by Dakota Clay Blevins
It’s been three years.
That might not seem like long,
but if you count it in tears
and not in months or days or hours,
minutes, breaths, blinks, or fears
then it’s three years without flowers
and a thousand moments unsure
if you’ll ever remember –
or, ever learn – what it’s like to be happy,
and it’s waiting through December
for a present that doesn’t mean a thing
another year without a ring,
without listening to Him sing
even if it is out of tune –
and then January will come
without that midnight kiss
but it’s not something you miss,
because you’ve never had it before –
and you’ll turn into a pumpkin for another year
even though your glass slippers are right here
and you can wear them
but midnight’s already been here
and your time has ticked away here –
and then February will come
with a birthday that isn’t yours
but you know you should celebrate it anyway.
You don’t know how to celebrate by yourself.
You don’t know how to celebrate.
It’s been three years.
It’s been three years
but you remember it like it was yesterday –
no – like it was thirty minutes ago
because it’s the only memory you want to stay.
It fuels your hate and stunts your growth,
it makes you late and keeps you low
and yet it’s the happiest thing in your life.
You can’t talk about IT.
You can’t talk about HIM.
You can’t talk about life.
You don’t know what life is.
but you remember every color
every sound
the clicking in his throat
the way he wrapped his arms around
and wrapped his coat around
all around you,
and just you,
and always you.
and the way his mustached prickled
and when you hugged he tickled
and his lips would touch your neck
and then wrap around yours
and just yours
and always yours.
and then your realize
it’s been three years.
It’s been three years.
Sometimes you think its nostalgia
remembering how to adolesce
you just reminisce
but then you know its not any less
than that pivotal moment
that pivotal feeling
where you were strong
and you were happy
even if it felt wrong –
You knew what happy meant
and It was pure euphoria –
you were in love but couldn’t be.
You held his hand under the cafeteria table.
You leaned on him in the hallway when you were able.
Sometimes you kissed when no one was watching
but someone was always watching
seeing you, waiting on you,
either protecting you or hunting you
you were never safe because what if someone saw?
It’s been three years.
You kissed one day and imagine – you were Juliet
and Romeo kissed you in front of all the Montagues
and all the Capulets:
that was like kissing him.
It was love but it was dangerous.
You were happy.
You knew what happy meant.
And then you didn’t.
It’s been three years
but you still remember how he went missing
and you worried, just knowing
that something was terribly wrong
and you went to school hoping
that you were terribly wrong
and found that you were right
and his family had caught you
and they had moved away,
taking him away, away,
and you were alone.
You didn’t hear from him.
It’s been three years
No one could tell you anything.
HIs friends wrapped their arms around you
and you think you would have forgotten
how it felt with their arms around you,
but it’s only been three years –
and that might not seem like long,
but if you measure it in heartbreaks
and time you could have spent on happy songs
then it becomes almost a year of being alone,
then three months with the alcoholic
that you first slept with,
then seven months with the man – seven years older
that said he couldn’t love you
but that he’d be your lover,
then college
it’s been three years.
then Three months with the boy
that held you close every night
making you feel like it was alright
while he molested tears from your face
made your heart beat faster, faster, race, race
not just molesting tears
but molesting you,
hurting you,
breaking you,
night after night after night,
three months you didn’t sleep or eat or breathe,
and still
It’s been three years –
and then Five months with the boy
that made you happier than anyone in the world
the first boy to hold your hand
where it could be seen
and it was so good to be seen –
you were a trophy but not treated like it
and he was never mean
but then he left you for NOTHING.
Then out of the blue
you hear from that first boy
that special boy
it’s been three years
but it was that same boy
that held your hand under the cafeteria tables,
the one you hadn’t spoken to in three years.
but it’s only been three years,
and that might not seem like long
but if you measure that in tick marks
tick marks on your calendar
tick marks on your wall
tick marks on your paper charts
and tick marks on your arms
then it’s been a long time
but you can’t remember quite how long
because calendars get thrown away
and you lose track of the days
and your skin doesn’t scar
and its the only thing that’s not marred –
and if you measure it by blood drops
then you just don’t think about teardrops
or raindrops
or bus stops
or car tops
or what you’re not
you think about being alone
and never being taught how to be alone
never being taught how to be on your own
and never being taught how to be with someone
because the only someone you had a chance with
well he’s been tears, and tick marks,
and he hasn’t been there
He hasn’t been anywhere.
Not for three years.
It’s been long enough.
It’s been three years.
How long is enough?
It’s been three years.
Can you heal yet?
It has been three years.
Stars On My Heart 