i thank you for lifting my head up high
Uhmm, let’s start with this journal entry about poetry class. Well, Page made me cry. He made me ball my eyes out. He lifted a burden that was on top of my shoulders for so long. The past was hard and he just healed the most of me. It's weird how a little care on a piece of paper can do so much for a broken soul, a cracked heart. For those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm going to let you know because I now feel healed. Last year, Page and I went through a lot. And I mean it when I say a lot. We were best friends - beyond best friends. We were inseparable. We had so much care for each other. And yes, most of you know it that our friendship lead to us having a relationship. A lot of things went on with me last year. A lot of rumors went around about me too. The pain I held, the things that went on in this house, the drugs I lived for. I wish people would understand. But Page wrote me a poem yesterday and I read it today. When I didn't think he even cared, even a little bit anymore, he wrote me such a meaningful poem and it made me feel like he understood, because before, I didn't think he did. I know he tried to feel my pain, I know he tried to make me so happy, and I know he never left my side. After we broke up, our friendship was never the same. I knew we thought about each other all the time, we were a part of each other's lives that could not be replaced - ever. And when we went our own ways I didn't know he still cared. The meaning behind the words pierced my heart that lead to the tears that ran down my cheeks. I thank him so much. The pain from the past has left me to go on.
Anyways, I'm gonna put the poem he wrote in here and if he minds, than I'll just take it out.
Untitled
Black and blue,
scars and still open wounds--
I hate him.
Only I believe you,
but no one,
no one believes us,
who would believe us.
We skip school,
we smoke pot,
we lie awake at night,
not knowing we are still awake.
We are the bad kids
the ones you don't want
your children to see,
that is us--
and sometimes
just sometimes,
I love it.
I guess because of who we are,
and what we do,
we deserve it,
but it is only one of us,
and I wish it was me.
That is why I hate him,
but what can I do,
I am just like you,
helpless--
How I wish every night,
my mother wouldn't lie awake--
making sure I didn't leave my house,
but I wish it for the wrong reasons.
I wish I was a good kid,
that I was wonderful
but only so I could leave,
and kill him, in his drunken rage.
I wish I could drown him--
with my own two hands,
in his twelve pack of bud light--
I wish with my own two hands,
I could make him suffer
so he would see a glimpse
of what you feel.
After we were done,
no more us,
we were two people now,
I saw him--
and my rage was still there.
Hi, how are you?,
he says to me--
my response,
straight from the hatred
of my heart
runs out of my mouth.
Fuck you,
is my response.
It wasn't just any fuck you,
it was angry,
angrier than any had ever been before.
Go home and drink some more,
smoke some more pot,
then yell at your daughter for doing the same thing.
The words ran out of me,
there wasn't anything I could do,
and I was glad for that.
I still hate him,
I still want to kill him--
for what he did to you,
but I will let him live,
so when she grows up,
he will miss the grandchildren,
and the wonderful daughter he never knew.
Page Dunn
Thank you Page. Thank you so much for being who you are. Don't change. I wish I could do something in return, I wish I could do the same for you. Please keep your head up for me because you have lifted mine.
Anyways, I'm gonna put the poem he wrote in here and if he minds, than I'll just take it out.
Untitled
Black and blue,
scars and still open wounds--
I hate him.
Only I believe you,
but no one,
no one believes us,
who would believe us.
We skip school,
we smoke pot,
we lie awake at night,
not knowing we are still awake.
We are the bad kids
the ones you don't want
your children to see,
that is us--
and sometimes
just sometimes,
I love it.
I guess because of who we are,
and what we do,
we deserve it,
but it is only one of us,
and I wish it was me.
That is why I hate him,
but what can I do,
I am just like you,
helpless--
How I wish every night,
my mother wouldn't lie awake--
making sure I didn't leave my house,
but I wish it for the wrong reasons.
I wish I was a good kid,
that I was wonderful
but only so I could leave,
and kill him, in his drunken rage.
I wish I could drown him--
with my own two hands,
in his twelve pack of bud light--
I wish with my own two hands,
I could make him suffer
so he would see a glimpse
of what you feel.
After we were done,
no more us,
we were two people now,
I saw him--
and my rage was still there.
Hi, how are you?,
he says to me--
my response,
straight from the hatred
of my heart
runs out of my mouth.
Fuck you,
is my response.
It wasn't just any fuck you,
it was angry,
angrier than any had ever been before.
Go home and drink some more,
smoke some more pot,
then yell at your daughter for doing the same thing.
The words ran out of me,
there wasn't anything I could do,
and I was glad for that.
I still hate him,
I still want to kill him--
for what he did to you,
but I will let him live,
so when she grows up,
he will miss the grandchildren,
and the wonderful daughter he never knew.
Page Dunn
Thank you Page. Thank you so much for being who you are. Don't change. I wish I could do something in return, I wish I could do the same for you. Please keep your head up for me because you have lifted mine.