Saturday, April 30, 2016

Learning to Let Go

There comes a time when you begin to learn things. 
When you no longer see things they way you once did as a child, an audience or a student. 
It's when you're somehow the teacher and the learner. 
It's when you experience it all first hand. 
When you feel everything. 
Every last bit of it. 
It's exhausting as it is recovering. 
It is horribly ugly while it's divinely beautiful. 
It hurts. 
And it heals.
It is the most real thing a human can feel, know--
To let go and move on. 
Understand that every person is beautiful, even the ones that hurt you, but it's the ones you don't have to say painful goodbyes to, the ones that make you stay and make you feel beautiful that are worth paying close attention to. Let them steal your heart, not the ones who don't know what to do with it or how much it's worth. 
Learn to let go
Even when it hurts you so deeply. 
There a few words I know but there are thousands that I feel more deeply than I can say. 
But the few I do remember are these: 
"Have courage
and be kind."
It always pays off. 
And always comes back. 
...

Let go. 

-k.p.b.

4/30

Friday, April 29, 2016

Thursday, April 28, 2016

secrets in my shoebox

if you could hear
every word I'm too afraid to say
i don't think
i would be afraid of much else anymore.
the chaos of this world would fall asleep
for just one moment
as i looked at you and felt
the thrumming of loving you,
putting those blasted stars to shame
and carrying every 
piece of you
in my warm hands
as if they were a poem.

damn this.
not talking
pretending like we don't love each other. 
i'm sick of feeling
sick
and 
sad
and 
so, so
alone. 

where are you?
if you could hear the 
sad melody
from the monster my heart has become
over you
perhaps you would want
to find out more.
perhaps you'd walk around me
like a gallery
of art 
curious of things i painted from my dreams,
how they happen
to resemble me
and not you
which is a mystery that might never be solved
(much like my heart loving you
for reasons i cannot find a name for).

call me once
to see how i am doing.
let the excitement of your voice
overrule the reason of my heart
for once,
make me feel beautiful
like i see so
many others do.
the thing is though, i don't want a love 
like theirs
or his
or hers
or anyone else's for that matter. 
i just want a love with you.
...
but you can't love 
a creature of fear
over time
he will eat us both.

fear
the one word 
that never fixes
as much as it destroys. 

would you destroy me, 
i wonder. 
if i gave 
everything i was to you, what would you do with it?
i'm too bashful 
to accept loving you first
yet
i'm too passionate to accept this skinny love much longer.
one small human
can't feel this much 
in one little body
it isn't 
fair.
it isn't right.

even though it 
frightens 
me 
half to death
tell me the answer
if i were to ask you, "what do you think of me?"
even if it's, 
"i don't."
i have to know.

i have little to lose, 
except you
(which of course
is a great deal 
more than you'd think. 
a great, great deal more than 
my heart can fathom most days). 

the moment i knew i loved you, 
(since my heart
has decided to go there now)
was the moment 
i felt a strange pull
like white strings 
tangled in my crimson heart
that penetrated through my chest
and tugged from
some other place 
for the longest time
i could not name. 
i went on a search to find
the source of the 
gentle 
tugging
and somehow
ended up
with you
staring at me 
with those forsaken blue eyes
and icy skin
the white of the string
melting in your cold hands. 

there you were
as if it were nothing
your fingers 
laced 
threaded
embedded in the whiteness of those strings
and 
yanking on them 
without a clue 
how far
they'd make me fall
if 
you
let 
go. 

and there i was 
willingly
letting 
you.

so there it is.
the secret in my shoebox
has been 
torn from its 
cardboard cottage and tacked
onto the whiteness of this page. 

don't you want 
to know my secrets?
where my loneliness
travels to when
i am too busy
with thoughts of you?
doesn't everybody
at one moment or another
want to see the scars written on the backs of people
no matter who they are?
to run their sticky 
fingers over
their pink hills and 
sour stains?
even if they've known them for a day
or a decade
the ferocious curiosity 
always sits on the chest of others
as they wait for you to open up your windows
to spill your ink on your wooden desk over 
the blank white pages fluttered 
everywhere
and for the rain
to 
fall
onto the window heavily
until 
it stops
for nothing
but the sound of your heart
having enough.

truth is,
i could write about you
all day
and run out of nothing to say. 
but, 
give me a moment 
trapped in your blue eyes
in your sweet smell
and awing 
presence
and suddenly 
am at a loss
for any words.
any words at all. 

(II)

someone 
or something
whispers to me
when my heart feels like a creature
of so, so much sadness:

don't be so scared
of the 
things you love.

what can she mean?
i wonder.

well,
i never could say
what i wanted 
(to you, at least). 
i never could see
i never could see
the wave that rolled me under
until it was too late. 
until my pale feet 
were no longer sleeping on the shore
but pulled beneath the cold surface
floating
terribly alone
(suffocating in my pretend happiness)
in a cave
i'm sure was made by 
you
of course.

they say 
there is a gravity that is made
when you meet the one 
you're meant to be with.
the one your
heart wants to 
rest with 
theirs.
quickly, 
quicker than any reasonable 
force of nature
they will 
orbit
each other
creating forces of natures
of their own.

what they forget to tell you
before it's late like 
the ocean tide that pulls you,
is this gravity
goes two ways. 
you pull each other in.

so
if i dare say that 
i love you
(which i'm sure i do in some strange and beautifully elegiac way)
then that means 
within a potpourri of 
terrible
and wondrous things
i am pulled by the 
damning 
gravity of you
and you 
dear
love 
are stuck without one 
tempting to pull you in. 
you're stuck within
a gravity of your own
 without a trace of wanting to 
feel mine. 

that's okay.
we won't
so just don't.
don't pretend anymore
because i've learned 
it hurts more
than saying, 
"no."
or
"i don't."
"i never did."
or anything else
a human heart can think of
to hurt somebody deeply.

we won't
so just don't.
if you care
or if you ever cared
at all
lay a letter in my empty shoebox
and don't pretend to not stare
as you see the hot tears roll from my eyes like burning summer collapsing 
into autumn.
if you ever cared
even just for one second
pry my 
fingers from my tired face
and tell me softly
when it is over. 

-k.p.b.

post script:
to anyone that finds this
and knows exactly what it means
bury it.
burn it with your tears
and forget the loneliness that plagues you so. 
be brave. 
forget the ones
that give you strings
when all you need
all you ever wanted
were wings. 
be brave. 
it's easier than hurting yourself over things you can't control. 
i promise. 
find your wings
and learn to fly 
instead of fall. 

april 28, 2016
8:07PM
thursday
rainy day
(don't go away)














young summer {songs of my heart}

It was all a thrill
I got locked in but I had to go
The balcony was closed, but our minds were open
And it was touch
Feel me breathe in
Go on and touch, don't think too deep in
Don't be so scared of the things you love


{Chorus}
Diving into waves over deeper waters
Fools from far away close enough to fall in
Well I never could say, I never could say again
What I wanted
I never could see, I never could see the waves that rolled you under
That rolled you under

{Verse 2}
It hits me still when you're distant
Out there alone
While the world is stretched we go
But this time holding strong
Without the rush you still feel me breathe in
The loss is cut, don't think too deep in
Don't be so scared of the things you love

{Chorus x2}

Diving into waves over deeper waters
Fools from far away close enough to fall in
Well I never could say, I never could say again
What I wanted
I never could see, I never could see the waves that rolled you under
That rolled you under

Diving into waves over deeper waters
Fools from far away close enough to fall in
Well I never could say, I never could say again
What I wanted
I never could see, I never could see the waves that rolled you under
That rolled you under

Monday, April 25, 2016

thoughts in the library: part i

I looked at you and wanted to kiss your face.

The dark night sky fell inside the car window as we drove and we were close enough to make me nervous (which of course, in strange reality, is not that close at all) but we were listening to something, a voice, a song, the kissing tires against the asphalt--I don't remember. 

I remember seeing you. I remembering forgetting the sound trapped within the car and the soft pressure of music against my dull ears, for a moment.

The small but powerful feeling of yearning to push my lips on your innocent cheek 
unsettled me.

It wasn't hard 
nor forceful. 

It was soft 
yet formidable.

I was, for a moment, swimming in the tide of looking at you and getting lost in such an overwhelming impulse of the moment. I don't know what I was thinking as my eyes swam toward you. (Well, I was obviously thinking about you) I simply lost myself in the labyrinth of an unexpected idea, an innocent and sweet thought, and my reality somehow ran far, far away from me...

Strange, the imprint a feeling you've never felt before leaves on you. Like a mossy footstep in the earth it presses against your pounding heart as if it were a sponge, a mark that never leaves you. Sometimes turning into a scar.

It frightened me 
the way it was so natural--wanting to kiss your cheek.

It scared me.

It scares me how it almost happened without a thought if it was wrong or right.

It scares me thinking about it now,
perhaps because it was innocently powerful
and perhaps because I still yearn to do it. 

Or perhaps because
I almost did.

I almost kissed you.

-k.p.b.

(I)
April 5 2016
Tuesday

rock me back to sleep

Last night
I had a dream.
I had a dream like no other I've ever had before it.

I was in a white dress
the kind that every girl dreams of
with lace
and trains
and dribbles of delicate fabric.
It felt beautiful on me
and I confess I've never dreamed of anything like it before
but it wasn't important.

The room was small
and riddled with dark wood,
cream colored roses with lush green leaves drooping down
and unlit candles
for day time was peaking through the windows.

I wasn't alone.
He was there,
who ever he was
standing close to me
with dark hair
and brown eyes
and a nature I could never forgive
nor forget
as long as I lived.

I was happy.
My heart felt full inside this dream,
this reality of sleeping.

I remember I took his hand in mine
the overwhelming excitement of the moment flooding within me and I
counted every one of his fingers
while telling him the things I loved most about him
and as I kissed each one of those fingers
and felt a love I did not even knew existed until that moment
I promised him something,

"I promise you," I whispered with my lips on his fingers and my eyes up at his,
"I promise you that I will love you wholly, that I will cherish everything about you and I will always try. I promise I love you.
I promise."

And there it was
the moment of crossing a barrier
that until that moment of
really dreaming
I had only heard about.
But I felt it.
That strong stirring in my heart
as the words escaped me
I meant it.
I could tell by how much it hurt when nothing followed it.
When he did not follow me.

He looked at me
with those brown eyes
I think I knew very well
and I wondered how anyone could want me
here beside them
marrying them
and sharing them forever.

But this thought was short lived
as I waited happily for his promise
in return.

I waited for a moment so filled with joy
but then something changed when I realized
no promise was coming.
He had looked away
toward a window
or candle
or something
while I talked,
while I poured my heart into his warm fingers.

He didn't say a word back.

Suddenly my eyes began to follow every inch of him
earnestly hoping to find some trace of promise hidden
within his pockets
or his suit
his hair
or his tie.

Nothing was found.

I leaned in
pushing softly my lips against him
but they grazed his jawline
only just missing the lips
he pulled away from me.

What had happened?
Didn't he want to marry me as we
stood in a room together
surrounded by staring flowers
and unlit candles
and warmth of sunlight?
Why on earth was he here if not
 because he loved me?

No.
He did not.
He didn't want me.
I don't know why he was there
waiting in a room filled with one full heart
and one desperately empty.

What happened in this dream
to wake me from my slumber?
To pull me from my warm white blankets
and into the drowsy morning world?

The answer is a bit tricky.
You see
even though he didn't want me
even though it seemed
maybe only a sliver
of his heart belonged to me
I still wanted it.
I wanted him.
More increasingly I wanted him
to want me.

But he didn't want me.
So I tried to understand.
I tried to think of the euphoric love
I felt while kissing his fingers
and I tried to feel again.

I awoke before I found out if I felt it.
I awoke wanting to fall back asleep
and somehow find he loved me
and wanted to feel it too.
I tried to rock me back to sleep
to feel that warmth,
comfort,
and undeniably desirous feeling
once more.

But I woke up.

It would be foolish
and unqualified to say that
it never happened
or never will happen again.
It is a dream, true
and
after all
dreams can change at
any moment.

But dreams
against common belief
are powerfully
purposefully
embedded with truth.
They are the echo of
the things
and people
and moments we desire most
sometimes before we even realize it.

Just because
we're sleeping while they occur
doesn't mean
it isn't
real.

Perhaps,
your dreams only
come true
only manifest themselves before you
when you are not sleeping
only when
you're ready.

Only when you stop
pretending they
aren't real in conscious reality
and are only
real
while you're sleeping.

-k.p.b.

April 25th
2016
Monday
2:10PM
while it is raining tempestuously

Friday, April 15, 2016

avatar

They say, "Love is harder when you're young."
I stop for a long while.
I never knew a cartoon for kids
could penetrate me so personally.
I love being wrong
when this is how I feel.
As if someone understands.
As though I have wings and I am not going to be alone forever.
As if I have changed for the better but am still the same girl.
It means so much. Why does it mean so much?
It's just a cartoon.
But to me
it's indefinitely more.

-"yip yip."
written april 7, 2016
part I

Thursday, April 14, 2016

my ring turned back to silver

Today is Thursday April 14, 2016.
I didn't think I would be awake today, but to be fair I also didn't think I would fall asleep last night either. It wasn't easy, so I won't pat myself too hard on the back, but I will say today feels miraculous. I woke up this morning to an empty bed that felt too big for me to be in alone, like it was drowning every ounce of me. The room I slept in was quiet. Still. Missing a lot of things that once made it happy, bright and alive. The room that is mine is cluttered with all the scraps of paper I used to think were so inspiring, but now just seem a little too kiddish to be covering my walls. They're both so different. It hurts too much to think about yesterday, but I know I have to. I have to face it. I have to write so someday someone will know that there is someone who understands them, someone who feels close to how they feel. So they are not alone, as I feel so right now. But it's okay. I know it's okay to feel this way sometimes, but it helps when you can read a few words that make you hang on just a little longer before you crash. I think writing doesn't erase the fall but helps soften the landing, even just a little.
Let me begin with two nights ago, the night my dear twin Rachel was set apart as a missionary for the church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints. After we spent the day eating J-Dawgs as a family (Bridger and Cami included) we adventured up to the very spot Rachel received her first kiss, Stewart Falls, hiking through slushy snow and muddy terrain. The air was slightly cool, dusk approaching us but it didn't matter. I could've stayed on that hike forever if it meant more time with my dear Rachey. I remember so much laughter and joy and conversation it could've paved the path we walked on far longer than it stretched. We hiked single file but we hiked close together like a family should. I laughed as Rach kept telling me to quit stepping on the back of her shoes and Bridger for me to stop kicking snow down his socks and I'm sure everyone else could find something wrong I was doing (as that really is my field of expertise) but it was hilarious. Rachel. Cami. Drewbe. Bridger. Alia. Sarah. Jessica. Dad. Me. I could've been there forever.
The top of the falls was lovely and I tried to picture little Rachie stopping here, scared and as innocent as she'll always be, stopping for a kiss and coming home to tell me a couple nights later. It was sweet. I reveled in the moment of sliding down the rocks, climbing up its spine and talking to my family as the earthly horizon was unfolded before my eyes like a withered map. It didn't ask for anything but was appreciated just the same. So beautiful. So quiet. I watched a little bird scurry its way up the gushing waterfall unsure of what it was doing, but thankful it was in this blissful moment just the same. We talked. We laughed. We even were challenged to a "Survivor Reward Challenge" by Dale and were surprised when Drew, Bridger, Dad and I were the only ones to try it (the latter was the only to scurry from the water like a scared little girl). I think I surprised the boys, but I wasn't about to let them win without a fight. In the end we called it a draw as our feet merely got numb after a biting coldness and then felt actually pretty good against the flowing water. The hike back was interesting as it was only Drew, Bridge and I but it was just as lovely laughing and talking as if this wasn't the last time we'd be together for a while.
We journeyed home and after a car ride of Cami, Bridger, Rachel and I listening to our music and talking all together for the last time--she had to say goodbye to both of them. Bridger lost a spark when she hugged him in the Smith's parking lot for the last time and I could tell he was more sad than he would probably admit. It broke my heart a little. Then Cami said goodbye at her house and broke it even more (she came over later for her last goodbye but it still hurt every time). After heading home for perhaps the last time with Ray driving next to me, music playing, the same old houses going by and me crying my stupid eyes out until it hurt my heart began to split. We ate tacos for dinner and before I knew it Stake President Richards was over and she was a missionary. Our family thought it would be a good idea to our birthday tradition of going around one by one saying what we love most about the birthday person, in this case Rach and I (as they missed it because of Justin and Jessica's wedding). I thought there was no better time than tonight. Everyone took a turn, talking of me first, even my grandparents and quickly I started to feel my heart swell and swell until it flowed over quite a bit, spilling tears all over Rachel's puffy sweater I was wearing. It was good I did for it was a perfect sweater to wipe gallon-sized tears on. They all said things I felt were not true, too good, too nice and honest, but my mother told me I think too little of myself. I think she's right. I remember my grandmother called me a sparkle, so beautiful and so many of my family members talked about my eyes, my father about how loving they are and my huge heart. Justin penetrated my dear heart so deeply when he called me the little sister he always wanted and comforted me when he saw me sobbing the rest of the night. (Levi was such a dear too.) They really are too kind. I don't always feel like a good person and hearing all these things made me feel uncomfortable for how undeserving I am, but loved. Very loved. Suddenly they were talking about Rachey and how joyous she is, a light, a radiant spirit who's love touches everyone she meets. She could walk in a room and you'd feel her light no matter what, it's that strong. Then it was my turn to talk. I'd already been crying all night, but this--this was a whole different level of crying.
This was weeping.
As I looked into her dear eyes and felt the pangs of sorrow and joy overtake me, I was left speechless for a moment soaking in the perfect words I knew did not exist to describe my love and view of my dear sister. My words were no where near what I had planned or hoped to say, but I know they were filled with love starting from the beginning of our life as twins and best friends and ending with a truth of missing her, but loving her decision to the right thing more. She really is the bravest girl I know. I look up to her more than she knows and she makes me a better person than I've never been or would never have been without her in my life and I'm so thankful she is my sister. There is no one I would rather have as my twin than Rachel. Of that I am more certain than anything else in my life.
We spent the rest of the night as a family, eating Tillamook ice cream, talking, laughing and sometimes crying. Cami came over and said her last goodbyes while Drew and I talked by the piano and he helped me realize a lot of things about myself that I needed to uncover. Now there is no where to hide from the person that is staring at me in the mirror, and even though I'm afraid, I'm excited. I'm sad. I'm alone. I'm learning how to grow by myself. Thanks for helping me big brother.
The night went quickly as I stayed up late talking to Drew and Rachel to my parents, but after a swallow of a sleeping pill for her and a dose of strange reality for me, we fell asleep in her big "magic carpet" bed and it wasn't strange how little we talked or how we didn't hold hands. It was like every other night we spent together. Natural. Happy. Dark. Everything was packed up tight and with the next morning coming early (by Benson time, that is) I tried hard not to think about how hard it was going to be when I woke up. It was hard enough falling asleep next to the one person I don't want to wake up to gone, but Heavenly Father is always kind to me. He helped us both sleep through the night peacefully. We woke up the next morning and it was an overcast day. I prayed for rain that morning, knowing if it was going to be a difficult and long day, at least a little rain could help it be a little better and I'll tell you I wasn't disappointed. I wrote a small, but encouraging letter for Rachel's first day at the MTC, slipping my favorite photo of us in the whole world (I didn't want her to know about it until she needed it so it made it into her day bag secretly in the car later).We prayed for the last time as a family in the family room, Rachel received a blessing and together Ray and I rode in the car, just us two, until we dropped Alia's car at the shop and met at IHOP for breakfast. I didn't cry yet. I was trying to be strong, but I was also conflicted with so many emotions. I could tell Rachel was being strong, but she was scared too. She was anticipating and dreading saying goodbye. I could tell she wanted to be at the MTC so she wouldn't have to worry about saying goodbye anymore, so it would no longer be harder being here. I played her favorite hymns and her beloved EFY medley "Anxiously Engaged" while we were in the car and I decided I was going to lose it soon after breakfast as I was really a ticking bomb of emotion. I tried to stay strong all day, all week, all month really--sometimes losing it, but staying strong is hard when your sister is a master at it and you, sadly, are not. The food was good, my grandparent's stories about how they met and their sweet wisdom to Rachel and us all was greatly needed (even if grandma Pat admitted she was once a lingerie model...haha). Suddenly things began to become real. We stopped outside for a picture on the red bench, as we always do, and then we drove to the Prove temple and the second I saw the MTC, I'll admit, I lost it. I was gone.
The rain was falling, the air was cool and warm and I couldn't help but compare it to my heart that felt so cold and sad and completely broken while my tears slipped warm and hot down my cheeks. We started taking pictures with the temple behind us, Rachel's new home in front of us and the rain encasing all of us. It wasn't too formidable or hard, the rain that is, it was enough to make me realize my Heavenly Father isn't just watching over me. He's watching over all of us, Rachel, my parents, my siblings, my grandparents--all of us. I tried to keep my tears in for Rachey as we held each other in our last picture together for 18 months, and I tried to be strong as I held her hand lightly (as I know she isn't a touchy person) in the car as we drove to the MTC gate and even though I wept I told her, "You got this Ray. I know you do." Wow. I never knew my heart could feel so physically pained as it did when the gate went up and we went in and suddenly she was out of the car and I was staring at her wondering how anyone could be so beautiful and so close to perfect as my dear sister Rachel Benson. Amazingly enough, Josh our dear friend came running out of no where and met us all with a cordial handshake looking happier then I'd ever seen him in my life. I was elated. Then we squished for a picture and a flip in my stomach told me it was time. "It's time." It whispered sternly. "It's time to let go." My hand touched hers on her suit case one last time and the last thing I remember was her wave goodbye at her family and the back of her head walking into a new world, a new step in life that will change both of our once so intricately close together paths forever. Letting go of her hand was one of the hardest and easiest things I've ever done. I say hard for obvious reasons, but I say easy because I knew it was exactly what Ray needed and so no matter how much I hated it, it was easy to give her the last thing I could that would be physically helpful to her. No more hugs. No more squishing together in a bed. Just letting go of her hand. That was it.
I felt sorry for my family after that mainly because the tears that came from me after that drive away from my twin were immediately long, hard and unceasing. It was like my heart was being punched again, hard and slow and personally. I really couldn't help it. I had tried to be strong and dignified all day, but I just couldn't anymore. I at least kept my tears audibly quiet, but they were loud in many other ways. Ways only a twin, a sister, a best friend, a human, perhaps, just like me would understand. My misery was written on my face, my hands running tightly through my hair, my posture, but it was deeply riddled within my tears going beyond just goodbye drips of salt water. These tears held the sorrow of so many emotions, memories and worries of my life. If you could read the letters written on my tears you still wouldn't understand what they mean, where they came from and why they were falling out of my heart now. It was exhausting. I curled up against the window until I reached my sisters house, the whole ride filled with small pats on the shoulder and slight squeezes of the hand. I really do have the most amazing family. How they love me so and I how I adore and love them beyond words.
The last thing I did after Rachel left that was truly painful was curl up on a big brown couch with my headphones singing two songs softly and painfully inside of me as I cried the last uncontrollable tears from that goodbye: "Photograph" by: Ed Sheeran and "Kusanagi" by: Odesza . I would add a third, but I don't remember if I played it or if it was too painful, as the other two made tears leak from me harder than any other song in my young life ("Clair de Lune" by: Claude Debussy).
The rest of the day was fine (which could have a million definitions if you ask me) namely: getting Roxberry smoothies (always mango mango), driving in the rain with Drewbe, getting lost taking a "quick shortcut" on the back roads, being late to the movies, watching my new favorite movie "Zootopia" for the first time with Drew, Jessica and Justin, only hearing three other strangers in the theater laughing, and then going home to Survivor as usual and warm baked potatoes (which I ate even though I was unbelievably full). It was so weird. I kept feeling like I would see Rachel walk in the door soon or that she was just on her way home from work or something. I remember going up in her room, after I thought I was done crying and being sad for the day, only to walk into her dark room and crumble on the floor sobbing like a little baby. I couldn't stand it. The lamps came on then off again. I wanted to run my sad fingers over everything but a part of me didn't want to touch or ruin a single thing. I wanted to leave it as it was, but I wanted to have closure with it too. I was very conflicted. I ended up leaving her room for a couple hours to decompose my own room, which hadn't really been changed drastically in three or so years. I turned on calm and happy music, careful not to play too nostalgic of songs to set me off again and I peeled nearly everything off the walls and cleaned under my scary bed. I felt closure with many things, even if it wasn't saying goodbye to Rachel, it helped. My mom came in with baby Clair and talked about my happy room, my happy music and asked if I wanted to talk. "Not really...but I want to get it out." I talked with her for a long time about my life, about where it is going and how utterly clueless and mind-numbingly confused I feel about everything. I talked about my friends, my fear of not being enough to want them to stay. My whole life it's been me and Ray and most of our friends (not all) have been shared and I've always felt the better half has always been Rachel. Shes' the glue. She's the one they want to stay with and I'm the one who balances out the relationship. She is the glue. I am the weight. I am not bad and I'm not trying to degrade my role, but she has always been better, happy and kind. Always.  I know that. I'm seriously not doubting my worth, I'm just saying that she is the best human you'll ever be lucky enough to meet. That's all. So I cried about friends, fears, my future. I cried about crying and being selfish enough to worry about me when I should be worrying about Rachel--she is the one that has to leave her family, not me. She is the brave one. I cried too much it hurt. My mom cried too. She talked and it felt good to listen and understand that she has as many feelings and sorrows as I do, even if they're similar but not the same, it helps. After we both talked and cried and laughed, my mom looked at me and told me what I needed to hear. Which was a lot of things, but I know what I heard from it all. "Hope. Kiersten, you need hope."
So. I slept alone last night and literally cried myself to sleep. I didn't want to get out of bed or go to school or even think about working tomorrow. But you know what?  I felt something good today.
It's overcast today and it's rained a couple of times again since I ate my Honey-Nut Cherrios on the back porch and our tire went flat on my way to school and I was late to my class and I skipped one of them entirely while I sit here typing this instead, feeling it is infinitely more important. It's been raining and to be honest I don't know whether it is discouraging, being reminded of such a freshly painful day or if it comforting knowing someone, the most powerful and loving being in the world is watching over my sister and I.
I think I know which answer means more to me. Today I woke up and I was filled with something soft and warm and wonderful. Hope. Today I am filled with hope. Rain falls. Buds of green are bursting from trees and flowers are popping and birds are singing their songs and I am stopped at a realization as the Cheerios grow soggy in my milk. It is Spring now. Long Winter is over and life is returning to the world. Even yesterday someone in my family said to me as I told them I prayed for rain (probably my mother), "What does rain represent?" I was baffled. It means whatever people make of it, I thought. But she smiled and said, "Rain represents renewal. It is a new day. A fresh start. A beginning." She's right you know.
The rain brings life. I know from my bones to my books, from everything that I am created to be by my Father in Heaven that I am going to be more than okay on this difficult but exciting journey ahead of me. It is about time life started happening to me, rather than me running carefully in the dark hoping I don't break something. It's time I start living and I'm so happy Ray, my dearest and closest best friend can do just the same. I'm so thankful. So, so thankful for life, love, family and the rain.
Post Script: You may also be wondering about the title of this post: A few weeks ago my ring turned dark purple, blue, violet and bronze from the sulfur in the hot pots just before Josh left on his mission. I was pretty devastated at first. This sun ring means so much to me as it is my ring from Canon Beach in Oregon. Right when I got it I promised myself that it was my "hope ring", it was representing my promise to come back to Oregon and to to what is right for me in my life. The sun represents two special and most important people in my life: My Savior Jesus Christ and my twin Rachel. So when it was ruined my heart was broken. Moments after Bridger took my ring, looking at closely and said, "It's kind of cool. It will always remind you of this day." It actually made me feel a little better after he said that. I decided to be happy about it and I wasn't going to try and fix it. I kept wearing it even though it wasn't quite as pretty, but I thought about what Bridge had said. It made me smile whenever I looked at it. So a couple days went by and not much had changed but around the third day I noticed something was different. It was shining a little bit. I was elated! My ring was started to turn silver again without me even doing anything to it! At first, if you can believe it, I was a little sad. What Bridger said really meant something to me. I would never forget that day in the hot pots, the last real hoorah we had together as best friends and this "tainted" ring was somehow a reminder of all the change they had caused within my heart and all the wonderful and almost inexplicably perfect times we had together. I didn't want to lose the silver at first, then I didn't want to lose the purple either, but then I realized something as it is almost completely back to silver now. This ring really has been the perpetuation of hope for me--it's been there for years reminding me of a dream I know I have to follow, but now it is a symbol of all the hope I need in my life. For friends. For love. For myself. For my family. There is so much to see has hopeful in this world and I know it may not make sense but I know this ring, this symbol, this promise has helped me realize that. So, I named this post after it, even if it doesn't sound amazing, it means so much. That is what I have inside me now--no longer despair only, but hope.
True hope in life and in myself.

-Kiersten Pauline Benson 

"You" by: The 1975 (edited) >> For you, Rachey. I love you so much. Thanks for being my hope my whole life. I know now you always will be. Always.

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

"photograph"

hold me, please
let me press your photograph against my heart
and remember how much you love me too.
There are endless moments captured in a photograph,
a snap shot,
a painting of life,
a moment forever remembered;
"where our eyes are never closing
hearts are never broken"
always the same.
Always wholly untouched.

please don't leave me alone.
I need you, Rachie.
I need you so much.
You make me a person I wish I was without you here.
My teeth sink into my lips firmly,
biting back tears I promised I would not shed for you.
Not now.

But it hurts.
So much.
I need you more than I need whatever drives me everyday
because you are what makes me happy.
You are what reminds me what life is meant living for.

These days I try hard not to think about the day I'll have to say goodbye.
My mind pushes hard against drowning all alone in your big bed, hugging your pillows and searching the room for a sign that you are here
and not so far away.

We will always be beating hearts in the same rhythm,
but that doesn't make it any easier or harder to be without you.
I'm going to weep a lot these days,
I just know it.

But,
it's okay.

You are my better half, Ray.
You are my rasion d'etre.
I am useless without you.

But I know you wouldn't want me to feel this way.
I promise I will be strong.
And I never break a sister's promise.

But promise me something, please.
Keep me inside your pocket always,
remember me when you are far away under different stars than I am.
Hold me
when it gets hard.
Try to remember we will see each other soon enough.

I'll never let you go, Rach.
I'll wait for you everyday,
pray for you
and try to ignore the loud heartbeat that used to be so close to yours,
trapped close together in a warm room nearly nineteen years ago,
nine months sculpting a lifetime of love for each other,
reminding me of our distance for now.
I love you my dear, dear Rachel.
That is why I know it hurts so much.
Because I need you.
-kiersty bug

March 1, 2016 Tuesday 
11:56AM
Thinking about you, twin sister. 
Always missing you.

"Photograph" by: Ed Sheeran -- My song for missing you, first realized while riding in the car with you on a Sunday afternoon on our way home from Josh's house. It reminds me that I need you and I always will. Every picture of us is a moment we'll never take back, a moment we'll have forever. I'm happy beyond belief you of all people are my twin. Truly, you make me a better person than I could ever be without you. Truly. 

Thursday, April 7, 2016

Gloria Steinem

I used to care if my writing was good.
I used to waste time contemplating if it was good enough to post, if it was
too long, too short, too wordy, too personal, too ordinary, too much.
Now I just let my fingers flutter across the black keyboard as if they've done that the whole time.
Now I just listen to the beat inside of my heart and write down what it's saying.
Now I just don't care. I just feel.
-kiersten p. benson
march 31, 2016
12:04pm

Poetry & Goethe

I'm sitting in a desk
questioning the level of comprehension within these fellow students
minds.
They look so vacant.
Why don't they listen?
I wonder too much.
The professor calls to me
asking me why I have a little blue and black book of poetry out on my desk
and not the course textbook.
"What is it?" She spits with her German accent authoritatively.
I reply simply, "Only the best poet of our time, professor."
Her bushy eyebrows skyrocket to her hairline
and her thick glasses slip just a little as she loses her patience.
"And who would that be exactly? I take it he or she is German?"
I laugh politely.
"Not quite. Her name is Mary Oliver. She sort of...sings to my soul."
The squabbling professor laughs.
"Not German you say? Well then I'm afraid you are mistaken! Surely Wolfgang von Goethe is the greatest. Anyone would agree."
I smile. My dimples are threatening to show.
"Professor, you did not even ask me what this book was about."
She's baffled once more.
"You said it was poetry, did you not? I believe there is no question what it is about then."
I shrug a little and touch the smooth cover of the book I love so deeply.
Why don't they ever listen?
I sigh a little.
"Perhaps this book of poetry is about many things." My voice is unwavering, but tame as though I have whispered this in my sleep a thousand times.
"Perhaps it is about the meaning of life. About our existence as humans, our significance."
The room is quiet. The professor is staring.
"But, " I conclude, "it is poetry so perhaps it means exactly what is calling to your soul at the time you are reading it. That much nothing or that much something."
For a moment there is just the ticking of the clock and whirring inside the students chests.
Then the professor bravely speaks, "Do you mean to tell me that Goethe did not in fact write this poem?'
A smile.
"No, professor. That is precisely what I mean."

-Kiersten P. Benson
April 7, 2016
Thursday
12:55PM




thoughts in the library: part ii

How many times do I have to tell you
this world is too miraculous
to be forgotten?
You can fall in love with a thousand things a day
and still feel true love in each of them.
Who decides what is worth paying attention to inside this enchanting world
we are all miraculously apart of anyway?
Is it mom?
Is it dad?
No.
It's you.
There are people in this world who are there to help you find your way
who somehow make you better
and help you discover who you are
but in the end you are the only person who decides what that way is.
The Cheshire cat once asked Alice,
"Which way are you going?"
To which she replied with her two blonde braids swinging lightly from side to side,
"I do not know."
He probably stared at her in dumbfounded wonder for a while.
"Then it doesn't matter which way you go."

You know what?
I'm so angry right now.
My chest is whirring with some unnamed typhoon
I can feel is just waiting for me to explode.
It's just watching me with wondering eyes
as if it has nothing else in this world to do but watch me.
I hate when people stare at me that way.
Glittering eyes
brimming with penetration and unpersonal wanting.
As if I hold some kind of hell forsaken answer to their useless questioning.
Let me give you secret,
since that is all most humans seem to want these days,
I don't have the answers you are looking for.
I don't even have one pocket that isn't empty right now.
I'm just a girl with a book and
two big eyes that look for too much sometimes.
I am alone, okay?
Sometimes I just want to be left alone.
But sometimes I just want to be left alone with someone who really cares
and won't tell me what I want to hear
but what I need.
I don't need someone to save me.
I need someone to believe in me.
After all are those not completely different things?
Here I am sitting in one of the greatest places in the world
next to quietly thinking humans
and stacks of
books upon books,
large daylight stricken windows
and I'm not exactly happy.
I'm not exactly sad
or really mad.
I'm just angry
which I think is just another word for describing the experience of
too many emotions without names,
too many feelings to comprehend individually.
Yes, I'm angry.
I don't like feeling angry at all.
Anger leads to hurt and hurt leads to pain and sometimes pain leads to doing things
and saying things
we don't mean.
Being angry helps us lose our human side
and I don't like losing that precious part of me.
It helps in no other way.

I just want to be perfectly sad
or holistically happy for a moment
instead of all this
stuff.

I keep telling myself,
half desperately,
that humans are meant to function on their own.
Though I think a part of me knows that is true--that's just it.
That is only one part of a two piece truth.
Humans are also meant to be together.
We function alone but are made alive together.

We live when we find our other half, what ever or whoever that may be.
We aren't meant to be alone
forever.

"This pain is but a moment." He whispers to me.
He brushes my hair neatly behind my ear
as He knows exactly what
makes my heart feel alive.
"You dear one won't be hurt forever.
This is but a moment.
If you knew what beauty, what joy and unmitigated
love
is there for you
coming as sure
and slowly
and gracefully as the sunrise
you would take this pain lithely.

I know you are stronger than this.
You are capable of great
and terrible things.
What makes you different is the side you chose to host within yourself,
much like the moon.
It is worth deciding."

That is not at all how I feel.
I can see myself sitting by the ocean on a dark rock
the moon staring
at me too
and as my arms curl around my body
and I fold my legs into myself
I begin to forget
for a moment
that I've ever been hurt.
I just watch and wonder
the splendor of this earth.
I feel nothing but marvel.
But then something shifts like a rug pulled from under my bare feet.
I fall over slowly
and cry as the pain shoots up my bones
my arms
my legs
my head.
It throbs achingly.
The earth unwillingly smacks me
and I cry.
I cry so much the tears begin to be swallowed in heavy gulps
buckets of years and minutes
and days and nights
hours and seconds
of my life.

It isn't painful to gulp the tears but to see the time dissipate away from me.
To watch them run as if they have somewhere to be
than within me.
That too leaves me lonely.
I cry until I can't anymore, until the burning in my throat
is almost as ferocious as the burning in my heart.
Then as the moon begins to dip low into the water
and the sun begins to rise
I stand up for a moment
bravely taking in this vast world
and I sing.

At first the words don't come. The only thing that comes is sandpaper noise
a threatening voice erupting from within me.
I keep singing even though it is wretched and ugly
and sad.
Even though it tugs from within me
taking small pieces of me with it.
But I sing there long and devotedly,
so long
the song,
much like the tide shifting like the night before,
begins to change.
All at once it is glittering from me
the strings vibrating like soft petal wings.
It is beautiful and soft and pure.
Yet I swiftly realize it isn't me,
this soft uplift of music.
It is coming from somewhere behind me
just behind the ribcage around my heart
protecting it for so long.
It is another voice unlike my own.

Do I dare turn around?
Do I dare deny the music innately before me?
What do I do?

The thought stops here
as I never know who or what is behind me.
I still haven't figured it out.
So here I sit
typing away the words that seep from a dark
and lovely place inside me.
It is elegant
and lonely
and angry.

Tell me,
as you read this--whatever this is, poetry, prose, post, confession--
do you think me wise to feed the anger
or pretend it doesn't exist?
Or, perhaps,
those are not my only two options.
Perhaps there is more.
There is always more to think about.
Perhaps I'll turn around and sing some more.
Perhaps one day
I'll be braver.

-k.p.b.
4.7.2016 12.35PM
THURSDAY





Tuesday, April 5, 2016

a thought: part i

funny how it seems like yesterday
as I recall
you were looking out of place

-c.d.

Friday, April 1, 2016

my dad: a better man than most

we talked in the car
dad and I
driving in the dark
talked about our dreams while we ate simple american food
like waffle fries
and ketchup.

I listened to the way he talked about Europe
about mountains and Himalayans
and food.

we talked simply
but happily,
laughing together often
and smiling much.

it was wonderful.

talk of countryside Italy, France, Germany, Switzerland, England (in that order)
I, of course, of old cathedrals
and musuems
of art and history
and suddenly he talks about all the museums he went to on his free day in Sweden
of the countless old churches
he sat in
at least five hundred years old.
Finland, Denmark, Norway. he's been there.

incredible.

I could be trapped in that moment forever
and be happy.

dad and I talking
like nothing else mattered
like I didn't have to take a test when I got home
or go to sleep like normal people
or push a boy from my mind.
like there would never be a day
he wasn't there for me
driving in the dark
talking about the life we might never get to see together,
always alive in that moment (a calm light quivering over the calm of his face from the passing cars in the dark)

just us two.
forever.

isn't that the idea of heaven anyway?

October

6

Look, I want to love this world
as though it's the last chance I'm ever going to get
to be alive
and know it.

7

                                                        One morning
the fox came down the hill, glittering and confident,
and didn't see me--and I thought:

so this is the world.
I'm not in it.
It is beautiful.

-m.o.