I am the girl

sitting in the cafe

sipping a black coffee and

eating a scone

texting her lover

writing some poems

What you don’t know is

I am sitting so that I am not

across from anyone

so I don’t have to make

eye contact

What you don’t know is

I am drinking black coffee

to cut calories (lattes are

always better)

(but then again, you have to make

eye contact

with the barista...)

What you don’t know is

I am eating a scone because

I haven’t eaten in three days

and this one has blueberries in it

so it counts as fruit salad, right?

What you don’t know is

I am texting a guy

who could not care

less about me

and the less I describe

our relationship

the better off

everyone else will be

What you don’t know is

I am writing a series of poems

about a girl named Esther

and I am on part XXXIII

because I am in love with her

What you don’t know is

this

is

what

you

get

when you put a twenty-seven

year old

white girl

in a cafe.

She is tainted by ancient wounds

and when you kiss her

you can taste the bitter of “once upon a time” and

the sweetness of “the here and now.”

She is a conundrum that fell from a shooting star,

scorching those that attempted to save her.

Yet, soothing those that never tried to.

under all

the horse bells

cat calls and

bell boy

whistles

I'm a sham

a showman

like every

yes ma'am

I am

a rope

beneath

the cultural

yoke

something

like a public

joke in private

cloaked

a bunch of cells

beneath the

skin

whose locks

were picked

until the pick

is broke

along with

the string

that fells

in final stroke

...the hand

will no doubt

draw back

another line

beneath

in due time

*

I'm still

changing

my figurative

mind

05.28.20

I am fifteen

Days away from maturity

Wishes of the big screen

Wandering the streets of the lost

I am a runner

The opportunity comes often

I pack up my things

And hide away

From what, you ask?

Anything

I am a coward

It is not fear that makes me one

It is not my lack of bravery

It is that rather than being somewhere

That I may call home

I’d rather run

I am a thinker

No fight or flight mode activated

It is almost an instinct now

I’d rather be anywhere but here

For absolutely no reason

I am a loner

Rather than being in the company

Of the ones who love me most

I shut them out for good

And do what I do best

I am a heartbreaker

Though I do not chase boys

And tell them it’s over

I see the looks

In my parents eyes

When I pack my bags once more

And bolt for the door

I am a child

Not as mature as I seem

I present myself well

If not to impress,

It’s to make my get-away.

who i am really, will take eternity to find out, no kidding,

but I'll just say a little, not to deep into my soul, but maybe who I am.

i'm a dork

i like reading

and writing,

and movies

and singing songs in the shower.

i'm a girl

who giggles over boys,

habours secret crushes.

i'm a jock.

yes i am

i freaking love softball.

and yes, i love sports

i'm a tomboy,

i always wanna prove that

'whatever you can do, i can do better'

to the boys,

can't do that now 'cause i'm in a girl's school

but i know i can kick their asses.

i'm a sister,

a very annoying one in fact

i'm a realist,

nnothing too positive or negative,

i'll see it as what it is.

i'm a top student,

and i ace in school,

although i hate it.

i'm more street smart than book smart

i'm an artist,

no kidding,

i think i'm pretty good at it.

i'm an over-convident, cocky kid.

i'm a freaking dreamer.

i'm a hopeless romantic.

i'm a prankster.

i'm a teaser.

i'm a bully sometimes.

i'm an awesome friend.

i'm a paranoid little kid.

i'm a planner.

and I wanna be an army commander when i grow up.

yeah, that's me,

Ernaline,

and i'm capable of death

Fake smiles

And I don’t knows

Drip from her lips

Deep in thought

She sits atop an ocean

Hoping not to fall in

Maybe if she breaks the mirror

Her fears will all dip

Or maybe they’ll just claw at her skin

Until to her bones they rip

Smiling now she takes a bow

And the curtains come to close

A girl that the world thought had it all

Is gone, yet only god knows

i'm a writer.

i'm addicted to plot twists and clashing metaphors and the arc of a character. i'd follow the path to the ends of hell or the start of heaven. prose and poems are my oxygen and i exhale cliches and inter monologues. and it's easy. it's so easy to drown in ficitonal worlds, in the endless possibilities. to create and create and get lost and neevr look back. it's like breathing, falling in love, crying. staying away results in needing more.

but simply, i'm a writer.

Hey there,

Not there...Here.

Nope, further down in the back.

Further...ffffuuurrttthher.

Yep, that's me in the corner with my head bent in seeming concentration while my thoughts highlight every point where I’ve gone wrong in the past five minutes. I’m not vocal enough, I’m not funny enough, I'm not friendly enough, I’m not interesting enough. I’m just not enough and I can’t find a way to turn off the broken record playing in my mind.

Don't look too closely though, I may start wondering about my appearance; are my facial features proportional to my face - there has always been something odd about my eyes, ears, chin, eyebrows...most of me? Did I walk out in the right outfit - I've always loved these jeans but maybe they are an eyesore to the public? Is my hair looking right even though I've slaved on it for hours - one more round of combing can't hurt?

Be ready to sustain the conversation and deal with long bouts of silence. I promise you, it's not you. It's me. I keep swimming in the thought that I'm boring you even when I'm hanging on to every word you say and you seem to be interested in getting to know me Why don't you come with a conversation list to help me along? Frogs? Yeah, I can talk about frogs...they used to croak in my backyard when I was little. Forgive the nervous laugh, I don't really think am funny but I've read that laughter makes you appear warm and friendly. I am warm and friendly even though I don't always appear that way.

I'm going to think about this interaction long after. Did I say the right things? Did you misinterpret something? Did I really have to say that? Can I go back in time and do it all over...just better this time round? Where is the EDIT button in life? We could be best friends, me and said button. I find so many things in my life that need editting. I'm glad I got your contact though, I always look forward to making new friends. When you get to know me, you might like me. I hope? Now why did I say that!

Please ignore the messages that assault your phone. I am constantly in need of reassurance that I am not as forgettable as I believe I am and somehow run off everyone I know...Or do I? I know you are busy and good time is hard to come by for deep meaningful conversation. I thought we are now friends, though. To clarify, we are friends. Right? Why did you hang out with all those people in your picture without me? Don't you like me anymore? I'm not clingy, I am truly not. I just need someone to teach me how to work the MUTE button in my head. There is just as much that I need to mute.

I'm sorry I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Pea Insecure Ches. And I swear I'm working hard at changing that.

I am black pen ink smudged across all ten fingers

I am fuzzy socks and hot chocolate, bundled up and still feeling cold

I am bookshelves overflowing with stacks littering the carpet

I am caring too much about other people while pretending to be a narcissist

I am laughing only in my head because boys used to say they hated how I sound

I am shaking hands and stuttered words

I am flapper dresses and Gatsby, dancing around my problems

I am concealing my insecurities with sarcasm, but doesn’t everybody?

I am writing stories about people I have never met

I am getting my hopes too high, my expectations too grand

I am being let down by forces I don’t understand

I am wandering in a direction I did not chose

I am picking aesthetics and colors for characters that exist only for me

I am starting projects that I don’t finish

I am causing problems I cannot fix

I am metaphors that exist only in my own head

I am stories that I will never share

I am pictures I will never get rid of

I am memories that do not fade

I am people that ran away from me long ago that I still keep around

I am contacts in my phone that I won’t delete

I am someone who would rather make excuses than face criticism

I am a girl who lives through lines on a page, never knowing who I truly am

I am cherry blossom trees and lavender fields fighting for the sun’s affection

I am high ponytails and bubblegum that lost its flavor long ago

I am roses with the thorns cut off that still stab those who touch them

I am staring at the girl in the mirror and hating who she is

I am a choked up heart with nothing left to give

I am sewing needle legs that won't hold me up anymore

I am not knowing what "smiles don't reach her eyes" means yet living it everyday

Who am I you ask

Your guess is as good as mine

Does anyone actually know who they are?

Okay, fine I’ll give it a try…

Who am I?

I am the person in the background,

The one you rarely notice.

I make you laugh with my jokes

If only for a moment.

You come to me with your issues

But never seem to have time for mine.

I’m the person who picks up your pieces

When you’re broken in two.

I put you back together and hold you up high.

You stand on my shoulders

And can touch the sky.

But with each passing day my shoulders grow weak

I start to crumble into pieces

And they blow away with the wind.

But you don’t help me find my pieces

Like I do for you.

Who am I?

You may never truly know,

But you can count on me always

Because who I am is loyal and loving

To all those I hold.