for no one to read

counting lives by how many “homes” i’ve had, because it’s always too blurry to connect to just be one. white flowers that remind me of mom’s dead friend she sometimes mentions. alanis morissette playing in the background. talking of irony. red wagon and brown rocking chair. chalk drawings of the dead end. no hand bike riding down hills. blue wooden flute and a cocaine army dad who wouldn’t stay home. fights. peering from the stairs. and yelling, the fights. and yelling, and yelling. had to lock him out. to drunk to be. to drunk TO BE. divorce. 4, 4, 4, 4, year four. and where now? always one picture relevances- a one picture relevance. old trailer. a stray dog named dollar. wet puzzle peices that make up the ocean, thrown in a bath tub to ruin. constructed houses surround while our small trailer sank in the mud in the middle of nowhere. mom’s awful stew i tried to like with salt. and pepper. and more salt. and more pepper. impossible. too young to notice how hungry I probably was. hop the fences to meet the bores and dying soldiers in tall yellow, grass. construction sites to be explored. no one minded. we’re kids, hardly dressed because we hardly had clothes, with a dirty stray dog named Dollar. polaroid of us standing on the side of the trailer, waving -smiling, in nothing but mom’s old, big sweatshirts. a break in. broken window. stolen. dad took our only electronic; a stereo we often listened to. one day, somehow, over poor living conditions, he got custody. moved to michigan. shared house with my aunt amy in Warren. slept in the basement. bunk bed sleeping. connor on top, colleen and I on the bottom. Kayla, her own bed, two feet away. one dresser, shared. Not enough clothes or possesions to have more than one dresser. drunken nights, and arguments with my aunt about us. about us. about us. drunk driving, foot out the window. anger. the anger. always too cold in the basement. It was never warm enough. mom got custody. north carolina. new house- new life. rural place of Bunnlevel and soy bean surrounded. short walks to ACE feild. Old textile factory that used to be a highschool in the 40’s. half burried cellar door in ACE. imaginative, impossible stories about pirates and treasure. We dig, and dug. everyday. Until, one day, I couldn’t. Had this vision in my head -that when we finally uncovered all of the cellar door from dirt, opened it, and explored, all that would be down there would be dead bodies, and an awful stench. Never treasure. I stopped. they stopped. I wonder if I’ll ever dig for buried treasure again. Great, rusted water tower we dared to climb. Never noticing the awful graffiti on the side about drugs and gangs. Creating half rains with our dances and shouts. The beautiful split second of half rain. Climbing the factory roof and running from called cops. Old, rotted barns we called clubhouses but bums smoked joints in. Pretending to know how to play poker. A shared queen sized bed. cramped. Never enough room. Old wood burning stove to keep us warm. Dilapidated red house on the corner. my brother said was filled with starving cats, some dead, and stuck behind fridgerators. Newly met siblings, Cailsey and Corey. Came and went. Came and went. Jeff’s long lost son, Ryan. Came and went. Came and went. We came and went, came and went. Always coming and going. All of us. Tire swing; forever trying to get higher. Twist faster. Soy bean feild, great hide and go seek. Always One picture relevances- a one picture relevance. Standing there in the feild, soy bean reaching our waist and Hitchhikers stuck to our shoes. Old broken down school bus stuck in the woods and a rusted, red, hill-topped wagon. Impossible bird. Impossible, spring hummingbirds, feeding off sweet, impossible, red liquid. blueberry bush and mosquito dwellings. railroad walks, dodging trains, throwing rocks. Dirt roads and riding trails to nowhere. Ignoring “trespassers will be prosecuted” signs. Prosecuted?  Prosecuted. unsuspected day care pick up by my dad. Stolen. Stolen. Like a stereo. We got all the way to Ohio before he let my brother call my mom to tell her where we are. And why we weren’t there when she went to pick us up at day care. Half way to a golden dome. One thing relevances- a one thing relevance. This golden dome in the sunlight is the only reason I still have that memory. Mom picked us up at there. Autumn peacan collecting. New brother of November. New baby brother- Caleb. Poor living conditions. Michigan with dad. New house- new life. Backyard treehouse and my first kiss. Innocent, treehouse kiss to a boy named Noah. Bike rides to hoover 11. Midnight walk with my older brother- forgetting my age - always forgetting my age. Talks of ghosts, and empty dark streets. Coming back to a drunken dad. Back room hitting and left ear bleeding -temporaily lost hearing. Lost hearing. Connor’s crying was what scared me most. can’t write about everything though. actually. not even sure why that memory came to mind. forgot my age. Always forgetting. Back to north carolina. to michigan. to north carolina. to michigan with my mom, finally. Detroit. Hey detroit, you cold peice of shit. You yellow housed, cracked road, sqaured blocked, peice of flat, enjoyable shit. Detroit winter. Detroit’s cold winter had me inside from recess everyday. In detention, faking the detained and detainees. Writing disciplanary sentences for no reason. school’s another story though. A whole-nother story. School brings on memories of being in sixth grade and in awful hospitals, and awful sick faces -but weekend visits with my dad. Ironically always rained. New found sobriety. New apartment. Helped him unpack. Even gave him a picture of me to hang up. Wondered if he ever loved a woman sober- or ever could.  jump to 2008. homeless. lost our yellow peice of shit house to the economy. lived in a pop-up camper for two months. Rainy night’s were the worst. then Colleen and I lived with my “boyfriend”, brandon. my mom, and caleb with her friend. Connor, with a friend of his. all broken up. just scattered. finally moved to charlotte north carolina. goodbye to 4 year friendships. the longest. goodbye to “boyfriend”. Hello to small, motel room living. cold showers, sleeping on the floor. cock roaches in the window. heavy hispanic stares everytime we left our room. but a new hourse. this house finally. I’ll tell you. This is the strangest life i’ve ever lived, I bet. The strangest. someday i’ll write this all the right way. For now, this is it. Disjointed thoughts with no emotion written into it and 10,000 important, skipped memories i can’t seem to mention. 

too high to be. too high TO BE.