second thoughts.

And you didn't think.

You just pulled the trigger.

You didn't think about me.

You didn't think about the pain, the regret, or the heart ache.

You just pulled the trigger.

And left me alone to pick up the 

bloody pieces.  

But I would rather have this bloody wound 

than your blood stained hands. 

The blood stained hands still with a death grip on my heart.

And I would rather have this bloody wound 

than your ugly lips stained with all of your ugly lies.

Because this hole hurts less than your broken promises 

and my stupid wishful thinking.

Because this hole left in my heart hurts less 

than all of your mind games and manipulation.

And this hole hurts less than your pretty words

and hurtful intentions.

And I would rather have this open wound to remind me to be grateful.

To be grateful you are no longer mine. 

Because I was never really yours.

Because you didn't think twice about the trigger.

And you didn't think twice about the victim.

But don't you worry.

These wounds will heal.

And I'm going to be just fine.

Because baby,

I am no longer your victim.

welcome back.

I've been known to be a little loud
a little too sarcastic
a little too insensitive
and a little rough around the edges.

And I know that my attitude is a problem.
Mom I'm sorry I'll do better I promise.

And I've been known to be really good at overthinking
and really good at never feeling good enough.
Never feeling good enough for you
for her
for him
for me.

And so that's why I want to say thank you.
Thank you to Zoe for letting me speak whatever was on my mind.
For letting me cry through a computer screen
and for letting my heart bleed on these broken words.

Because I've learned that I am not as tough as I pretend.
As much as I hate to admit it I may even be sensitive.
And I think this class is to blame for making me soft.

And I realized that I am not Zoe.
And as much as I wish I could say I was Eva Peron
Atticus Monet,
Amaru,
or Courtney Rome.
Im not.
And I wont ever be.

Because I am sarcastic
and I say things I probably shouldn't.
And I am loud.
and a little too insensitive
and maybe a little rough around the edges.

Because I laugh the hardest at my own jokes
just to hear myself laugh.
Just to remind myself that I am happy.
And that there are still reasons to smile.
That there are still reasons to live.

So this is a goodbye to Zoe.
But this is hello to the real me.
A welcome back to the loud one.
The sarcastic one.
The not so tough one.

This is hello to McKelle.
McKelle Cahoon.

you ruined my favorite song.

And the songs each echo throughout my heart
and have never seemed to leave.
Because each song carries a memory.
And each memory carries a story.
And with each story carries each emotion
I ever felt with you.

And the emotions are stronger than ever.
The emotions are now stained across every
song you ever sang and every song you ever played.













And the emotions come the hardest with every
stupid breakup song. Because those are the ones
you always seemed to like the most.
And so I liked them.

I liked them because they were easy to remember.
Because for once I had something to remember.
Because you were so easy to forget.
So easy to lose.
Because I was so easy to replace.

broken record.

Someone please explain to me how it's possible to fall in love with someone

who hasn't quite fallen in love with you yet.

And someone please explain to me 

why the beatings of my heart 

are synchronized to yours

and yet the beatings of your heart 

don't quite match up to mine.

Because I've tried for years to somehow

 change the pattern so that one day 

we could dance to the matching rhythm. 

But you've never been much of a dancer. 

You've always been jealous of the way mine sounded.

Because your heartbeat seemed to always be out of tune.

And so you borrowed mine and never gave it back.

And that would explain why my heart keeps beating 

but no longer sounds the same.

Because now my heartbeats are a little irregular.

And now the heartbeats are dragging

and they're a little delayed.

Now they're a little out of tune 

and a little overused.

And each heartbeat hurts a little more than the last.

And now each heartbeat comes 

with the thought of you.

And now my heartbeats don't match the innocent melody.

Instead they match the crooning cry of a jazz lullaby.

And the words it sings no longer seem to be smiling.

And I tried changing my song for you.

But you were never willing to match yours to mine.

And I'm a little embarrassed by how many nights 

I've spent awake trying to rewrite the music.

But you were never willing to learn how to harmonize

 to my tragic melody.

And my heart's now a broken record.
And the only audible line is
"I love you."

And its always been your favorite.

Because you were intrigued by the scratches

and the irregularity of the tune.

The irregularity that matched up with my broken heartbeat.

The heartbeat you enjoyed breaking.

The broken heartbeat you were never able to figure out.

But don't you worry.

Because my heart no longer sings for you.

And my heart no longer beats for you.

Because I've found my rhythm.

And my broken lyrics now match perfectly to my broken heartbeat.

But at least I can carry a tune.

Because baby, my heart doesn't sing for you. 

lets fall in love

Our lives are built upon moments.
Moments upon moments.
And I think the hardest moments are the ones we know will never be repeated.
The ones that can never be recreated.
The moments that will last forever but only as a memory.

And the worst moments are the ones you know are going to be your last.
Maybe that's why standing under those Friday night lights made me a little too emotional.
Because in that moment I realized I was no longer the sophomore standing in the back
or the junior somewhere in the middle.
Now I was 18 years old.
18 years old standing in the front row,
standing in the cold watching her last football game.

And It was in this moment that time stood still.
And I realized that I don't want to count down the days until graduation anymore.
And that I'm actually not as grown up as I'd like to pretend.
It was in this moment that I realized I'm actually going to miss this.
I'm going to miss being 18 and carefree.
I'm going  to miss these moments.

Because these moments are going by too fast.

So can we please stop talking about how many more days are left until graduation.
And instead of talking about how many more "last times" we have together
can we start focusing on how to make these times last.
Really last.
Like tattooed across our hearts last.

Because I'm not ready to forget.
I don't want to forget.

Because I don't want to have to force myself to remember
to finally realize how good we had it.

So lets live in each moment.
Because we remember the moments not the days.

And let's fall in love with these moments together.
And maybe then we can fall in love with the days
and maybe then we can fall in love with each other.

can i ask you a question

I've spent the last week

the last month

trying to get over you.

And it doesn't matter how many times I seem to google
"how to stop loving him"

because not even Wikipedia has a clue.

And I just want to ask how you've managed to do it.
To get over me.

Was it the girl you kissed last night?

Or the one before that

or the one before that..

because you seem to be doing just fine.

And I just want to know why its been so easy for you

and why its been so difficult for me.

And the best days are the ones when I forget to miss you.

And it might be because I enjoy all the late night drives more than
I've ever enjoyed the thought of you.

And I'm grateful for the music
because I think the music is finally tuning out all of the memories of me and you.
Of us.

And I think ice cream is the only way to truly numb the pain.

But these things only last for a moment.

Because the second I'm left alone with my thoughts
it all comes rushing back.

And I remember that you're happy
and I remember that I'm not quite there yet.

Not quite happy with myself yet.

And I don't think it's fair that just the sound of your voice
will cause it to start all over again.

That I will fall in love with you all over again.
and again
and again
and again.

And I just want to know
if you ever still think of me?

And all I want to know is what you did
and what you're doing that made you forget.

And I just want to know how you made it stop.

Because whatever it was

whatever it is

whatever you're doing

it must be working.

So this is me asking you for some simple instructions.
Because I just want to make it all stop.

insignificant

I fear the insignificant things.

The irrational things. 

Because maybe I'm just a little irrational 

and maybe it's because I'm scared of myself. 

Scared of what I'm capable of..

or of what i'm not.

I'm scared of being in love

but mostly I fear that I won't ever be able to know when I am.

I'm scared of promises.

Because broken promises are irreparable

because if I hear one more empty "I promise" 

I think I'll lose it.

I'm scared of the unknown

but not as much as I fear the known.

Not as much as I fear the past.

I fear the way you say my name

because I know that I'll do anything just to hear you say it.

I fear you'll see the way I look at you. 

I fear the way you look at me.

But mostly I fear that it isn't the same way.

I'm scared of being forgotten

only because I'm scared of having to remember 

what isn't mine anymore.

I fear being lost.

But I fear being found by the wrong person.

I fear falling and not having you there to catch me.

I fear that I'm trying so hard to reach you

to hold your hand

to see you smile

to make you laugh

but you're not there.

I fear that I wont ever be good enough.

Because all I've ever wanted was to be the right one for you.

And I'm scared. 

Scared that you won't feel the same way.

Because you're the right one for me

and i'm just trying to figure out how to be the right one

for you.

warm chest and a beating heart.

The air was cold and it stung against her fingertips.

But she sits outside and watches each breath

as if to prove to herself that she was still breathing.

And she sat there and let the coldness of the air overwhelm her until she finally forgot 

what it felt like to ever be warm.

And she watched as the bitterness of her heart was reflected in the bitterness of the air. 

And when the sun came up it never seemed to welcome her

but she didn't mind because she was more comfortable in the darkness anyways.

She watched as the birds flew by and they mocked her.

They mocked her because she never had the courage to fly.

Because society weighed down her wings a long time ago.

And so she stayed on the ground.

But she didn't mind walking because the pain in her bones and the aching in her toes was the only

thing that reminded her that she was alive. 

She was alive.

And one day she decided to welcome the sun 

and she sat and watched as the sun removed the numbness in her heart.

And she remembered what it felt like to be warm. 

She remembered what it felt like to have a warm chest and a beating heart.

broken windows

The bricks used to come in 1's and 2's, and then 3's and 4's
but now they're coming in by the dozens.

They come with every second, every minute, and every hour.

For every late night spent wide awake

and for every single stupid heartbreak.

Its with each and every thought of you.

It's with every failed homework assignment and test retake.

Its with each miscalculation and misinterpretation.

And with each 3.68 not good enough for the honor roll GPA.

Because we all know that 4.0's have never felt the weight of a brick before. 

The bricks are thrown the hardest with the words "You're ugly" taped to the side.

Because although the bruise may go away the words are stained forever across your heart.

And my aching bones now resemble the shattered windows.

And my skin's now purple and bruised, because concrete was never meant to be soft.

And maybe that's why my heart is so hard now. 

Why my heart is so cold now.

So forgive me for being so unlovable. And forgive me for being so unforgiving.

Its just that I've been hit one too many times. 

And the bricks have all been laid.

dear you

Dear you 

Remember who you are. 

Remember to be real. 

Remember to love and you will be loved in return.

Remember that blue eyes and dimples are overrated and your hazel ones will do just fine. 

Remember that your short legs work just as well as the long ones you've always wanted. 

And remember that your ACT score does not define you.
Remember that there are better days ahead.
Remember that your first heartbreak wont be the last.
And that's okay.
It just means that there's more people who you get to love.
Remember that you live in a world where hating yourself is normal.
But please remember that its acceptable to love yourself too.

love sick

I thought I knew what love was at 6 when you let me borrow your
favorite eraser.

And I thought I knew what love was at 11 when you hugged me during recess.

And at 14 I thought I knew what love was when our fingers intertwined for the very first time.

At 17 love suddenly became real.
Because this time you kissed me and you meant it.
And this time you looked at me and I felt it.

They say that i'm too young to understand what love is.
And they're probably right.

But I know that the hairs on the back of my neck must understand by the way 

they always seemed to stand on end at the sound of your voice.

And each goose bump that appeared by the touch of your hand was confirmation enough.

You used to say that love would set you free

but I think you lied.

Because every single day of loving you has only left me feeling stuck.
And this love sick feeling has got me feeling claustrophobic.
And the butterflies in my stomach are all dead now.
And my heart keeps beating but it seems to be out of tune
because only your hands knew how to play my heart strings.

They all said I was too young to know what love was and maybe they were right.

But I know that whatever I felt for you was real.

And if it wasn't love then it was pretty damn close.

60 seconds

I set my alarm to 6:36 because 6:35 was a little too early.
Because 6:36 ends with an even and 6:35 is just a little too odd.

Because we all need that extra minute.
Those extra 60 seconds to save a life
those extra 60 seconds to remind you to keep yours.

We all breathe in the same clean air and with each exhale we release the same dirty sorrows.
The same dirty regrets.
The dirty regrets that 60 seconds can't change, but we wish they could.

For some reason we keep breathing.

Breathing in and breathing out.

And with each exhale we add to the pollution.
But isn't it beautiful that with each exhale we remove the fog that once obstructed our lungs.
The fog that blinds our hearts and blinds our minds.

So keep breathing.
Because your heart keeps beating.
And it will continue to beat approximately 60-100 times a minute.

That's 100,000 times a day
42 million a year
and more than 2.5 billion times in a lifetime.

And this all started with 60 seconds.

But that one minute turns into an hour
and the hours turn into days
and those days turn into months
which soon turn into years.

And pretty soon you have a lifetime behind you.
And even when the days get hard and the 60 seconds seem to be taking too long
remember that your heart keeps beating.

And you are worth more than 2.5 billion heartbeats.

Because you are alive.

And don't you dare stop breathing.

thunderstorms

You live through the wind as you drift through my hair and tingle my spine.
The wind that brushes across my skin and leaves me breathless.
The wind that messes up my hair and leaves me restless.

You are rain.
And I swear you can take my pain away.
The smell of rain fills my lungs and I breathe you in. Never quite letting you leave.
And I can hear you. As you softly hit my windowsill I let you sing me to sleep.
You are the rain. And you are soft against my skin.
You are warm.
Each droplet lingering. And I can feel you.
Each touch everlasting and I remember.
I remember you.

And I remember that I am living.
but you forgot that you were too.

The wind doesn't feel the same now and the rain is getting colder.
The wind and rain once familiar, but I don't recognize it's touch anymore.
You forgot what you were living for and the gentle rain turned into a hurricane.

You are thunder and lightning

..but you've always been scared of thunderstorms.

I don't drink coke.

There are things I wish I could change. Things I wish I could do differently.

If I were different I wouldn't be so short, and my eyes would be blue.

If I were different I would be a little more considerate and a little less loud.

If I were different I would think before I spoke and wouldn't drink as much coke. 

And if I were different I would never tell a lie, and I would have to be honest and tell you that I don't actually drink coke and that I actually just needed something that rhymed with the word spoke. If I were different I would laugh a little more and cry a lot less.  If I were different I would look to be happy instead of looking to be sad. And I wish I could look at a cup half full instead of seeing it as half empty. I would be nicer to my mom and tell her that I love her. I wouldn't be scared to go sit next to the girl sitting alone. 

I wouldn't be scared to be alone. 

If I were different I wouldn't care what others thought of me and I would do things for myself instead of doing it for someone else. 

I would be happy because I want to be happy and not because someone else told me to be. 

If I were different I wouldn't be looking for all the things I wish were different. I would be happy with me and happy with all of me. Not just the good but the bad, not just the perfections but the flaws and the insecurities, the weaknesses and the strengths.

If I were different I wouldn't be hiding behind a pen name.
If I were different I would be proud of who I was and how I've gotten here.
I wouldn't be Zoe
I would be me.

I would know that I am flawed, and that's okay.

running.

My minds been running all night for the past seven nights
but somehow still stuck in the same place,
on the same thought, on the same face.

 My mind running in circles. And I can feel the desperation with each heartbeat, pumping through my tangled veins as they cling onto the only thing I have left of you.

My tangled veins rooted to the ground of never letting go and never moving on.

 But you keep running, and you're getting further and further away.
And I can't keep up anymore.

I'm getting tired now. The desperation is starting to wear off now. And my twisted veins are starting to lose their grip now.

I keep praying that you'll stop to catch your breath
 because you've seemed to have stolen mine.

 My head still hurts and my heart still aches.

My heart still aches.

Aching for something I can no longer provide..

Something you are no longer willing to give me.

Aching for the truth.

Aching to be loved.

Aching to be found.

Because I can't run anymore..

 I can't run anymore.

you forgot.

You told me you would never forget me.

And I think I died inside that day.
Because those words were worse than a thousand goodbyes.

Because the things you remember are the things that can be forgotten.
And the things you never forget are the things you only remember.
And the things you remember are the things you no longer really know anymore.

And just like that I was put into the back of your memories.
A memory you would soon replace with a new name and a different face.

Its 12 am and I still can't seem to forget you.

Youre not here anymore and I thought that would help.

But I still see you.

And every song on the radio seems to be written about you,

about us..

but mostly you.

Because there never really was an us, I just liked the way us sounded.

You're in my late night thoughts,
and morning and afternoon.

And I miss you.
I miss you.

And I miss me..
because I've lost myself trying to find you.

I lost myself by losing you.

You promised you would never forget me..


















but you did.

They always do.

its okay to be a little sore.

My hat is old and tattered from all the days spent trying.

Your hat is new and pretty from all the days spent thriving.  

You let me try yours on once 

but then you noticed I was happier wearing your hat 

and so you took it back.

You took away the only happiness I had ever known

the only happiness I had ever wanted.

So I stood there alone while reality came rushing back.

Insecurity running cold through my veins all linked back to my beat up old blue baseball cap.

I've been hiding behind this hat for so long

..for too long.

The hat ripping at the seams.

Beat up, worn out and torn.

The hat is less of a hat now.

Now only patches and holes.

And I am tired.

Tired of wearing this hat.
Sick of letting the rips in my hat become rips into my soul.
Sick of remembering what I once had and what I have now
and how they aren't the same.

But one day you came back.

And I was standing in the same place.

With failure beating in my chest and the same insecurity running through my veins. 

 You came back, this time with your same hat now worn out with holes.

I asked him why he would ever let his once beautiful hat become so out of control.

You told me that life is meant to be lived. 

And that its okay if we come out a little worn out and torn.

He said that the holes can be patched and the tears can be sown.

He said we aren't meant to live life without coming back out a little sore.

And so I put back on my torn up old blue baseball cap 

and left.

Only this time with excitement flowing warm through my veins
and confidence beating softly in my chest.

Because he said Its okay to be a little worn out and sore.

And I wanted to believe him. 

we are going to be okay.

I'm scared of being seen as vulnerable.
Scared of being seen as weak.

But I'm not strong.
..I cant be strong anymore

My tongue strangled around my helpless words.

I'm sick of feeling empty.

Sick of walking crowded hallways but feeling as if I'm the only one there.
How is it possible to still feel lonely when I'm walking along with thousands of others?

My mind is screaming but my tongue says nothing.
My mouth motionless.

Quiet.

I am not depressed. Just lonely.

I am not sad, just hurting.

I am happy..
at least that's what I keep telling myself.

I am confused but at the same time I know exactly what I am feeling
..and it hurts.

High school hurts.

Boys hurt.

Girls hurt.

3 am sleepless nights hurt.

Living hurts.

They say to leave a mark on the world,
and I've left mine.

I've left mine with each tear stain permanently etched into the fabric of my pillow.

With each heart aching, blood curdling, tear jerking scream into the coldness of the atmosphere.

I left my mark on the nights spent on the bathroom floor.

And the nights spent praying for something more.

My marks been left on the scars on my heart and the scars on my soul.

But I keep walking, and I keep trying.
And with each step I leave something more.
And as I stumble and as I fall my marks been made through the blood on the walls.

Crying has left me empty and cold.
My heart swollen, stomach twisted.

And I feel nothing.

Its dark.
And I am alone.

And as I stare out into the darkness
I lose myself in the confusion of my thoughts.

And I remember that its okay.

High School is going to be okay.

Life is going to be okay.

And I and you and me and us are going to be okay.

And I will be happy.
I am going to be happy.

And you are going to be happy.

The Beginning..

I hope that my blog doesn't suck and that my words carry meaning,
And that somehow I can properly express whats going on in my head.

I hope that I am needed, wanted, liked and even hated. 
Because as shallow as it sounds I would rather be hated than ignored.
..at least I'm being noticed. 

You should know that I talk too loud and laugh too much, and I sing a lot 
for someone who can't sing. 

I don't like being alone even though sometimes I pretend that I do.
Because if I can pretend, maybe one day I'll be okay with it.
Maybe if I can pretend that it's okay to be alone
I won't feel as pathetic when I'm home lonely on a Friday night. 

I'm scared of being forgotten. 
I'm scared of being rejected..
scared that I'll never be good enough.
And I'm scared of being unlovable.
But mostly I'm scared of girls.

I'm excited for this class because I'm excited for a new start.  

I'm excited to be someone else for the next few months because the real me 
was starting to lose the realness.                                                            

So hopefully Zoe will be my new beginning and a restart to the wannabe.