American soldiers. Defense, in general. Firefighters. Doctors. Legal people. People who defend. Like my dad, he always defends me."
I'm eighteen years old,
I'm lying in bed wrapped in the comfort of the surrounding silence & writing shitty poetry,
The next lines begs the question, "Who is your hero?"
And I say, "Who is my hero? What a stupid question."
Who is my hero?
See, with age that has worn my heart & already given me pre middle aged lines of anxiety,
I have learned all too well that I don't exactly have someone as my hero.
I can no longer sit here in my ignorant, optimistic view drowning in my white privilege and looking to the sharks in suits & monsters with guns to be my protectors.
Even more I can no longer even stand the idea that a man who gave me 50% of my being could be my hero.
Do you remember, hero, when you'd tuck me in at night?
You see you'd kiss my forehead and read me fairytales of knights and dragons and say "Goodnight, princess."
Well I always thought you were like a knight, my hero.
It wasn't until you breathed the fire of "We don't watch the same movies or listen to the same music, so we can't be together" that I realized you were the dragon.
Still right now I am far from sitting on a throne of genuine laughter and believing in the beauty of a morning.
Still right now I am so wrapped up in fear of betrayal and loss of trust that I can't genuinely ever motivate myself to seek a prince charming.
Still right now I am constantly picking up the debris of walls of a home you burnt down.
When you slept next to that other woman did you tuck her in?
Did you call her princess?
Did you find some appreciation in your motel sheets and missed calls from home?
Perhaps, my hero, you'd remember when I was thirteen and you pushed me against a wall?
Those were the first days that depression filled my lungs with breath and you didn't understand the balance of a normal young girls hormones.
So when I met you with subtle disrespect you met me with blaring police sirens echoing from your throat, your saliva flung to my flushed cheeks, and I felt my legs shake like they did when I was checking the scale every night and you watched TV clueless.
Everytime a man I loved yelled at me all I could hear was your voice.
Everytime my legs shake from fear I remember you pointing into my chest.
Everytime I remember when I first started to not be okay I think of the haze over your eyes when you're angry.
When she told you she was staying with her husband did you push her into a wall?
Did you yell at her as if she was a dog?
Did you feel comfortable speaking with thorns in your throat and no roses growing from your words?
Oh, but my hero you couldn't remember when I was crying on my mothers bed, searching through a plastic bag of books and cards and receipts.
You couldn't even begin to understand why I never want to wear a Tiffany's necklace in my life,
The pain I felt having to uncover who the "T" was that signed her letters I love you and google her name,
The strength it took not to call your boss and get you both fired.
You will never understand how robbed I feel from your cheapskate selfish self for the length of my entire short lived life,
How hard it is to see my mother so heartbroken and have to be strong for her when I'm dying to break down,
How pathetic and twisted of a human being you are and how you will always be the definition of a coward to me.
You made me fear love. You made me fear trust. You made me fear men.
So you know what?
I don't need you to be my hero.
My hero is the ability to wake up in the morning and go on with my day,
The capacity to block out all of the shit in the world we live in and just live moment by moment,
The potential to sit down for a family meal once a month and know you're fortunate.
My hero is the fight in me that just keeps kicking no matter how many times I long to give up,
My hero is the hard and grueling yet feasible capability I obtain of giving and recieving love.
My hero is the relationship I have developed with my very best friend and the most beautiful human being I know, your ex wife.
You are not my hero. I am my own hero.

Taking, trying, saying, changing.

Here's to a very high and healthy amount of happiness hormone levels this evening :)

I decided that I wanted to know what it felt like to be “normal.”

I wanted to understand what it felt like to wake up hopeful or

have one night where I didn't wake up wondering why I was still here.

So I take a pill.

Take a breath.

Take a sip.

Take a step back.

Take a look in the mirror.

Hope the serotonin levels in my body instantly climb my bones to find a home in my arteries and nerve endings.

Hope I can look past invisible scars carved on my face to find one beautiful thing about myself.

Hope I can chain up the thoughts of a foreign figure that can’t leave my brain for one single day.

So I try to be positive.

Try to find things to look forward to.

Try to meditate my mind and relax my body.

Try to be thankful for the gifts life’s given me.

Try to force myself to smile and eat.

Hope that I won’t see pictures of my father so my lips might forget how to say his name.

Hope that something bad might happen and I may not collapse by weights of frustration pressing down on my shoulders.

Hope that someone will ask me “How are you?” and read through the lies of my flushed skin and grit teeth.

So I say no to the shortcuts.

No to different pain to mask what I’m feeling now.

No to talking to people that will only hurt me or the people I care about.

No to making my grief somebody elses.

No to finding happiness in sweat and poison.

Hope that I can continue to control temptation that’s as alien to me as the way his door knob felt in my palm.

Hope to find gratitude in my self that I've been clinging to XY's to fill me with the past four years.

Hope to learn how to stop being such a screw up.

So I change my mindset.

Change the time my alarm clock serenades to me “A Land of Opportunity”

Change the normalcy of my fingers in texting out someone's name and good morning.

Change the pattern my stomach has become familiar to with eating.

Change the way I used to always allow negativity to trump a portrayal of bare teeth exposed.

Hope that I tell my fight or flight response that nothing is chasing me and I can stop and breathe.

Hope that I can walk to class by myself and that those three minutes don’t fill me with loneliness.

Hope that I learn how to say the word love without wanting to cry.

So I am here.

Taking, trying, saying, changing.

I say I love you, Brooklyn.

It’s unfamiliar not to hear an I love you too from a deeper voice inches above me.

It’s weird to think that somewhere deep inside some honesty has built a nest in those words.

It’s invigorating trying to control your life instead of letting chemicals and tears and fear control it for you.

Because I am tired of being helpless.

I am tired of being sad.

I am tired of being scared.

So I am here.

Taking, trying, saying, changing.

For now, I hope that’s enough.

For now, I hope I stay so driven.

For now, I hope that I can keep hope.
Is this normal yet?
Am I normal yet?
So I am here.
Taking, trying, saying, changing.
It's not normal to lose four father figures in one year.
So I am here.
Taking, trying, saying, changing.
It's not normal to be so scared and so desperate.
So I am here.
Taking, trying, saying, changing.
It's not normal to want so damn badly to be normal.
So I am here.
Taking, trying, saying, changing.
I don't need to be normal. I just need to be happy.