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Everything seemed good, but I knew it had the potential to be awful.

Jay Asher

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Jay Asher
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: September 30
Novelist
Writer
Arcadia
California
Awful
Potential
Seemed
Knew
Everything
Good

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You told me I wrote that poem because I was afraid of dealing with myself. And I used my mom as an excuse, accusing her of not appreciating or accepting me, when I should have been saying those words into a mirror.
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A flood of emotions rushes into me. Pain and anger. Sadness and pity. But most surprising of all, hope.
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She wants to believe my excuses so bad. Every time I lie, she wants to believe me so much.
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If I had a chance with him, I missed it. No, I didn't miss it. I threw it away.
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If my love were an ocean, there would be no more land. If my love were a desert, you would see only sand. If my love were a star- late at night, only light. And if my love could grow wings, I'd be soaring in flight.
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And what if in the future we're at war again, or we still haven't elected a non-white or non-male president, or the Rolling Stones are still dragging their tired old butts on stage? That would depress me way too much.
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Josh will begin disappearing into a future where the only place he and I remain friends is on the Internet.
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Did the poet use red to symbolize blood? Anger? Lust? Or is the wheelbarrow simply red because red sounded better than black?
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I want to look back. To look over my shoulder and see the Stop sign with huge reflective letters, pleading with Hannah. Stop!
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A week went by and nothing. But eventually, as they always will, the rumors reached me. And everyone knows you can't disprove a rumor.
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Teens in the '90s had the same basic desires as they do now.
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That's what I love about poetry. The more abstract, the better. The stuff where you're not sure what the poet's talking about. You may have an idea, but you can't be sure. Not a hundred percent. Each word, specifically chosen, could have a million different meanings.
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Maybe it's not as important to you as it was for me, but that's not for you to decide.
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The road to publication is like a churro - long and bumpy, but sweet.
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I left. When I should have stayed.
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When you try rescuing someone and discover they can't be reached, why would you ever throw that back in their face?
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And it feels strange, almost sad, to walk through ther empty halls. Each step I take sounds so lonely.
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You can hear rumors. But you can't know them.
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Maybe it didn’t seem like a big deal to you Zach. But now, I hope you understand. My world was collapsing. I needed those notes. I needed any hope those notes might have offered. And you? You took that hope away. You decided I didn’t deserve to have it.
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And what about you-the rest of you-did you notice the scars you left behind? No. Probably not. Because most of them can't be seen with the naked eye.
Jay Asher