June '13.

I have the emotion to write poetry, really, I do. I have the vocabulary and I have the knowledge, at least I seem to think I do, which is all that really mattered anyway. I lack the phrasing. I lack the metaphors. I know enough about good poetry to recognize it and be jealous of the author, but I don't know enough to actually write it myself, I end up trying something like this until I inevitably get frustrated. The words necessary to capture you elude me, and it's frustrating, but I'll keep trying, because I really do know enough about poetry that I should be able to write it well by now.

I think it's funny that last November I hadn't done Ballet in five weeks and I almost quit, but now I have three toenails falling off and more blisters than I would prefer because I was just the lead in Snow White. I think it's funny that a year ago, I was thinking about how two years previous to that I had my first kiss and since then I had fallen in and out of love with someone new. I was wrong, of course, I was still so very deep in the trenches of World War Mitchell a year ago from right now. I know I really am free now, though, because every other week the same thought floats to the top of my mind that says, "Remember when we were in love?" It's not accompanied by feelings of sadness, either. It's not accompanied by much, really. It's just accompanied with some lines of songs and seven digits that are as persistent as the sun. But it's no point, really. Where we used to struggle to stop talking to each other, we now struggle to continue. We can't have a lasting conversation to save, well, anything, really. This isn't to say that there are hard feelings between us. This isn't to say we don't care. This is just to say that we've truly moved on. It shouldn't be allowed to move on as far as we have, because we've moved on so much that we've almost moved back in, and isn't that a disaster waiting to happen.

The problem is, I'm waiting for love. I'm waking up and telling myself that I have more than enough love to supply a third world country, and then I'm going to sleep telling myself that maybe the sun will bring more opportunities. I can't keep living based on the sun, guys, because it's Summer and I'd much rather have the starlight in my eyes. But that isn't the problem here. The problem is, I'm waiting for love, and love doesn't come to those who wait for it. Love sneaks up unexpected, when you're too busy splashing around in the ocean, when you're too busy buying otter pops from the local neighborhood kids, when you're too busy doing your online classes because you're too good of a student not to. It's not that I'm not doing those things, but I never let my back be fully turned in case Love decides to make a visit and I might miss it if I'm not watching out for it. I know this isn't how love operates, but I also don't know this at all. Who am I to say that's how it happens? I know She Will Be Loved, I know it forwards and back, but when will I Be Loved?

Boys go on missions. I go to Target. C'est la vie.
~laura elizabeth

Wild adventures.

Rules of Adventuring:

1. Go somewhere you don't know.

2. Take lots of pictures.

 

I just want him to know me.

I want him to KNOW me, everyone. I want him to not just know me but try to know EVERYTHING about me, because isn't that just one of those romantic ideas? The boy that you didn't know, that tries to know everything about you just because he can? There's a lot to know about me, even though I don't always think so. He can know how my shoulder blades stick out; how I can actually grab someone's hand with my shoulder blades intentionally. I want him to know this, and not just because it's practically my signature trick. I want him to know every song on the playlist I listen to almost every night, and I want him to know why that song is on there. I really want this, people. I want him to know the significance of the song "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John and why it almost moves me to tears. I want him to know why I love owls so much, and I want him to know the first owl I ever loved. I want him to know not just the one pair of shoes that I wear every day, but all my pairs. I want him to know Psych like I do. I want him to know why I stayed in Ballet, and why I'm in Musical Theater, and why I'm going to try out for Dance Company next year. I want him to know all the places to take me when I'm in all the moods I have. I want him to know what I believe, and why, and how I feel about God and how I feel about the Holocaust. I want him to know how long I've had my same teddy bear and I want him to know how I snuggle down with it every night. I want him to know the smell of Caramel Machiatto on my breath, the smell of my shampoo in my thin, thin hair. I want him to know how I feel about my height. I want him to know me, but mostly I want him to want to know me.

Look, I know where I stand with people. I know where I stand with him. It's getting better, sure, but we don't have nearly enough time for all the knowledge I want him to have. I know that I tend to grab onto things with both hands too fast. I know that I tend to jump into shallow waters head first and maybe that's why I keep ending up broken. But it's so hard to not just jump in when you can already feel yourself slipping, you know? And boy, am I slipping and sliding all over the place, and I don't know how long I can last before I just take the dive and hope the water's deep enough that I won't get hurt right off the bat. But I guess it's still too early to tell.

love always, laura elizabeth.



People, God, and other things to believe in.

Not all who wander are lost.

 

 

 

It's hardly a coincidence that all the things in my current life are suddenly coming together to make me believe that much more in the consciousness we loosely call God. I'm not in India, studying in an ashram (though I desperately want to be), but I am reading "Eat Pray Love" and I'm in India with her, which is sort of the same thing, and maybe living vicariously through her is enough to get me where I need to be with my spirituality. Because here's the thing, the road to healing oneself isn't some straight, smooth plane of easiness. Not that anything really broke me, except myself, probably. I'm good at that; I think we all are. I could tell you in a million and one ways the reasons why I am not enough, but I will refrain and simply tell you the one reason why I am: Because I am alive, and God lives in me.

 

I'm not religious to any extent; that much about me is painfully obvious. But that in no way means I'm not spiritual. I'm a dancer, aren't I? I've tapped into that energy more than some, even if I've been hesitant to call it divinity. But here's the thing. I finally stopped putting out the negative energy that has kept me cynical and within the hour, I received positive energy back. If that isn't God, then I honestly don't know what is. I might be skeptical about religion and Bible stories and creation and everything else I know almost nothing about, but when it comes to God, I know him as much as the next person.

 

Who am I to tell myself I am not enough? In one regard, who am I to keep telling myself that I will ultimately end up alone? Who am I to tell myself this means there's something wrong with me? I know it's been said that we accept the love we deserve, and I think it's about time I realize I deserve a lot more than what I've been accepting lately. Look at me. I've stooped to the point where I am attached to a boy who loves to call me because he thinks I'm hot. That isn't some high love, people. That's the love of physicality. Which, of course, is important, but it's the root of love, and certainly not all I deserve.

 

Before today, before this moment, I never truly understood that quote, the "we accept the love we think we deserve." I mean, I always thought that the fact I am a hopeless romantic meant I already think I deserve great love. But that's not it. In fact, being the hopeless romantic I am and have been has left me incredibly vulnerable to the love I've been accepting lately, because if we're being honest with ourselves, hopeless romantics will accept almost any love due to the fact that all they want is romance. But that doesn't mean I can't and haven't already changed. I'm still a hopeless romantic, but in the best way. So come at me, people, and do your worst; I'm riding high on the vibes of positive energy that was bound to make its way back to me eventually. And that is the meaning of God.

 

love always, laura elizabeth.

Heaven and Hell: an analysis.

I never really had words, but at least I used to think I do.

 

 

But here's the thing:

we fall without meaning to

and we love without trying to.

we hope without meaning to.

we die without trying to.

if you haven't recognized that,

you're in denial and need to soul search

(or something.)

 

Speaking of soul searching,

I'll meet you all again in the stars someday.

I try not to think of all the people I won't know in ten years,

because they're my world and it's like the world explodes

every time I say goodbye.

I don't let go easy.

Addy once said I taught her to let go easy,

and I'd like to intervene and say that she doesn't know me very well,

because I don't let go easy.

I grab on too fast,

I hold on too tight,

and I don't let go easy.

I'll search for you in the stars.

I'll search for those nights, those feelings.

Every feeling, every person, every moment,

they make up the stars,

and someday I'll have the time to search through them again.

I'll see you then.

 

love always, laura elizabeth.



We did math together today.

Darlin' it was good

never lookin' down

and right there where we stood

is holy ground

 

 

I just... I remember.

I don't want to go back and I don't want to skip forward,

because who would have known those nights would be the best of my life?

I've had amazing nights because they were so incredibly mundane and cliche,

but so unique and everything I need,

and I don't realize it now,

but these are the best nights and days of my life,

and it's okay if I work for some of them,

and it's okay if some of them are spent alone,

and it's okay if they don't go as planned

because they'll still be the best I have to live for,

and this is the oldest I've ever been and the youngest I'll ever be again,

and I want to stick a bookmark in this year, in this month,

that says, I remember and these are the best nights of my life.

Thank you everyone for being a part of them, thank you, thank you. Thank you.

You're a part of me. He's a part of me. She's a part of me.

I am my experiences and my experiences are all of you and thank you and I love you.

love always, laura elizabeth.



AU92311256.

It's fading from my arm, but it won't fade from my memory.

 

 

Those moments; every moment. Every person.

Lessons and tributes dripping down our faces

buried feelings uncovered and vulnerable,

hearts plain on our striped sleeves.

 

Every second, every laugh, every word. Every tear

changed

Us, each other, the audience,

in memory and gut-wrenching love.

 

Never Forget.

 

love always, laura elizabeth.



Wake Me Up When September Ends.

And boy, am I waking up to a crazy week.

 

 

Life comes at you fast

sometimes, you just need to blink

and let the world change

 

Summer turns to fall

like sunlight will turn to clouds

the rain that will drop

 

And now he's leaving

no one said it'd be easy

I will miss him so

....

 

Lize, this is for you

because I think you're lovely

thank you for reading

 

Mattie, Melissa,

Kelsey, Taft, Teddy, Gretel

And of course, Clark, thanks.

 

Life comes at you fast

but I think we can keep up.

Love always, Laura.

As the days go by.

Because, when you get to the root of it, starting over scares me just as much as letting go.

I'm afraid of them, because I'm not good at either.

Just like I can't let go of Connor, going on a mission,

or Eliza, going to college,

or Stevie, moving on in life,

or Kelsie, getting married,

I can't let go of a boy I've loved

(in various degrees, obviously)

for a year now.

Can't I let go,

don't I want to? Shouldn't I?

Shouldn't I be excited to start over?

Always, the terrible truth of the lack of fighting,

That inharmonious voice that whispers hopeless hopes in the night,

the words and thoughts that spin a web around my heart

holding it together but also restricting it.

Is the idea of ending up alone more terrifying

than the idea of starting over?

I'd rather not care if it always ends like this,

but better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

And the melancholic words keep rolling out, faithless as sin

while he breathes in a different story, now,

while he exists to someone, someones else,

while he thinks of everything but me.

The difference being, of course,

that Connor was always going to go on a mission

and Eliza was always going to go to college

and Stevie was always going to move on in life

and Kelsie was always going to have to leave,

He was the one I thought I could so easily hold on to

without using my hands. Of course, that didn't work,

the new question being,

"Laura, how will you ever grab elsewhere when you're holding on here so tightly?"

the answer being, of course, that I couldn't.

How do I let go, how do I start over?

"It seems only yesterday I used to believe

there was nothing under my skin but light.

If you cut me I would shine.

But now when I fall upon the sidewalks of life,

I skin my knees. I bleed."

-Billy Collins, "On Turning Ten"

But, life goes on, my grip slackens,

it will all be okay,

the days go by so fast and soon there won't be so much time to think and weep.

So take me to the carnival, sleep under the stars,

and enjoy this July in the rain.

love always, laura elizabeth.



Beauty and You.

Beauty; an analysis.

All it really is is a cycle. That's all.

You're beautiful when you have confidence.

You have confidence when you feel beautiful.

Guess what? I think every one of you is beautiful.

More importantly, you should too. I'm serious.

Don't let yourself think you're anything but.

You don't have to not like yourself, you know. You really don't.

In this society, it's become hard to say you think you're beautiful. People think you're full of yourself or vain. I think that's just sad. They tell us we can't think we're beautiful, then they try to sell us a bunch of crap that will make us that way- but we still aren't allowed to believe it or- more importantly- admit it. I think it's just sad, I really do. You and me, let's change that.

I'm beautiful.

You are too.

And everyone can see it.

Whatever it takes to make you feel beautiful, do it. For me, it's mascara and dance. If you want to put on all the make up in the beauty store, if that makes you feel beautiful, do it. If you want to throw out all the make up you have, do it. Heck, if walking around in your birthday suit makes you feel beautiful, who is anyone to stop you? Do whatever you want to feel beautiful, except knocking anyone else.

Deal?

love always, laura elizabeth.



Friday Man.

It's like Christmas, you know? It's like the beautiful, warm Christmas where the gifts you receive are emotional instead of physical. And if it's Christmas, you're my Santa Claus.

Love,

you're like a Fireworks Stand

in July

you're like school shopping

in August

you're like stargazing

in September

you're like a costume shop

in October

you're like a prayer

in November

you're like a stocking

in December

you're like a kiss at midnight

in January

you're like Harts' hot chocolate

in February

you're like a Friday

in March

you're like pointe shoes

in April

you're like Memorial Day

in May

but mostly

you're like a day in June.

June holds beautiful oppurtunities, where you don't regret, where you live life.

June looks beautiful, June smells beautiful, June feels beautiful.

My love for you is June.

love always, laura elizabeth.

post script: I feel like a drive-in theater is just a big excuse to make out with someone in a car.

...

why don't they still exist??