“Soccer Girl”

Playing soccer, one could once say, was my passion. At one point in high school I was on three different teams. After the passion it felt like a long-term relationship. Playing soccer was a comfort, safety, stability and proved to be there for the long haul. I mean, I spent fifteen years of my short life playing. Long story short, I’ve gone (over)a year without it.

Sure, I can yoga my little heart out- but does that really compare to the rush of defending your net from a tie? The thrill of scoring a winning goal or playing right along side your best friends? And no, playing a pick up game every once in a while doesn’t count- or maybe it does count, but it isn’t enough for me.

As much as I can say I hated suicides, conditioning, a losing streak, I think what’s worse is how much I miss it. The perks of playing far better than not. But work gets in the way, school gets in the way and next thing you know, you haven’t played in I-dunno-how-long!

Call Thee, : Poem

Call me what you want
But my anger will remain
The rasp in my voice and voluptuous lips I’ll flaunt
When I speak I won’t refrain
He feeds on me through the night
I can’t help but let it
As if he’s a sort of parasite
This is information I omit
He’ll yell, scream, curse with strife
Not at me, just at friends
It’s hard to believe I long to be his wife.
They think I’ll wed and meet my life ends,
What they think doesn’t matter to me. 

It’s all about him and I, can’t you see?

Hom-e: Poem

Having something to go home to

Is all I ever wanted

My anger doesn’t know what to do

I can’t help but feel haunted

He said I didn’t understand his brain

I said I didn’t understand his anger

He doesn’t understand mine, yet I refrain.