Pictures

Sometimes I like to lay in my bed and stare at the ceiling
or the pictures and phrases I have attached to the wall.
It's always a bad choice because I always end up
angry, sad, bored, or confused.
I look up at the pictures.
I hate them.

My mom and dad when they were younger.
They used to get along.
They used to love me.
It always seems like I'm mad at them.

Me and my sister when we were little.
Aw, look at those matching outfits and beautiful smile.
That was the only time I thought I was beautiful.
When I didn't know any better.
I look at my school pictures of about the last four years.
Each one a black smudge over every part of me.

The picture of my two dead dogs.
Why just them? Why not the cat I had
that I still cry about even though it was a year ago
when a car ran him over.
Why don't I have pictures of all the animals I love?

The picture of my smiling grandpa
holding me as a baby is beautiful.
I make connections to the photo.
He has depression and diabetes.
He's always quiet and nice and sweet.
You can tell he loves my grandma.
He should be told that he's a great and amazing person everyday
but he doesn't and I don't have the courage to.
He's an amazing guy and I love him so much.

I look at the picture of my six year old cousin.
His innocent little smile.
He loves asking questions and trucks and movies and his mom.
He loves life
and I will give mine to make sure it stays that way.

His little sister who is only two is amazing.
She loves to laugh and chocolate and Disney shows.
I can make her smile just by picking her up.

I don't realize that I have tears
streaming down my face.
Why am I crying?
These are all happy memories. Most of them.
But that's all they are. Memories.
I will never be able to go back and tell my grandpa
he's amazing in every way every day.
I can't pat my dogs head or cuddle with my cat as I sleep.
I can't remember when my parents cared about me because it was so long ago.
I can't remember what it feels like to think I was beautiful.

That's why I hate pictures
Because the only way to relive them is to
imagine and the reality of the world has already punched me so hard that I've lost my ability to imagine anything
beautiful.