letters to the person i was (Edited Font)
Page 7
does he get nervous?
does he like to see you smile?
i mean
does his brain jump when you do?
does he think before he speaks to you?
part of me hopes he does
and the other part hopes he doesn't.
ask him though
if he likes spending time with you.
i mean
doing nothing
but also doing everything.
and if the answer is yes
does he like it the same way he likes
strawberry ice cream
and expensive leather jackets?
does he ever look at you
and watch time skip ahead?
if he does
what does it look like?
are you laughing
or are you arguing
or both?
and does he ever hit rewind
and rewatch old memories?
i hope he does
because i know you do
you do
and even if he doesn't
i know you hit rewind enough times already
for the both of you.
but does he thank god
or the universe
or his feet
for taking all the rights steps
that have led him to you?
and if so
does he do this enough?
do you do this enough?
have you found the right way yet?
have you found the right words?
write him a poem
or draw him a picture
or talk to him until the seasons change
anything that says
“thank you
thank you
thank you
for all the things you've done for me
and for all the things i know you'll still do.”
10/03/2018
i keep wondering
why we give away parts of ourselves
that we actually need.
i used to have this bad habit
that i simply called
“loving the right way”
where i told people that
i loved them with all my heart.
but i don't love them
with all my heart anymore.
i don't ever want to either
and i wouldn't call that
“loving the right way.”
i'd call it reckless
and dependent
and something more like
playing hide and seek
in an open field.
i don't love this way now.
i love in different ways
in ways that are kinder
in ways that help me nurse myself
and in ways that keep me whole.
and if love ever had a right or wrong
if there was ever any part of love
that followed rules
or routines
or some sort of universal code
then this would be it.
this would be how to love the right way.
11/02/2018
here
in my hands
is this treasure chest collection
of the things i want to give you.
old poetry on napkins
band aids
words that have fallen from my mouth
but not far enough for any ear to hear.
here
lies everything i'm afraid of.
everything i want you to see
but don't want you to see.
everything i want to tell you
but don't want you to know.
everything i want you to tell me
but wonder if you ever will.
here
right here
lies the time i've wasted
on people who didn't deserve it
and here
i wonder if you'll do the same
waste your time on me
or with me.
here
i wonder
if you have a
treasure chest collection too
and if you do
will i ever get to see it?
12/27/2018
i've been wondering
how to describe love to you
because i told you before
that i wasn't really sure
but i kind of have an idea now.
i saw someone today
just an ordinary man
drinking an ordinary coffee
but he made this face
after taking the first sip
and even though it was 8:00 am
on a gloomy tuesday morning
it still made me giggle
and the first thing i wanted to do
was tell him about it.
i think that's love.
01/21/2019
there's something about his hands.
how they remind you of those plants
that twirl the way snakes do
wrapping themselves around anything.
there's something about his smile too
kind of like peach applesauce
hitting the back of your throat
after a long day of yelling at people
you only want to hug
because you see your soft rebellion in them.
you see it in him too.
mostly when he tells you
you aren't doing good enough.
and he doesn't say it
because you aren't doing good enough.
he says it because good enough isn't good enough.
there's something about his past
something comforting
how he's only been to places you haven't
and don't really intend on going.
but there's something comforting about that.
how you know you aren't missing out
because he already has stories
and souvenirs
and red pins to mark it all.
you do too though
but from different places
he probably won't go either
because there's just something about him.
something different.
something new
something like roads less travelled.
there's just something.
01/25/2019
you're going to dream of him
and wake up
with a deck of cards up your sleeve
to try to prove
you're made of magic.
out of habit
you'll cough up poems
spit them out into the sink
and try to shake off words
that taste of bitter coffee
and him.
but you like bitter coffee.
you also like museums
and gardens
and illusions
and you'll learn
just by the way he says your name
that he does too.
you're going to dream of him
and wake up feeling around the room
in the dark
for your inhaler
because when he smiles
your lungs mistake the air for smoke.
he'll tell you to breathe
but your tongue will panic
blurt out an incoherent sentence
but it will make him laugh
<
br /> and he'll stand a little closer.
you're going to dream of him
and in this dream
i swear he'll look into your eyes
and see a phoenix.
i swear he'll smell the fire
and watch you brush off ashes
and in this dream
i swear he won't hold you
like you're broken.
i swear he won't play 52 pickup
when you hug him and he realizes
the memories you're trying to hold on to
are now scattered on the floor
and in this dream
you're made of magic
and don't need to prove it.
02/02/2019
the longer you stare at him
the more he starts to look like a cliché
like a bad love poem
you'd probably find written on a dirty napkin
in some old coffee shop
you only visit on days you crave noise.
those days are few and far between.
so you shift your attention to something else
grab his hand tighter
and sift through his fingers
like they're a deck of cards
and you're a magician with a few tricks up your
sleeve.
but you're not.
and the only tricks you have
are disappearing and breaking people in two.
does that count?
the longer you stare at him
the more he starts to look like a cliché
but he is nothing of the sort.
so you begin thinking in metaphors
and his eyes turn into the windows on an airplane
the entire sky shining through
and everyone's shoving elbows for a glance.
his heartbeat quickens
causing turbulence and forcing your arms
to turn into seatbelts
and suddenly
you're carrying a ticket to somewhere
and a passport with your name on it
and the entire universe
reconfigures itself into a bucket list
each country a small box
waiting to be checked off.
he is getting out of hand.
he becomes a metaphor
or a simile
or an analogy
and you start
frantically ripping dictionary pages
in search of words worthy enough
but none are
and you're left with nothing
but the spine of a book
limbs torn completely
and you wonder if this is it.
the not-so-cliché way he makes you feel
limbless
a poet with no words on her tongue
a magician with no tricks up her sleeve
a book with no pages.
he becomes a metaphor
and for the first time ever
your words aren't
big enough
loud enough
don't hold enough meaning
to describe everything he is
and this should scare you
but for the first time ever
it won't.
02/11/2019
he wants you to love him
like your lungs love air
but that isn't good enough
is it?
you want something stronger
something more like
“i love you the way i love weekends:
desperately and with everything i have.”
no actually
“i love you like yellow rain boots
and coats that keep me dry
when i face the storm.”
scratch that
try this:
“i love you like good music
on long country car rides”
like “can you roll the window down?”
and “pull over so i can
dance on the side of the street.”
something more like
“let's leave our car parked here
walk nowhere and
see if it all still
feels the same at sunrise”
and “i love you
like tire tracks on dirt roads
like longing
like fulfillment.”
or try this:
“i don't love you like
lungs love air because
i don't love you like necessity.
i love you like privilege.”
02/12/2019
he's the kind of light you'll only read about
in sci-fi novels.
you know
the one where 40 red suns shine against the earth
except the earth is a sphere made of mirrors
so the light shines back
bounces off anything and everything
and before you know it
the universe turns into a kaleidoscope.
i've never been good at science though
so i'm not sure if that's exactly how it works
but do you understand?
do you understand that
he's a light that doesn't play by the rules
one that leaks into the darkness
one that will leak into your darkness.
do you understand?
do you understand that
you'll start collecting jars
the day you meet him
that you'll start letting fireflies free
trying to chase him like you chased them
trying to keep him with you
so you can stare at his light up close
in awe
and thankful.
in awe and forever thankful.
do you understand?
02/14/2019
in your dream
you fall asleep on the kitchen floor
using the heat of the oven to keep you warm.
you leave the blinds up
and let the leftover rush hour traffic
sink into the windows
but in your dream
the windows are made of sugar
and you're on the highest floor
and you're not afraid of heights
and in your dream
you wake up to the smell
of french toast and chocolate chips.
he grabs the maple syrup
while you let the dishes stay dirty
let the bed stay unmade
let the past stay messy
let the future stay hidden.
he grabs the maple syrup
while you
for the first time
just let it all be
and in your dream
you eat through your sugar windows
and you keep the oven on
and pretend it's your own little fireplace
even though it's spring outside
and you let the days bleed into each other
and you throw out calendars
and you throw out clocks
and you just let it all be.
and in your dream
there are no scientific rules
and there are no dictionaries either
so in this dream
if you were to tell him you love him
you'd say something like
“have you ever heard of a lion?
have you ever seen an elephant?
/>
imagine a lion as big as an elephant
as heavy
and imagine it roar
in an empty place.
can you hear the echo?
can you hear the noise?”
and in this dream
he'd know exactly what you're talking about
and he'd smile and say
“i elephant-sized lion roar you too.”
03/13/2019
this is a poem about a feeling
i can't put my finger on.
this is a poem about someone
i don't remember anymore
about a number
i don't recognize anymore
about a name
i can't pronounce anymore.
this is a poem about
what comes after the healing.
this is the best part of the story.
this is the part i've been waiting for
the one that tastes like morning coffee
and afternoon ice cream
while watching the snow blow
from the top floor of an apartment
you snuck into
because it's the highest one in town
and this is a poem about
the way you can breathe now
despite it all
the way you can breathe
without feeling like
an entire year's worth
of overfilled journals
are collapsing your lungs
and this is the poem
that comes after the healing
the one about blueberries
and flowers
and love
about how they grow in parts of you
you were convinced had already died.
03/26/2019
these are the letters i write
to the person i was.
these are words that sometimes taste
like blood in mouth
like sucker punch
like losing
but they also taste like candied apples
and watching the sun rise from an airplane window
and hope.
these are the letters i write
to the person i was
and this
this is the poem i write
to the person i'll be
and when it reaches her
i know she'll turn into a sunflower
if she hasn't already
and i know she'll wipe the blood
that drips from her lips
and spit out all the sadness
and i know she'll draw a map
pinpoint every city she's escaped to
and unlace her shoes
because i know she won't need them anymore
because she doesn't need to escape anymore
and i know when this poem reaches her
she won't know how to speak