Scare The Bejesus Out Of Me

This is a poem she wrote about being scared.

Scare me, watch me fall.
Kick me over to the wall.
Hear me cry, watch me suffer,
You great bloody stinking buffer.
Hold on to hope, give me none.
Tell me that I'll be someone.
Swear out loud, cover my ears.
Block your own when I tell you my fears.

Look out, I'm gasping for air.
And soon I'm going to pull your hair.
I'll react, I won't stay calm.
But you won't react, you'll stay calm.
You won't scream and then you'll die.
And then if you're lucky you'll cry.
I will fight back, just so you know.
But one thing I won't do is let you crow.

The World Through Her Eyes

She would never make judgements before telling you how selfish or unbelievably kind you were.
She always thought that if someone was mean, they were just having a bad day.
She knows how much she loved the world, but she did not love herself.
She would hurt herself for liking everyone and everything.
She died without an enemy.
She died without a friend.
Everyone just labelled her as 'the nice girl', but she hated them for it.
She didn't like people looking at her scars.

I want you not to be like her, but to be just the same.
I want you to listen to her, but not hear every word she says.
I want you to hang on for dear life, but let go at every opportunity.
I want you to fling yourself off a cliff, but to hang on until you were told to jump.

I know it's hard.

In My Arms, You Are Safe

This is a poem she once wrote about anyone who is scared or alone.

In my arms, you will be loved, dear.
In my arms, you will be short of fear.
I will teach you to believe, girl.
I will teach you to hug the world.
I will ask you to be strong, honey.
I will ask you to sing for bunnies.

In my arms, you are safe.
Remember me. Love me always.
Don't give up tomorrow.
Be strong. Don't give up.
Because in my arms, you are safe now.

Things that stick...

We once made stir fry at her house. She thought she was putting salt in, but she accidentally put in sugar.
She liked to dance on tables.
She liked to sing at the top of her lungs.
She would ask anyone to date her when we were out and about. Some people said yes. Her reply to that was "You're dumped. I'm having second thoughts about that pimple on the end of nose." Everyone's hand went instinctively to their nose.
She was blonde, but not dumb.
She taught me to believe.
She taught me that the truth is sometimes too hurtful and that sometimes, you need to bottle everything up, and wait for it to come out in a gush.

She told me to love her always, no matter what.

This blog is a contribution

I don't expect anyone to read this blog, nor do I care. This blog is a contribution to a friend I once had, Lira Fisher.
She was everything to me. She loved to cook, she loved to sing. She was the highlight at any party, until the fateful day came when everything stopped.
But everything happens for a reason, right?
I will continue to write on this blog, for I know that Lira would have been proud of me holding on for so much longer than she did.