Thesis Sentence

I imagined it so differently.

I guess I expected to be older,

to know what I wanted and to know exactly who I was right away.

But I think I've figured out that's not really how it goes.

Because I'm an "art major" with a B in drawing and an A in english.

I got my last essay back, with a note that read "really well written, but try to make it less personal." Maybe I'm no good at writing essays because I'm afraid of body paragraphs and I've never been good for a convincing thesis sentence. 

I could never convince you. 

I was lavender skies, just long enough for you to realize that you don't even like the color purple.

I don't know why I thought 2000 miles would make a difference.

Or why god doesn't let you choose which memories mean the most to you.

Because I can't remember feeling any different at 18, 

or the first time I tied my shoe by myself. 

I can't remember the last time I did something that I loved, 

or watched my favorite movie.

Some of the most important things go unrecognized. 

But I'll never forget that shade of blue.

numbers and labels and high school.

I'm watching my senior year wind down right before my eyes.

She stood up and talked about 124 days.

I wrote about 92.

And well, now we're down to 59.

So if time keeps passing the way it has. 

I've got 7 days left.

Im sorry,  I countdown to everything. 

I had a countdown to my 18th birthday since March 9th of last year.

For someone who hates numbers and labels, they seemed to consume my senior year. 

Numbers and labels, 

Numbers and labels.  

"You have 4 unexcused absences."
"You have 3 NC's."
"You have 2 friends that unfollowed you."

"You have 1 high school football game left."

"You have 59 days until graduation."

As for labels
"cheerleader" and "somebody's someone" always seemed to stick.
but I always wanted to be
"independent" and "happy"

High school may be about numbers and labels, 

but I don't think life is, at least i'm praying it's not.

Because the amount of people you learn to love won't come in numbers.

Stop trying to be her. 

Stop trying to be him.

Maybe I'm wrong.
Maybe were all just numbers,
Aspiring to be certain labels.


I know I'm praying were not,
but I'm praying for a lot of things.



x

Tuesday has always been her favorite day.

It was a Tuesday and she was driving on the freeway.

Rush hour, and nowhere to be.
The birds flying across the overpass caught her eye.

They sky was blue.


Blue like her favorite color since she was five.

Blue like the shade she painted her room when she was 15.

Blue like the color of his eyes.



But this isn't a poem about the boy with blue eyes.
and she isn't 15 anymore.



She was born on a Tuesday.
It was barely Tuesday.



She was born in the middle of the night, 2:51 AM.
With the moon above her head, and the stars in her eyes.


She likes to think that's why her best friends name is midnight,
and why she's a little too familiar with 2 AM.


It was a Tuesday 18 years ago she starting living,
and a Tuesday 7 months ago something in her died.



It's Tuesday, and August still hurts like hell.
But this isn't a poem about that either.



No, this is about Tuesdays and why they've always been her favorite day.

8 feet under

I turn my music too loud, 

in hopes that it could drown out these thoughts. 

But only making me realize that I am the only thing that's drowning.

 I am drowning. 

I am already drowning.


But I'm not blaming you.

Because the 3 foot deep shallow end never appealed to me,
and the 5 foot mark on warm cement never cut it either,
it wasn't until that 8 foot mark that I felt at home.

Maybe it's because it's easier to feel so deeply,
when you're already eight feet under, nearly skimming the bottom of the floor.

Seeing how deep you can go until the pressure in your ears is unbearable.

Treading water, and holding your breath for as long as you can.
I guess that's how I've always preferred it.


It's my fault for ignoring the no diving signs.

But I had to take a chance,
because I read somewhere to dive into the unknown.
And I thought if I just dove in head first and whole heartedly things would work out fine.


In the end,  I couldn't hold my breath for as long as I thought.
 And you can only tread water for so long.


But that's okay,
 I'm learning to swim.

92 days

He had 92 days left.

92 6:30 AM alarms to set.

92 walks down the 100 hall.

92 days.

I haven't cried yet.

Probably because grey has always been one of my favorite colors.

And I prefer the overcast days.

But for him, grey was more than a neutral shade on the color wheel.

He was only a senior in high school.

We're all just seniors in high school.

And you keep asking us what we can do to change this.

What we can do to prevent this.

But last week, he stood up in my art class with a canvas covered in painted balloons and a happy sky,

and that didn't seem like any sign of depression.

So I'm sorry I didn't see this coming.

I'm sorry that none of us saw this coming.

I don't think it is our school's fault,

and Nelson, I don't think it's something in the water,

or something in the library. 

I don't know what it is, none of us do.

Were all just trying to make sense of it,

but I can't seem to wrap my head around this.

Because we only have 92 days left.

And we've already made it 733.

So choose to stay.

Choose to stay for the people who love you. 

Choose to stay for the poetry you haven't written. 

Choose to stay for the music you haven't heard, and the kisses you haven't had.

Choose to stay for the places you haven't seen, and the books you haven't read. 

Choose to stay for long drives up the canyon with your head out the window. 

Choose to stay for the beginning of your life. 

Because after all it's just 92 days away, 

and we've already made it 733. 

And high school was never meant to be the end.

P.S.

They warned me about boys like you,

The ones that skip class too often,

 and wear their hair a little higher than their GPA.

They told me to stay away. 

But what's the fun in doing what you're told? 

Moody and cynical never looked so good, 

and getting your attention never felt so rewarding. 

I keep hitting the keys 

T, t t t t t....Try to forget those feelings

and

 C, c c c c c...See that he's not even worth your time.

 I'm over the heartache, because I already went through that 2 months ago,

when you pulled this shit the first time. 

The first time you tossed my heart aside, 

because yours still belongs to her. 

The first time, I gave into your bad apologies. 

It was the first time, and what should've been the last.  

So now I'm mostly just upset about polaroid film wasted, 

and my bad judgment of character. 

But lets give it up for the second chances and high school dances, 

because really, that's the only thing holding any of these "relationships" together.

January 27th came a little sooner than expected

 But now that holiday's and birthday's have passed, 

I'd say that you couldn't have picked a better time to call it quits,
so thank you.

 P.S.  I'd like my things back.  

I'm not ending as a tourist.

I know blog posts were due at 11:59 tonight,

and I may seem pathetic for starting this at 12:34.

I've feared writing this since day one, and wondering how I would go about it. 

So maybe I'll start with my name. 

My name is Cassidy McKeon.

I keep staring at those 13 letters 

&

reminding myself that if I say them enough times they will start to lose their meaning. 

Yes I've typed and re-typed my name nearly a dozen times, 

and finding words to sum up this semester is nearly impossible.  

So I'll keep it simple. 

Thank you to those who read, commented and better yet even just looked at my blog. 

Thank you to those with inspiring words and tumblr pictures. 

(I really did appreciate the pictures)

Thank you Nelson, for teaching me something that no one else has been able to.

Thank you. 

But let me just make one thing clear,

I'm not a tourist I swear.

I've been in Paris the whole time.