Author: Ash

I’m terrified of boys

perfectly innocent boys

guys like the one who says

let’s play music together

and I’m terrified he means

more than that

’cause I know all I can say

to the question of more

is no

I’m not sure why I go

but here I am driving in rain so thick

I can barely see

flashers blaring my location.

I know I’m drawn to these meetings

this little house in the city

unlike any other church

I’ve ever been to

and so I go even when I know

I’ll probably just sit and cry and try to sing–

It’s been a hard, hard week.

A house church, that’s what it’s called

bewildered me the first time I showed up

young people with a few older sprinkled through

a living room and den

just two guitars, a cajon, and impassioned voices

decaf coffee in the kitchen

people who live what they believe

and don’t make a big deal about it.

worship isn’t like I’m used to

one song flows into the other without borders.

the people have no borders too

stand close or sit far away

couch or floor or chair or wall

sing or be silent

come early or late

shout or whisper

jump or dance or stand or hug.

there are no pews here, no screen with words

no lines to follow.

I don’t agree with everything but that’s okay

I don’t have to believe the same things

to walk through this door

to be welcomed as family

and somehow they still talk to me

the girl who enters quietly

leans against the door frame

either sings with all her might

or cries through the melodies

and says nothing of why afterward.

somehow they don’t mind

that I’m a mess.

I don’t think they’d mind

anyone’s mess

or questions

or unbelief

whatever form it took.

and so here I am tonight

I don’t have strength to stand

I curl in a ball, knees to chest

arms squeezing tight

trying to make that hollow hurt less

trying to keep the dark out

asking question after question of God

struggling to believe that he loves me

when I have been in so much pain.

they call him Dad here. they call us kids.

I gravitate toward those powerful

unassuming words.

this is how I fight my battles, the song goes.

this is how I fight my battles, people sing

bare feet on wooden floor, swaying.

I’m glad I don’t have to run from this place

like I’ve been running.

ordinary church makes me stop breathing.

can’t sit through a single service anymore

find myself running through the neighborhoods

till my feet still their panic

hiding in alleys and looking at the sky

or stuffing everything deep inside till I’m dizzy

with the pressure of it.

there everyone seems content to stand

in their rows

praise God without mess

seeming so perfect so happy

when I can’t pretend to be normal.

when believing cost me everything I most wanted.

when it still does.

I still need Jesus but I’m done pretending

I’m okay anymore.

Here I can be whatever I am.

Here I can sing or shout or leave or

stay or be completely silent, watching.

Here I can do as I am now and cry

through the verses

letting myself feel in ways it isn’t safe to do so

other places

’cause people and places aren’t safe for me anymore.

there’s no shadow he won’t light up,

mountain he won’t climb up,

coming after me, they sing

there’s no wall he won’t kick down,

lie he won’t tear down, coming after me.

I couldn’t earn it, I don’t deserve it,

still he gave himself away.

oh, the overwhelming, never-ending,

reckless love of God.

I wish you were here to hear it.

tonight I can only mouth the words

I don’t have the strength to do much else.

I tell God to show me how he loves me

Because I’m too blind and dumb to see it myself

Because I feel alone and abandoned

Because I’ve prayed and prayed and still

it hasn’t happened

not that I can tell.

Someone places a warm hand on my back in passing

you’re doing a good job, she says.

she has no idea how much I needed

to hear it.

it’s a wedding, not a funeral

I tell myself

white dress

vows traded through

clasped hands

eyes of two people

happy to drown in the other

it’s a wedding, not a funeral

but I’m wearing black

heart just a deeper shade

of bruise

processional music begins

couple walks down the aisle

wedding, not a funeral–

all I can see is my love

walking out the door

leaving me with a list of

(maybe) nevers

tombstone heart pushing away

the finality in the tolling

of the bell

I tell myself–

there’s always maybe.

you’re a fighter, my mother says

so where did your fight go?

 

I bought a punching bag off Facebook

from a guy in Fredericksburg who doesn’t care enough to spell

because I thought it might help

release

all the emotions inside me that never get out

 

I can’t very well tell her

I can only seem to fight for you

when you won’t even fight for yourself

or for me

or for us

she’ll just look at me like that again

and then I’ll really want to punch something

 

I like the feeling of fist hitting plasticy fabric

the satisfying smack, the opposing

force, I used to love doing this back when

I had dreams to fight for

stories of other lives keeping me up

at night with their excitement and danger

 

you stopped fighting for me walked away and I

kept facing off with the devil or whatever

opponent kept you in the dark kept us

apart but now I’m just

pawing at the air

can’t seem to stop

 

one, two, one two three

jab, cross, jab cross hook

heartbeat climbing up my throat

throat small with breath

breath trying to run away with me, as usual–

don’t know why I can’t seem to fight for myself

I met you and myself didn’t seem to matter

anymore I couldn’t think of myself

singularily and yet when my

whole being aches for you I can’t

stop thinking about myself but only

in relation to you what I used to fight for

doesn’t seem to matter can’t

bring myself to care

about me without you

 

now I’m just trying to punch down

the wall between

me and myself

or am I?

I’m scared of what’s behind it

what’s behind the one after that

and the one after that

so maybe I’m just playing

shadowboxing

after all

 

he’s not fighting for you, she says

over and over, so many ways

why can’t you just stop

fighting for someone who doesn’t

show up for you

why don’t you start

fighting for your future

something you can control

something you can win

 

I don’t tell her that as a child I always

imagined falling in love during some sort of war

couldn’t understand how I’d know I loved someone

if we couldn’t risk it all for each other

now the concept of survival for its own sake

baffles me

how could anyone want to live so badly

they’d fight through anything simply to breathe

what about me is so worth fighting for

that I’d be content living this life alone?

 

I’ve always told you I think

we can win

that I know we can

if we give it everything

together

I know you always wanted to believe me

while always fearing I was wrong

 

if you want to join me

I’ll be fighting anyway

you can find me facing off with the dark

she finds me curled up in the front seat

crying knees pulled up to chest

asking why over and over again in a voice

that’s not mine. she rescues me

by opening the door, holds me

until I say, at least I managed to drive first

which makes us both smile a little.

what I really want to say is–

I remember a million details about you

I wish I could share with someone

because I can’t share them with you.

your height and how it’s two inches above

average. the color of your old

tennis shoes, the hole–you have new ones now.

your favorite non-color and the color you think

it goes best with. your favorite

donut. favorite

popsicle. favorite

way the wind blows and the ground

feels under your bare feet.

these words were never meant

to stay inside me.

this body curled in the bed in the dark

was never meant to be alone.

I write

Poems

When I can’t sleep

As if I could

Write myself empty

As if I haven’t

Tried this trick

A million times

Already

All I end up with

Are trillions of love letters

Unsent

The guy comes to the counter and after

asking for coffee

and complementing my skin

he asks me out.

Somehow I am not fazed by this Maybe

even a little flattered although

he is entirely too old for me and

even if he was young and attractive there’s

no way I’d say yes and maybe

it’s because I’ve turned down handfuls

of guys in my sleep so why would being

awake be any different?

(Just last week I turned down the creepy

guy with the gauges at the gas station refused to

shake his hand He’s lucky he didn’t get a

kick between the legs for his trouble I’d spent the

afternoon crying missing you and

anyway guys should know better than to be creeps)

When I give a little laugh and hesitate searching for the

right half truth he guesses I have a

boyfriend and I say I’m

involved with someone and yes it’s not the

whole truth but it’s not a

lie either When you

think of someone every day and never

Want to love any other you can’t say you’re

not involved can you? It’s the

biggest reason to turn him down although him being

thirty-three is a close second even though it is

nice to be noticed especially because half the time I don’t even

notice myself until my heartbeat goes

haywire just to remind myself that I’m still

here

He takes his coffee but comes back asking

how late he is and I say it’s complicated and he asks

how and I think Heck whatever he’s a complete

stranger and say Atheist and Christian and he’s like

you deserve better and I want to say how

do you know what I deserve? Want to say

you don’t know him But instead say

that’s what my mother says

And he lists Christian credentials like they’re

badges he’s earned Raised in the faith Go to this

church Sing in the

choir And I want to say

I don’t care about these nothings You can do

all of these things and not believe You can do

none of these things and still believe The fact you

think this is so important simply means

arrogance to me

He quotes the verse There is nothing new under the sun

He says that it’s inevitable that nothing will change that hasn’t

already changed I hate that word five syllables only

used when people think

there’s no hope They have no idea what a beautiful burden

hope actually is They have no idea how

much more lonely they make this

path I have chosen for myself that every

breath is a choice

At least when he leaves he doesn’t ask

for my number

And I’m left cleaning out the espresso machine feeling like maybe I’m

radiating lonely not just my summer tan and I

wouldn’t be surprised

Just because I can’t

feel anything doesn’t mean that no one

else can hear the distress signal shrieking from my

bones except maybe you

It wasn’t meant for anyone else anyway

I’m dreaming.

I can’t remember what you smell like.

That loss is no dream.

But in my dream

I steal a long-sleeved t-shirt from your drawer

(I somehow live across the hall)

in a rush, like a criminal.

In the dream, we’re still not talking.

The smell isn’t quite right

(even dreaming me knows it’s not yours)

but it’s something.

In the dream, you discover it’s gone

and I’m immediately, irrevocably embarrassed

and sneak it back, draping the sleeves

over the dresser drawer knobs.

Morning light tugs at me in the real world beyond

I begin to float upward toward consciousness

but not before my dream self hopes

you’ll understand

and bring it back to me to keep.

I am a summer child with long brown hair

lightening at the tips

I am a summer child with dark Arab skin

wisps of sun-bleached blond on strong arms

I am a summer child with bare feet and the laughter

of the river when it runs cold and high and wild

I am a summer child who hears peace in the music of the breeze

who only glimpses freedom in the conversation of the arching corridor of the trees

I am a summer child who’s had

winter in her heart for long, long months

two summers come and gone and still

her heart has not thawed

what happens to this summer child when

winter slithers closer again

heartbreak in every falling leaf

your shadow looming close once more

near enough to touch but not

to hold?

what happens to the summer child who

takes to her bed, sleeps away

the hours, refuses to see

her mother, shuts away the dinner

smells, listens to Julien Baker in her headphones until

dark falls and then again and three a.m. until

sleep cradles her, as long as it is willing

she will take it, and then silently waif through

a world that seems too bright

yet with no color?

The summer child feels the ice spreading.

The summer child always knew it would.

The summer child knows it would be easier to be

a winter child, someone who could

accept endings for what they seem to be and

look forward to spring’s new thaw

but she knows she wouldn’t be a summer child

if she could do this

knows she wouldn’t believe in

the impossible power of love

and someone please tell this summer child that there’s

hope for a hopeless summer child

and her hopeless icicle heart

after all.

the look in your eyes

keeps me at arms reach.

I can’t read you anymore.

my body feels the impact of sight

disorienting lightness like all

my molecules evaporate leaving me

behind

but my heart is simply stunned

wanting too much, hurting too much

to feel anything at all.

you were always the one

good at shutting out

pushing away

deciding it’s over.

I was always the one

pressing in closer for better or worse

the one who followed

you around the month we weren’t

talking just to see you every day.

I learned things from you that you never

wanted me to learn.

now I shut out.

shut down.

shut up.

I never write you off but have a

whole list of other nevers that keeps

growing by the day.

you are everything and that makes everything else

mean nothing

makes me want to believe there is

nothing behind the universe and yet I

can’t even though it almost

kills me

and I can do nothing

and the nothing in your eyes makes me feel like

nothing too

like maybe I mean

nothing to you

and I wish I could just

become nothing

because that would be easier

than this.