Falling or Flying

Tonight, I look out my kitchen window and I see the sky and I have to be a part of it. I strip off my socks and leave my phone on the counter and walk out into the starlight.
It's always been this way, as long as I can remember. Whenever I feel stressed, or sad, or crazy, or just full of memories, I go out to my swings.
Mine, with the chains that are just right in my hands. And I pump my legs and look up at the wintery night sky and suddenly I'm flying towards that one bright star overhead.
So much has changed. Years have passed, and now I'm a nineteen year old woman (more woman than girl, anyway) in her college sweatshirt, with her thong hanging out the back of her jeans. There have been losses and loves and lots of laughter, but still, the swinging is the same.
I leave all anger and resentment and fear on the ground.
I take whatever is weighing on me up with me and I send it up and away.
It may not last forever, but whatever it is, it is at least a temporary reprieve.
When my dog, Brookie died, I was soon out on the swing.
And at college, when I got bogged down studying for finals, there I was, out on the new swings I found.
That's how I know I'm the same. That's how I know I'll always be a kid.

Torn

What if we hang out? Will I be able to resist you? We hadn't seen each other in so long. I missed you, missed being your friend. But when I heard that hugging me was one of your best moments lately, I knew even though  I didn't admit it until now, I'm a goner. If I see you again and you want to hug me, kiss me, fuck me, I will relent, I will happily let it happen. And I know that I shouldn't, that it would be bad, complicate things. But what if it didn't? What if we were just exes that had sex? It doesn't work that way, of course, I'm not naive anymore. But still. And of course, there's always that part of me that wants the bad thing just because it's bad. Because it causes a little pain or a good reason to complain, to bitch, to cry. I'm not proud of that, but it's the truth. It probably won't happen. Because I'm sure you don't think of me at all that way anymore. Or just look back at all that as a fond memory. Then I would be hurt because you didn't want me. I can't win here anymore. But I still don't care. I don't want you back. You pissed me off so bad sometimes I couldn't stand to be near you. But you were funny and young and innocent somehow and we laughed a lot. And you're so hot. God, your body. Don't get me started. I just want you to kiss me hard and hold me really tight and throw me up against a wall. That's all.

All I Want

All I want is to have my own place with a little garden, or maybe a balcony with pots of flowers on it and some chairs so I can sit outside. I want to be able to walk around barefoot all the time, except when it's cold, and hang out in jeans and a tee shirt and a flannel. I want to live there with my newest best friend and I want to be able to sit outside and drink beer and talk. All I want is to bake all the time and cook chicken stirfry and watch The Kids Are All Right  and cry a little because it's so good. I want to paint the walls of my apartment and fill it with things I love and funky furniture because I'm just a poor college student. I want to sleep in a giant comfy bed with a big down comforter.