when my heart is hurting

My heart is hurting today. 

It hurt yesterday too.

but it hurts for a person

whose no longer you.

the person I loved,

the heart that I had,

aren’t the same anymore

they’re just things of the past.

// Not Lost // 

 


 

she told me to write it on paper

so I could maybe find the words

to say what I was thinking and feeling at that moment in time

 

but the thing was,

whether those words were said or written,

it didn’t matter.

I’d told you once,

I’d told you before, once too.

my words meant absolutely nothing to you.

 

you didn’t care the day I told you,

and you won’t care tomorrow.

your time is something

that can never be borrowed

 

then,

now,

there is no difference.

you hit me where it hurt,

you really let me go

you showed me you never loved me

how couldn’t I have known?

 

I don’t know what I did

or what you think I did

to make you do that

 

but now that you did,

there’s no turning back.

 

//my mistake// 


her?

of all people.

“her?”

I ask.

 

“it isn’t serious,”

you say.

“it’s nothing.”

Then why is it that we’re talking about something?

 

it seems that we talk about nothing a lot,

it seems that you forgot what nothing is not.

 

of all the nothings there are,

why her?

why now?

 

losing your something,

made you go back to “nothing”

; that in reality was never nothing at all,

just a something you called nothing

to keep in your pocket.

 

it’s too bad that the one who stood holding your alternate hand,

never knew the secret you held in the other;

that, that something she is,

is just one of the others.

 

I hope you learn to distinguish nothing from not,

because I sure as hell

am not something to be forgot.

 

“something” I am

in fact,

I am “something” you lost.

 

now your pockets are empty

there really is nothing

I hope it was worth it,

you won.

you lost your something.

 

// something or nothing //


 

when people used to say that their heart hurt,

I never believed it was literal.

it was until mine broke inside of me,

but kept beating

that I could see that living

was now much different

 

in every literal sense,

a heart can hurt

like a disease

it isn’t like a broken bone,

there’s no timeline of when it’ll heal

it’s all dependent on how you make yourself feel

 

I wonder how many times a heart can break until it becomes broken

how many pieces are there to break

and why did no one find out the number?

 

Maybe if someone would’ve told me,

I would’ve protected mine a little bit longer.

Given it a break every time or two;

like some time off,

instead of more with you.

 

maybe if I would’ve known how many more times my heart could break

I would’ve considered how much was at stake.

 

it takes 364 licks to get to the center of a tootsie pop,

how many breaks can my heart take

until its had enough?

 

1?

2?

10?

12?

 

Hell, what happens when I’ve had more than enough?

I wish someone would have told me

how many times my heart could break

but I guess it wouldn’t even matter

when all that’s left is faith

 

so really the question is how much faith can be lost

until I throw in the towel,

and love is the cost?

 

// what faith? // 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Authenticity

I spent my MEA weekend with some great friends, and my awesome family. Usually, these trips end up in somewhat of a dramatic spin. Luckily, this one turned out with not one at all.

A large portion of our weekend was spent telling stories. These stories varied back to our childhoods, and even to our parents college years. Each one of them having some type of comedy or lesson involved.

A lot of our stories related to family, and often there were strange ones about them. But the awesome part about it was, we embraced it for how it is. Our strange (believe me) extended families are a huge part of our day to day lives, and how we view things today. I can’t, and on most days, wouldn’t change it.

After these stories, I ended up sitting with my dads best friend from college, Stacey, talking about backgrounds. What the conversation came down to was this: Backgrounds are what make us authentic.

I never had really thought of it that way until she said it. Authentic means real and genuine, and that’s exactly what I look for in people.

I’m attracted to people (friends & significants) who are real. Who embrace who they are, and have a real sense of where they came from. I love people who actually have a background and can see it for what it is. This is what makes people different, and interesting. I don’t know what could be more compelling than those two words.

What this conversation taught me was no matter what your background is, it’s authentic. It’s a part of who you are. As much as you hate, or love your family, they are a huge part of shaping who you are today.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

Authenticity isn’t just something you should be noticing and looking for in objects.

Authenticity is branded into people as well.

Real and genuine are two things that have always stood as a major importance in my life. I think that’s mostly because I come from two parents who lived two very different lifestyles. I love and respect that. I think that’s something that makes people interesting.

Basically, authentic is something we should all strive to be. Whether you’re background is 100% clean, or entirely dirty, it is a always a part of you.

I rather hear the truth about someone’s story all day than a pile of bullshit. Different will always be better than boring.

Being who you are is what makes you authentic, embrace it. Wherever you came from is too, and that’s something to be acknowledged.