send the little children off to war.
send them now, with their big guns
and their armor and helmets
and bullets and heavy boots.
quick, send them off now
before they have time to be afraid
send them now,
while their child-eyes remain.
let them go into the darkest of nights
for honor and bravery and selflessness.
send the little children off to war
and tell them you won’t forget them.
quickly now, lie to them and tell them
how damn grateful you are.
send them off now so they won’t realize
what they are leaving behind.
send the little children off to war.
send them now, with their pictures
and letters and cards and pens
and their laughter and smiles
and their happiness and life.
send the little children off to war.
send them now, with their big guns
and their armor and helmets
and bullets and heavy boots.
send the little children off to war.
send the little children off to war.

You won’t find me in some three piece suit
with a big rock or stilletos.
That’s just not who I am.
I’ll be in jeans by the train if you need me.
because that’s just who I am.

They don’t understand why I hate going home.
They don’t understand why you can’t go back.

It’s like driving into despair. It’s like ripping the stitches out of a partially healed wound. Every time. It’s like getting on a roller coaster that goes to fast and has too many loops and it doesn’t stop until I leave. It’s like driving straight into every memory that I’d be better off forgetting. It’s a tire swing and horseback riding. It’s best friends laughing at Friday night football games. It’s summertime in the country. It’s climbing out of my window in the middle of the night to lay in the grass and look at the stars. It’s the smell of hog farms. It’s putting on a dress for eighth grade prom alone and staring back at a stranger in the mirror. It’s the moving out of the house you grew up in because your mom is dead. It’s having to choose on Christmas who’s house to go to and never being able to quite please everyone. It’s the feeling of wanting so badly to be wanted and loved by strangers that share your DNA, but never really belonging. It’s fighting with your little brother that  you’re not allowed to hit no matter how many times he hits you. It’s never hearing I love you from the one person you want to hear it from. It’s needing your best friend to save you and watching her rescue someone else. It’s crying yourself to sleep every night of high school because you feel invisible and unloved and even the people who say they love you only love you because they don’t really know you. It’s carving words into your skin in the shower because you just can’t feel it on the inside anymore. It’s sleeping with her boyfriend because you want so desperately to feel close to someone who gets it. It’s fishing trips with my Granddaddy. It’s the beach trip with my best friend and my dog. It’s spitting coke out of my nose laughing through my tears in the bathroom late at night. It’s suicide notes. It’s holding a gun in my hand and just wondering what it’d be like to put it to my temple and pull the trigger. It’s work and softball and school and people who don’t get it when I say “I don’t want to play anymore.” It’s being tired. It’s being exhausted physically and mentally. It’s being nearly throwng out of my house for dating a black guy. A black guy. A black guy. It’s being bombarded by constant racism. It’s small minded people. It’s aging grandmothers. It’s broken store fronts and trash. It’s my dog buried in my – their- front yard. It’s my other dog bured in my – their- front yard. It’s dead dogs on the sides of roads because no one believes in fences. It’s like a bad joke of 50 Shades of Grey. Because everything is gray. Red gray. Blue gray. Brown gray. Green gray. Maybe it’s just the filter of my misery. Maybe it’s just the hog shit. It’s a hotel room. It’s a bar. It’s another bar. It’s white Christian people who don’t actually know shit – except for some of them. It’s 98% or something like that in regards to smarticle particles. Don’t come here for the education. It’s the smell of jackets and cologne and strange houses. It’s the taste of a first drink. It’s the taste of Sundrop. It’s the lights and the music and the total inability to dance in the only club I’ve ever been too. It’s Christmas night alone by a sad fake tree after driving for 5.5 hours in the downpour of the century. It’s running over your puppy. It’s watching another puppy die because you can’t afford a vet. And you don’t really know what to do. It’s being alone. It’s a lot of painful memories. I hate coming home. I hate driving into the past and feeling the same way  that I felt as a teenager. I hate feeling those memories and smelling those smells and just being there. So, forgive me, when I say, I absolutely fucking hate that place.

I love that moment when I drive under a bridge in the rain and just for a moment – the tiniest fraction of time – there is peace from the storm. It is a moment of light, in a darkened room. It comes and goes like a ghost passing through a wall. A shadow.

I love that moment when I reach the middle of a tunnel and for a whole heartbeat, the rest of the world is lost to me. The radio stops. Cellphone loses reception. Silence. Peace. And then it is gone.

I love that moment when I am driving at night and my headlights meet those of another car. For the briefest of moments, we share a space. A light. Together we illuminate the darknight. Two people who have never met, sharing a light in the dark. There is beauty in that.

Today, is my own personal struggle. Today, I looked in the mirror and hated myself. I look and I don’t see anything to love. Today, I feel so ugly and fat and inadequate. Not always, but for right now and for today and probably for tomorrow, that is my reality. Today, I ache with wanting to be healthier and skinnier and happier and yet it seems like an impossible goal. I keep falling so far down there doesn’t seem to be a way out. It gets better, I know that, but for now…my heart hurts and the girl in the mirror doesn’t love me. She doesn’t love me at all.

I  miss you so much, dude. I remember when you were a puppy and you would cry in your crate when we left. I remember the first night you stayed out in the big pen with Max and Ziva. Daddy told me not to leave you, but I knew you could handle it. Of course I rushed home to make sure you did indeed, handle it. Grammy had already rescued you. What a relief. Then there was the gorilla. I really liked that gorilla and yet somehow it became your chew toy! You humped that thing, chewed it, shook it, and even peed on it! You slept in bed with us ever since that first night. I will never forget the look on Zivas face when we she saw you for the first time. You always threw up when we went on car rides. And you drove Max crazy nipping his tail and chasing him. You were such a little fiend. When we moved, you still slept with us. Always at my feet. And growling at me when I tried to move you (you thought you were the king!). All the times you tried to sit on my head while I was on the couch. And sneaking up when you knew you weren’t supposed to get on there. Then there was the time before you were neutered (sorry, dude) and you peed on everything! Including the trashcan. There was the time we took you hiking (tried to) and you hated every minute of it. Including the drive to and from. Also, you tried to bite the vet. I don’t really blame you there because he can be kind of loud. You picked people that you liked. Like Lauren and Jennifer. Such a silly, goofy dog you were. I miss you so much, Mar. I’m writing this and you should be down at my feet and you aren’t. I even heard you bark that night. I knew it sounded too far away but I didn’t call you. I should have called you. I went to the pound and got a new dog. Not to replace you, but because I can’t stand the empty spaces you’ve left behind. This new guy, we named him Jasper. He’s funny and goofy, but he’s not you. I would give anything to give you head scratches and see you looking so serious over everything again. I miss you so much. I’m so sorry I left the gate unlatched. I was thinking the other day that one day you’d fade away in old age, but I never thought you’d get hit by a car at five in the morning. I keep hoping you’ll come home, that I’m dreaming, or crazy, or both. I miss you. I miss you so freakin’ much. I don’t think anyone will understand how much I do. You were my snuggle buddy. Plus you kept my feet warm and I hate that you’re gone. Maybe one day I’ll find another brindle pitbull just like you. One lazy and silly and serious, but even then, you’ll always be my Marlow. I miss you, dude, and I’ll love you always.