For Lauren or How I Realized She was as Crazy as Me

One of the first pieces I have felt comfortable enough to publish. It deals with the ability to express ones' feelings. I'll be performing it for the first time next month.

You’re the epitome of what every parent wants, what every “good” boy is looking for. Meanwhile, I am the black to your white, the devil to your God. You are the kid everyone says their child should be more like and I am the kid that parents don’t want their children to hangout with. We’re north and south, Judas and Jesus. Polar opposites. How are we even friends?

I always wonder what it would be like if you wore my scars. If you carved every screw up into your skin the way I do. I always wonder what you would look like if your heart had been smashed as many times as mine. I sometimes wonder if it has been.

I wonder what it would be like if you wore your heart the same way I wear mine.

Always wonder what it would be like if you were as off the charts crazy as I am.

A few weeks ago though I realized that you were, in fact, as off the charts crazy as I am.

I’ve never met a girl like you before. A girl who so expertly comforts others while she is crying, a girl whose eyes are as deep as the cuts on my thighs. A girl who can make me recant my atheist spiel. A girl who can make me see the goodness in all things Jesus.

Yeah, you’re something special my dear. 

At first, I thought you had this “life” thing figured out. The no bullshit relationship with your mother, the “normal” problems with friends. The work ethic that led to the grades that were expected of you, more importantly that you expected of yourself.

Yeah, you seem to have it all together. You have the boys lusting after something they will never have. You have me lusting after the same thing. You brush all this lust off with the same grace as a prima ballerina. Meanwhile, I let anyone come and take what they please and I’m not ashamed of that. You fear compliments the way my brother fears needles. Meanwhile, I find myself struggling for someone to give me a compliment.

There is one thing I am better at than you though and it is showing my feelings... my honest to God feelings.

See, you’re an expert a hide and seek. Never show your feelings outright. Make people look behind every curtain in your mind, every hidden passage in your heart. I tire of this game quickly ; maybe it’s because I was forced to hide in a closest for 18 years. No matter, I know that a certain boy would spend his life looking for your feelings if need be. You keep your feelings under lock and key. Need three passwords to get in. The only time I ever came close was the night a police man dropped me off your house after my third suicide attempt. 

This is when I realized you were as crazy as me.

Feelings are not something I should need a map to find. I should not have to pass a year of tests to get in. I am frustrated. You’ve repressed everything so deep that I’m sure even you don’t know where all those feelings are anymore. 

You tell me that you open up to your mother but parents, my dear, have tendency to be liars. Maybe you think otherwise but I have been around the block once or twice. 

I hope you tell him. I hope to god that you tell him. Maybe it’s none of my business- no scratch that- it is none of my business but I’m going to talk about it anyway because my feelings are not something I feel the need to keep in a jail cell. You’ve charged yours with first degree murder and locked them away for life.

Maybe you’re afraid that you’ll break me if you let me know that you’re broken. It’s okay to be broken Lauren. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay so pissed off you could punch someone in the fucken face. Feelings, my dear, are okay. Not everything needs to be concealed. Feelings are not improper.

Maybe I talk too much and listen too little. Maybe you just don’t tell me things. Maybe I don’t deserve to know. Maybe I’m an a*****e and a half for writing this poem.

No matter what though I hope you know that they put me away for saying too much but I think the real crazy thing, my dear, is saying too little. 

Author's Note

Is this a little too cliched? I didn't intend for it to be; I really was writing this from my own experience. Maybe my experience is a little cliched. Are some parts too wordy? I'll be updating this as I practise it and see how certain parts flow. Any suggestions are welcome!

Reviews

[Dan Hiland]

Liz:

While I spotted a cliché or two in this piece, I don't understand what you mean by "clichéd". I don't see this piece as clichéd at all.
Congrats on being brave enough to perform at a reading. I don't know If I ever will.
As for this piece, it's chock full of tantalizing details and clues about your life. As I read it through, I found myself wishing that you were delving more into your own experiences than trying to show your friend that everyone has problems, regardless of how long they've been in denial.
I enjoy the way you use words to broadcast the pain and suffering you have been through- "If you carved every screw up into your skin the way I do"; "what you would look like if your heart had been smashed as many times as mine"; "Make people look behind every curtain in your mind, every hidden passage in your heart."
Having grown up with thin skin and a tendency to take cuts in line so I could beat myself up yet again, I identify with your words. Regardless of what anyone says about recovery of any sort, it all takes time- years and decades- and more than a few guardian angels along the way (speaking of clichés).
I have to read this piece through a couple more times, but it is a great start. Parts of it sound like the prologue to a memoir- but I'm sure you've been told this many times before about your writing- that is, if you've shared it with others.
In relation to your writing and the attitude you convey, it may be okay to be broken (for a time), but are you prepared to show others how you fixed those broken parts? You have the literary skills with which to do so. I look forward to reading more of your work.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

I don't think this is cliche or too wordy. It is a narrative, however, not a poem.

There are a number of grammatical errors throughout. Overall, I enjoyed the story, particularly the first paragraph, which is an excellent introduction to what follows.