letters to the person i was (Edited Font)
Page 5
but none of it sounds poetic
none of it sits well on the tongue
so i've tried to twist it all
tried to stir the dictionary the way
i stir the morning tea i can never finish.
i'm writing poems i can never finish
i'm feelings things that won't ever end
so screw the poem
screw the trying to make it sound nice
screw making the bed
fluffing the pillows
folding the blankets
if it doesn't sit well
then let it stand
screw the hospitality
these are the missing words:
i have been trying to tell you
that i don't want to feel what i feel
that i overthink
that i overdo
and that i don't regret any of it.
that i eat skittles because
parts of me are so bitter
i'm convinced the sugar
will somehow melt into me
that my body will absorb
only the sweet parts
and you won't have to
taste the harshness
i've hidden so well.
so screw the poem
i just want to tell you
that i don't want to feel what i feel
but even that isn't coming out right
because those words aren't strong enough
they don't tell you how i grind my bones at night
create this dust out of all my broken
swallow it
and hope to regrow new limbs
that haven't been to the places i've been
but it never works.
instead i'm bent over on my knees
throwing up every attempt to recreate myself
so screw the poem.
screw the poem that never says
what i want it to say.
03/19/2016
the summer of 2008
looked a little more like an ice storm.
you heard words
that should've only belonged
in graveyards
funeral homes
hospital beds.
you heard them more times
than you heard
your mother's maiden name.
you craved their sound
but your voice still cracked
every time your tongue
prepared itself for them.
the summer of 2008
was a little less than perfect.
i lied.
a lot less.
but the endless phone calls
and the sirens
screamed
the words you needed to hear
not the graveyard ones
but the growing garden
empty forests
flowing waterfall ones.
the hopeful ones.
they told you
“it'll pass. it'll pass”
and when you screamed back
you said “i know”
even though
you didn't have a damn clue.
04/14/2016
you're going to lose her
and him
and yourself
“but it will be so beautiful”
they say.
like scattering the pieces of who you are
around the universe
hoping someone will find them
create a map of you
and fall in love.
hoping someone will listen to your story
the way you listen for the ocean
in shells you rummage through the sand for.
hoping someone will put you back together
mail you everything you lost along the way
so you can be whole again.
but your trips to the post office
are only leaving you emptier than before.
you're relying on someone out there
to recreate you
to build you up again
to make you better than you were.
but you can do it all yourself.
05/23/2016
you're going to cry away december
In the empty forest
you never walked through
because you knew better.
and when you get there
you're going to enter
axe in hand
ready to tear down the trees
you watched grow
every time you took the long way
because you didn't want to disturb the monsters
you thought lived inside that place
but they didn't
they lived inside you
and you know that now.
but you do this out of rage
because you've lost everything
you've ever held dear
and this is how you let it all out
so you're going to tear apart the beehives
and listen to them scream
for their home that no longer exists.
“you are like me”
you'll tell them
“i do not have a home either
but at least you can fly.”
and then suddenly
you'll fall.
you'll dig your nails into the dirt
lean against the boulders
and hear a familiar voice somewhere
telling you that
what lies inside this forest is
too heavy for you
too big for you
too painful for you to carry.
and when you hear this
i need you to scream back
i need you to speak into the emptiness
that surrounds you
and say
“i'll find love here
because it hides in the things that are
too heavy for me
too big for me
too painful for me to carry
and when i do
i'll Wrap my arms around it
ask it if it's lost
and tell love that it can stay with me
if it is
and we can build a new home together.”
06/10/2016
walking away from her
was the first step you took
toward healing
since the day her tornado
met your earthquake
and caused disaster.
don't ever be sorry for it.
06/11/2016
may your sadness
be your north star
may it help you
find your way back
to tomorrow
may it act as your parachute
not your anchor.
feel it
but don't let it take you over.
learn to love it
accept it
but don't let it build a home
inside you.
let it be
like your first love
there
but only for a little while.
and like your first love
let it go.
you are better off.
05/22/2017
when you wake up one morning
half the bed untouched
while your half
the aftermath of a restlessness
you never thought you'd feel
get up anyway.
learn to live without.
because things
or people
or feelings
stay
or they go.
they're either here
or they're not.
and most times
the not wins.
but you learn
how to live anyway
how to let go
without losing yourself
how to adapt to loneliness
and to a new kind of quiet.
you start making tea instead of coffee
pouring in half a bottle of honey
and downing your boiling mug
like it's the lemonade
your mother used to make for you.
you paint your room white
instead of the blue it was.
you hang up new posters
take new pictures
to replace the ones
you can no longer look at.
this is what you do when they leave.
things
or people
or feelings.
you get up
and you learn to live without.
after caitlyn siehl's “it ends or it doesn't”
06/03/2017
to be at peace while running.
to like running.
to rip pieces out
and not bleed
to not want to bleed.
to bite your tongue
and pull out teeth.
to not need them anyway.
to not want them back.
to be the tin man.
to erase your past
without erasing you.
to be okay.
to stop believing in this
mudslide of maybes
and to still be okay.
08/12/2017
at first
love was something
you thought you knew inside out
like the way your hands
know their way around empty canvases.
you thought you knew
that love was empathetic
that it was fullness
that it was gentle.
but the years challenged you
they tried to convince you
that love couldn't stitch your wounds
that love couldn't cure your tiredness
that love couldn't bring you happiness.
and you thought the years
just might've been right.
but believe me
there is love here
somewhere
the good kind
the kind that won't stitch your wounds
but instead makes you numb to the hurt
the kind that won't cure your tiredness
but instead makes you never want to sleep
the kind that won't bring you happiness
but instead gives you the courage
to create it on your own.
look for this love.
and hold it when you find it.
08/27/2017
i want to tell you more than anything
that good people stay
but they don't
and i'm still trying to figure out
if that means they aren't good
or if you aren't good
no
scratch that
you are good
you are more than good.
you are enough.
but i'm still trying to figure out
why they leave
where they go
and when they'll come back
no
scratch that
if they'll come back.
i want to tell you more than anything
that good people stay
but they don't.
i can tell you though
that you don't need them.
that you only need you.
that you are whole
and full
all on your own.
that you aren't someone's better half
or someone's missing puzzle piece.
you are whole
and full
you are two sides of a coin
black and white
wood and fire
perfect
and imperfect.
i want to tell you more than anything
that good people stay
but they don't.
and you don't need them anyway.
09/07/2017
there are times
i want to sit down
and write you an entire encyclopedia
maybe map out the next 10 years for you
tell you which shortcuts not to take
and which turns to avoid
because finding your way in the dark
is anything but easy.
but i never do.
i'm sorry that you're travelling blindly
and i'm sorry that i'm there
staring.
“careful”
i whisper
“watch your step.”
but i know you can't hear me.
i never wrote you an encyclopedia
or drew you a map
but i'm writing you this
to tell you that you'll make it
that it never really is the end of the road
no matter how dark it may seem.
10/12/2017
they'll shame sadness
like it's a misspelled tattoo
and then wonder why your smile
is never as real as it should be.
or as it used to be.
but either way
they'll tell you to hide your broken parts
to rub makeup over your scars
plant flowers on your tongue
to stop your words
from sounding like swords.
“you aren't perfect”
they'll say.
“but you will be
once your laugh is a little louder
a little more believable.”
but they're wrong.
“you aren't perfect”
they'll say
over and over
until it starts to sound
like that radio tune you hate
but can't get out of your head.
and when they do
i need you to scream
“i am i am i am.
sadness and all.
i am perfect.”
011/13/2017
you'll heal suddenly and overnight.
you'll heal when you fall in love
with new colours and new cities.
when you stop listening to sad songs
and start listening to your thoughts
instead of running away from them.
you'll heal when you stop running.
when you stop running from the noise
and from the past
and from the happiness.
you'll start healing the day you stop
loving the people you shouldn't love.
and the day you start loving yourself.
11/15/2017
when you were a girl
you wanted to dig
for the things
you couldn't find in others
or yourself
or anywhere.
but now you have more
than your hands<
br />
can carry.
and you'll wonder
what strengthens bone
what heals broken skin?
and you'll ask
“why can't my veins
withstand all the weight?”
you'll turn to eveyone
who's hurt you
and say
“have you seen my blame
my guilt
my damage?
have you seen all the things
i found digging through dirt?
and would you call it treasure?”
no matter what they say
the answer is yes.
yes. yes. yes.
i would call it gold.
after misha abarbanel's “archeology”
12/09/2017
he's a mixture of too loud
and mostly quiet all at once
and you'll figure this out
when you talk and talk
because silence never sits
quite well with you does it
and he doesn't say much back
but you can see his eyes
and they're studying you
with so much noise
and you can see his smile
and it reminds you
of the streets back home
on graduation day
and this screws with you a little
because he's standing right in front of you
and you're okay
with hearing your voice only for once
and it's because you feel safe here.
but you look around
and nothing is familiar
it isn't home
but it sure as hell feels like it
and this is the part of the story
where i apologize
over and over
because this is where
you lose yourself
for the first time ever
and this time
i can't spoil the ending for you.
02/11/2018
when the sadness arrives
invite it in
before it has a chance
to ring the doorbell.
tell it you've been
waiting for it to come.
check your watch once
and then don't check it again.
make small talk.
then talk big.
and while you do this
the happiness will eavesdrop
and the happiness will get antsy.
let it.
but do not ask it to leave.
03/09/2018
i'm sorry that everything
you've read thus far
has been heart-wrenching.
i don't think i'm being fair.
life hasn't been all that bad
even though i've painted it to be