Yours Truly

Kelly Notine, MHS Student

Well here we are again.

Pen against paper,

A loop around my pen tip, small knot at the end,

A small and frayed string of my heart once again out of body.

Predestination had supposedly given it the role of reverberating the sound that booms around my chest,

Beating, Beating, Beating;

But in your frail world the only pleasantry was to relocate said string from its role, steal away its purpose, weaken the defenses, and scratch away at the interior.


It seems like the 100th time that I’ve written about you.

What a crime that is.

For someone who so vehemently dreads my presence to unlawfully

Steal my energy, my precious time, my sanity and keep it dangled over my head.

Like a carrot on a string.

Because I, despite my uneasy ego and locks of vanity, am nothing more to you than a quaint zoo animal, existing solely for your feeble amusement but only when it is convenient.

Well, dear friend, I can assure you that my mother did not suffer for nine months, did not invest in me for sixteen years, did not agonize over my every need so that I could become a convenience, or that my self worth be determined by an on-again off-again trespasser.  


You know I’ve started making resolutions, right?

Each night before bed, while I sit in fascination and false hope,

I promise myself that last time was the last, that I will not allow you to dictate this body any further.

My self worth with come from somewhere other than your cheeks, and the way that they scrunch when you smile your malificent serpentine smile.

Your glossy hair will no longer keep me captive in its every swish.

I will float past on the subtle smell of fresh linen that radiates around you.

My stream of consciousness will suddenly not flow through a filter of content seemingly appealing to you, and I will tie up my heart strings once again


And yet,


You are still, entirely, wholly, without fail, totally intertwined in every part of me.

The flushed crinkled cheeks reduce me to puddles instantly,

And before I am even aware of it I am tangled in the soft strands of your hair.

Holding my breath does nothing when the linen has permanently fixed itself in my nose.

Worst of all,

Despite all my efforts,

Despite all of the cloudy evenings where your game of cat and mouse has snared me once more,

Despite the false truth I agonize yet preach to keep this hidden,

I am still, entirely, wholly, without fail, totally intertwined in every part of you.

And it passes.

I wait for the day when you give me nothing to have to write about.