.Not Too Young To Care.

We're old enough to know better. 

And I've written these words a thousand times before in different incarnations, always erased if not from the printing, then from my mind. My dear, I have always adored you.

You, though; not that show you put on for the little wild things. I was wild once and maybe it suited you. But I was never so wild that I forgot where my heart lived...it damn sure wasn't some cowboy bar at last call, despite what you've heard.

Maybe I've got it all wrong but either way I just don't have a good feeling anymore. It's like never having enough quarters for the pay phone; you always run out of time.

We never did belong to each other.

If you don't know where you stand then it's time to start walking. I don't know how far I'll get but I'll give it a try. I think that sorrel horse of yours is fast enough to catch me. And if you can get a loop settled on, you better pull your slack and never fucking let it loose.

.Postcards From Paris.

I want a postcard from Paris

and fingers perpetually stained with ink.

I want to wear my hair wild every day

with horse's hair braided in

and lipstick on bare skin.

I want peaty black tea every morning

and pink toenails hidden

in hand-knitted socks

and to make oatmeal and milk messes

with a blue-eyed little boy.

I want to believe in second chances.

I want to believe in romance.

I want your calloused hands and quiet soul

because I'm loud enough for the whole

world.

I want to ride bareback on a big sorrel horse.

I want an old claw-foot bathtub.

I want a Navajo rug.

I want a postcard from Paris.

.Love, I Think.

I used to love the chase.
I used to love late night text messages and last-minute plans, a swipe of C.O. Bigelow peppermint lip gloss and pulling on my boots at midnight for an adventure.
I used to love empty beer cans in the back of my pickup and Marlboro Reds from his shirt pocket.
A Metallica song came on the radio. "I should marry you..." he said when I turned it up and sang along.
"If you were smart, you would."
He was probably joking.
I was probably not.
I used to love the dark side of mornings, shooting stars over the desert punctuating thoughts I'd have been better off not having, and the highway home after nights that lasted too long.
"I'm going to be on the wagon...I'll call you when I get to town next time."
"I won't hold my breath."
And I didn't.

I never really knew what love was.
In my mind Love was bucking horses and pick up horses and big loops and years of conversations in a language of what-ifs and probably-nevers, Seven and Sevens, you-should-come-see-mes and maybe-I-wills.
In my mind love was a possibility.
I never wanted to know what was in his mind.
I still really don't know what love is.

"I heard you're gonna calve out."
"That's a hell of a way to put it."
"I'm gonna lose service...I'll call you when I come off the wagon."
"I won't hold my breath."
And I didn't.

I can't stand the chase.
The phone doesn't ring anymore and I barely notice it...a year's worth of wagons and works have gone by since I wore that lipgloss. I don't even remember where I left it.
Sometimes I find myself craving a Marlboro red and the scent of smoke and booze on a breath that touched my face.
A Metallica song comes on the radio. "He should've married me..." I say, then I turn it up and sing along.
If he was smart, he would've.
The baby's with his grandma and I'm going ten miles an hour over the speed limit to get home.
Home is finally where my heart is.
At least that's a love I do understand.

.Enough.

Insecurities are inescapable. Some days they lie dormant, waiting, just under the surface. Other days they stare you right in the face. I wrote this almost exactly a year ago, and to this day I can’t escape the feelings that inspired it. No matter what I do, what I accomplish, who I’ve come to be, there’s so much still missing.

Enough

I wish I could be someone else.

I wish I could be prettier. I wish I could be more witty, more charming.

I wish I was the type of girl that people miss when she’s not around. I wish I was someone worthwhile.

I wish I had important things to say, so that when I speak people want to listen. I wish I could have a conversation.

I wish I had talent, so people would look at what I do and think, “Wow, that’s really great.” I wish I could do something important.

I’ve always wondered if maybe some people on this earth aren’t meant for great things. I know we’re all temporary, but I’ve always wondered if some of us are more temporary than others. If some of us are just stepping stones and fillers of space in the lives of those who are destined to be great. If we’re only here to help them pass a certain amount of time until their true purpose comes to call, or show them all the horrible things they must avoid in order to reach their potential.

I have never been brilliant. I have never been the kind of girl who captures the attention of everyone in a room when she enters. I have never been a holder of great discussions, the creator of a great work of art, or the great love of someone’s life.

I am plain. I weigh a little more than I should. I can be slow to catch on to jokes, oblivious to things that are right in front of my eyes. I cry too easily. I talk too much. I’m not strong enough.

I have a big heart – bigger than most. I have more love to give inside this little body than most, and an intense need to give it. I am loyal. I can take anything you can throw at me, and I will never waiver in my love or my loyalty.

Maybe that isn’t enough.

I wish someone would tell me what is, because I would give anything to just be enough.