and i am

when you don't fit
and the colors run
i sometimes envy
everything you've ever had
because you had it all
the friends you could
walk through the woods with
and camp with
or talk about stupid bands with

and i was the fat girl.

you used to play together
all day and into the night
running in and out of
eachothers' houses
and you had a crush
on her since you were
in elementary school
how was i supposed
to compete with that

and i was the stupid girl.

your friends know all your
other friends and you all
have stories about growing up
and doing stupid things
but i didn't really have friends
growing up i was usually
thinking about tragedies
or worrying about
when i would die

and i was the worried girl.

you said the only reason
you picked up a guitar
was because her dad
said you should and you
said ok and it turned
out you like it enough
but the fact remains
that someone had to
tell you to do it
whereas the only
reason i learned
that keyboard by ear
as a kid was because
it would listen
and it would talk back

and i was the hidden girl.

so i suppose you will
never understand
the scars i have
on my heart
nor will you understand
that you put some of
them there and
i cry when i see
pictures of you and them
because you had friends
and you always acted
like everyone hated
you and no one was
ever there and your
life was such a
mess and blah blah blah
spoiled rich yuppie
who doesn't know
what he had or
what he still has

and i am the smarter girl.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012

Mississippi King.

Starry country night.

A million miles

into the middle of nowhere.

Mississippi ain't no place

to write a happy song

when your Daddy done gone.

Grandmama does her best

to raise a boy to a man.

Yes, the very best she can.

Mama would've done it,

but money don't grow

like the cotton.

Some things are best

forgotten.

In a cabin in the south,

a King was born.

In the night,

he hears the soft wind

calling through the window;

the creatures in the meadow. 

The bullfrog's on the water.

The moon, the sun's sad daughter.
No one can teach the blues,
it's something in your bones.
it's a callous on your hands,
a chair rocking alone.
No one can heal a hurt,
that's deep within your spirit.
But his guitar begins to play,
and everyone can hear it.

He thinks to himself,

that he is destined.

No one would guess

that in the future's daily news,

the boy from Mississippi 

would be 

King of the blues.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012

Shadow Boy.

Broken fragments of a memory,
fading to a soft sepia.
Your hair's in  your eyes again.
We're laughing,
but I can't remember why.
Your sincerest laugh is
like a hundred bubbles popping
in afternoon sun.
Your eyes really are beautiful.
Each iris a vivid blue,
like an ocean just bound
to take me away.
You grab me up
onto your lap,
out of breath.
Somehow, I'm locking
everything in my mind,
because I know it
can't last forever.
We sit there silently,
two shadows in
the dusk.
I could die of
happiness.
I turn around
just to look at you.
I quietly memorize
each curve of your face.
I trace my finger along
the bridge of your nose,
over your subtle laugh lines,
and end up running all five
through your shaggy dark hair.
I smile as I compare my
creamy skin to your olive tan.
You're looking at me
like I'm the only girl
in the entire world.
Like only I could save you.
I wish I could have.
You squeeze me to your chest
like you could never even imagine
letting me go.
You taste like a summer night,
warm and alive.
You tell me all your hopes,
all your fears,
all your dreams.
We talk for hours,
and never seem to
run out of things to say,
or new things to discover
we have in common.
We finish eachother's sentences,
like punctuation at the end
of a phrase; so perfectly
I can't imagine living
without you.
You strum your guitar gently,
singing a familiar tune.
I harmonize with you,
two voices permanently
entwined, and forever
ingrained in my memory.
You say it's your "heaven".
Now it is my hell.
Now the sun has
finally set.
Shadows disappear.
I remember the
last time we said
goodbye.
I kissed you like
I'd never see you again,
like I always seemed to.
You said you were cold.
You went inside.
I drove away.
The truth came out,
and I am left to wonder
what the hell I did wrong.
I am desperately afraid
to ever love again.
Months have gone by.
Half a year, in fact.
Over and over we'd
talk, fight, block...
Try to be friends.
Impossible.
You've turned into
this monster....
I am afraid of you.
I am scared of the thing
I loved more than life itself.
I loved you so much,
that I almost didn't care
about what you did with her.
I almost did anything
just to keep you here.
I don't want who you are.
I want you you were.
I am mourning the death
of my first love.
I wish I could bury him.
I wish I could forget you
just like everyone else
I've had to bury and grieve over.
But you're still here.
You're still breathing the same oxygen,
walking the same earth,
and doing everything you used to.
But there is a darkness about you now.
You aren't him.
WHAT DID YOU DO WITH HIM?!
How could you kill someone so beautiful?!
You wonder why we can't be friends?
You killed half of my heart.
You are an imposter.
If he still lives somewhere
beyond the sun, laughing atop
a roof in the afternoon,
tell him I'm looking for him.
You'll know who he is.
My shadow boy.



Christina Sawyer (c) 2012.

Expletive.

Those 5 seconds

everyday

nearly kill me.

You know,

the ones where I

briefly want to 

disappear. 

They literally

just about

do

me

in. 

One time I was driving

and something in me 

wanted to ram

into a light pole.

But it turns out

I like concerts too much.

Sometimes, 

I just want to be drunk

or high.

Just once.

Just to see if it works.

Even though

I know it doesn't. 

Because in the end, 

I know I'll run 

into you again,

and have to pretend 

I didn't see you

and that everything 

is just f#*&!$g 

great.

Christina Sawyer (c) 2012