"Ammiro."
Adore me.
I don't want you to call me a fragile daffodil, or a wondrous contingency.
Don't call me a beautiful mess, and don't you dare compare my bones to Monarch butterfly wings.
Because once you create this symphonious masterpiece of an opinion about me, I will come back and scratch at the enamel in your mouth until all of your teeth fall out like a diabetic third grader.
Adore me.
Call me an elegant catastrophe, one that gracefully glides across body maps with oceans as fingertips.
Call me ravishingly fragmented because we both know I was never able to put myself completely back together after my own shadow up and left me.
Say that I am the entire universe with bruises on my feet from always being barefoot.
Call me a rythmic risk; compare me to the tallest evergreens in a forest of naked branches and old souls.
Hell, you can even compare my big brown eyes to stain-glass cathedrals in the hallways of vineyards, if that's what you fancy.
You can tell me I'm moon dust on Jupiter, but don't paint me into a Picasso piece of art, because I am the furthest of such.
See me for all of my imperfections.
Want me for those, and everything in between them, and the moon.
Adore me.
I know no other soul who has called me "pretty" and I never flinched.
I don't care about any of the letters in the alphabet except for the ones that spell your name -
A.M.M.I.R.O. -
That's Italian for "admire".
Adore me.
I want to hear you tell me that you promise to infinitely **** up my lipstick whenever you see me.
Tell me about every person you have ever been in love with, and why you were ever in love with them.
Tell me about the first time you felt the weight of heartbreak.
Tell me when you used your words as weapons against someone you never thought you would.
Adore me.
Because every so often there are wars going on in the one place where my sanity resides.
And let me tell you that it's like birthing nuclear bombs in the mosque of my soul.
So I would like you to adore me enough to maybe ******* stay when I spit venomous blasphemy at the world off of my never-been-Holy tongue.
But maybe my anger for what the world has done is commendable -
maybe my uproar is me emerging from the cage of everything negative that kept me prisoner for all of these years of my life.
Maybe it's my freedom pushing its way through my bones.
So adore me,
because this is the sun rising inside of me.
And I want to be able to stand next to you and hold your hand as you smile that smile of yours down at me.
This is the part where I am reborn.
- Meghan Julia / / { m.j. }
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:55 PM UTC
I held onto your t-shirt for a month after I left your house before deciding to write this poem.
They say that if you hold on to something that was never yours in the first place, you'll start to feel guilty within a few weeks after you've taken it.
I took your shirt because I wanted to have a piece of you once I had stepped foot out of your door;
The guilt followed about two minutes after I even thought of taking it.
But I kept it anyway.
Sleepless is all I am nowadays;
Your arms don't encompass me anymore,
Your breath isn't hot on my skin,
Your scent doesn't travel throughout my sinuses,
and I don't have anyone to hold me when the nightmares do.
I guess you can say that I grew to need the comfort of the plaid shirt you gave to me-
The shirt I didn't decide to steal from you-
Because it's the closest I'll get to something of your own choice that you gave me to keep besides memories.
This poem is a mess but so am I,
And I have never been messier than I am when buried in thoughts of you.
Some say that is about as healthy as a whole bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream,
But I beg to differ because at least one brings some sort of real comfort.
I can't tell you how many nameless metaphors I have written about you,
How many countless letters I have written to you.
I can't tell you how many sleepless nights I have gone through,
How many dryless tears have rolled down my face because I am engulfed with thoughts of what we were,
What we could have been.
I can't tell you how many timeless pieces of paper have made their way into the trash because I could never finish my trail of emotions to you.
My veins are not sober.
My heart is not weightless.
My eyes are not shiny.
There is no guide to help me out here.
There is no book of rules to follow to help me get the **** over you.
You have been my strong sense of calm that has put me at ease for so many months.
And all I wanted was for you to love me wholeheartedly,
To love and want me as much as I did you.
This poem is a mess, and so am I,
So I'm not even going to try to finish it with some magical, metaphorical, realization of mine.
Because the only realization I have come across, painfully, is that I'm not going to get another chance to show you how hauntingly, extraordinarily, completely, utterly, and truly breathtaking I am.
- { m.j. }
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:53 PM UTC
I am in love with the way your legs intertwine with mine. I am in love with the way your hands run across my skin. I am in love with the way I fall asleep and wake up with your body so close to mine; you are always less than millimeters away from me. I am in love with the way you lay your cheek on my forehead and when we are falling asleep together. I am in love with your teddy bear eyes, and the way you click your tongue when you are thinking. I am in love with the way your lips curl in when you get awkward. I am in love with your laugh, and how we punch each other every time we see a Volks Wagon; we call out the colors like it's the end of the world if we don't. I am in love with how your eyes become wider when you get serious. I am in love with the way you still keep every single letter I have ever written to you. I am in love with how you have an obsession with chewing ice; it sounds like you are breaking glaciers inside of your mouth. I am in love with how you let me run my fingertips gently on your ear to help calm me down. I am in love with how your arm lays on my stomach and chest, somehow waking me in such a gentle way. I am in love with the way you comfort me when we watch scary movies, the way you take my hand and lead me into bed with you. I am in love with the way you make me food without complaining about having to go through the trouble of doing so. I am in love with how you grow more calm and sleepy when I run my fingers through your hair late at night. I am in love with our nicknames and how you still owe me a better dance than the first time we heard our song. I am in love with the way you periodically poke me to wake me up every morning. I am in love with every single memory we have, with every stolen glance, with every secretive moment.
I am in love with so many things that are between us.
But I am not in love with you.
- { m.j. }
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 9:51 PM UTC
1.. I remember way too many small details about people so I have to act dumb sometimes so I don’t freak them out.
2. I’m really boring and awkward if I’m not comfortable with you.
3. If we can’t joke around with each other, we can’t date.
4. I love forehead kisses and warm hugs.
5. Things I want but won’t ask for:
-good morning/night texts
-pictures/ candids of us
-surprises, even the little ones
-visiting and bringing favorite food (or coffee)
-a hoodie that smells like you
-really long hugs
-piggyback rides
-slow dances in the middle of the kitchen
-sincere compliments (I might disagree with you, but it still means a lot to me)
-real, deep conversations about everything and nothing
-“gentlemanliness”
-comfort and patience (I get sad and I’m stubborn)
-tell me when, and how much you love me
-flowers
-cuddling
-picking me up and kissing me (especially for photos)
6. I tend to get sentimental often - you will know when and why you are loved.
7. I will get very defensive over myself, and you when with others.
8. I will want you right next to me holding my hand at church sometimes. (Even though I’m not religious)
9. Sometimes I get in trouble and won’t be allowed to hang out.
10. I write. So expect me to write about you, me, us, and some things we do together. (And expect me to want and keep the materialistic things.)
11. I know I am thin, but having an eating disorder makes me think otherwise. Scars don’t help either. So swimming won’t happen for a while.
12. Baby steps. I am not rushing into anything.
13. Little post-it notes left in my locker from you would make my day so much better. I’ll give you the number and combination.
14. Saturdays are the best days to stop by and surprise me.
15. Be spontaneous. Be spontaneous. Be spontaneous.
16. With time, I will eventually fall in love with you. And you will too.
17. Medium iced caramel coffee, extra cream, two Splenda, and an extra shot of caramel. (If you ever want to surprise me.)
18. I’m old-fashioned. Letters, phone calls, dates, movies, dinner, breakfast, Friday night football games, city nights, art, pumpkin picking on Halloween, walks, coffee dates (I’ll drink the coffee), the beach, concerts, film festivals, couch-cuddling. Spontaneous.
19. I tend to not like myself a lot.
20. Meet my family. Nothing will happen if you don’t meet them. They need trust.
21. I need trust and acceptance. You know my issues.
22. If you ever plan to make me yours, do it in a really really cute way. It’ll be so important to me.
Sep 6, 2015
Sep 6, 2015 at 3:43 PM UTC
So here is my pledge to you;
I will clean the coffee-stained cups after we stay up late watching old reruns of our favorite movies. I will fix the alignment of everything because OCD was never in our favor. I will lock the doors and windows at night and draw the curtains so our neighbors cannot see us inside. I will watch the rain with you from the left or right side of the bed (because I get the side closest to the window). I will stay up late with you when your mind is restless and your eyes are empty. You can tell me about your father and the way your mother makes the best turkey on Thanksgiving night. I will brush the knots out of your back and you can brush the knots out of my hair. I will hold you when your heart is heavy and you can’t move because nothing is okay anymore. I will stand on the sidelines cheering you on for every game I can go to. I will watch you climb the tallest mountains with the same energy as a five year old and I will silently wish I could be as strong as you are. I will **** the moths and you can **** the bugs and spiders. I will bandage up any cuts you create from being too full of energy when you accidentally hurt yourself. Maybe you can bandage my not-so accidental ones. I will wipe down the kitchen table after you teach me how to make something other than my usual burnt toast and boxed macaroni and cheese. I will watch you grow. I will water the flowers and I will make sure you eat all your meals and I will drag you to park concerts and cafés. I will show you what love is and I won’t stop until you know what falling in love is like. I think you’d like it. A lot of people do. I will make the bed and I will leave it messy just like how we left it. I will be the one under the mistletoe and I will be the one your mother adores. I will bury myself in the place right between your heart and your ribcage. I will be your mess of a lover. I will be home. And you will
Love me
Love me
Love me.
-I wouldn't mind making memories with you.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 9:45 AM UTC
In three months, when you talk about me, I want you to talk about me like I put the stars in your sky, like I was a constellation or a galaxy or some type of planet that no one has heard of. I want to be the last thing on your mind before you go to sleep, and the first thought when you wake up. I want to be told beautiful things that aren't empty words. I want drops of Jupiter in my hair just like how Train sings it. I want you to tell people that my eyes are big and bold and deep just like the ocean. That my mind is complex and over-imaginative and poetic just like the moon. I want you to talk about the way I am daring, wild, and overly confident in plans that most times never happen because i don't think them through. I want people to know about me when you talk about me to them. I want you to bring up inside jokes, mistakes, fights, laughs, everything. Bring up the way I need materialistic reminders that I'm loved. Tell them I have half your closet. Tell them I keep your notes in a box beside my bed. Tell them I kept the first thing you gave me- an empty cookie wrapper that once held two M&M; cookies. Tell them that I get scared a lot and that my hair's always a mess and that I love too many movies and songs for my own good. Tell people that I feel more comfortable behind a camera lens than a desk. Tell them I'm a writer. Tell them that MJ changed your perspective on things. When you talk about me, tell them you're my US Marine. Say it with pride. Talk about how I like being barefoot and how I'm obsessed with gum and how everything in my life is enigmatic. I want you to talk about what ****** me off, what makes me happy, what makes me quiet. I want you to understand my silence. Talk about how I enjoy silent conversations sometimes. Tell them how I'm full of wanderlust and how I love the little things. When you talk about me, talk about me like you won't ever talk about me again. Make them remember me.
Remember me.
- {m.j.}
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 9:42 AM UTC
i. I want you to love me when the black line over my eyelid is gone and when my hair lays full of tangles on my shoulders. You never cared if I brushed it or not, so I didn't. It always fell naturally. (I think I did the same with you.)
ii. I want you to love me when the toothpaste doesn't make my mouth in time before we wake. (Morning breath is part of what Love is.)
iii. I want you to love me when the only thing on my body is your old T-shirt from tenth grade because I'm still tinier than you. (I swear I'll take care of it for you.)
iv. I want you to love me when the coffee stain finds its way onto my lips right before you lean over to kiss me good afternoon baby. Coffee dates will be a must. You can order something else, I'll drink the coffee. (But I'll make you try it.)
v. I want you to love me when the television is low and the rain is pouring onto the earth outside at five in the evening, and I sit at the kitchen table wondering why hearts are broken. (I can't remember if you like rain or not.)
vi. I want you to love me when we drive to everywhere and nowhere, and your hand finds its way onto my thigh. I'll take a photograph of your profile and pin it to my bedroom wall. I'm going to photograph you a lot, most of the time not telling you. Expect to find some leftover filled disposals in your room. (Or empty film rolls.)
vii. I want you to love me when we drink too much after making dinner together in the kitchen at midnight, because we were never good with timing. Alcohol makes things smoother. (Don't get addicted.)
viii. I want you to love me after you come home from work with tired feet and knots in your back as your forehead drips with sweat. (I'll help you clean up.)
ix. I want you to love me when I run away in broad daylight, hoping to get rid of the thoughts I have in my mind, because you know I have the tendency to run away from things that hurt. But I will come back eventually. (I always do.)
x. I want you to love me after I kiss you for the first time. After I let you in. After I tell you about my childhood and how I love my Nana and Poppi. After i speak to you in a different language, leaving you to ponder what I said. After my favorite songs are played, after we have a song, after we watch movies in bed cuddling. After I fall asleep next to you. After I push you away for the first time. After you realize how wild and unpredictable I am. After you realize how big my heart is because you will notice the mountains I move for you and you will notice the way I pay attention to everything. After you recognize the fact that I love the little things. After you pick me up and kiss me. After I stay silent around you and you know the reason for my closed mouth because you know my mind is racing in a self-polemic way. I want you to love me after we go on our first date. After you meet my parents. After I win over your mother. After we spend holidays together. After we take candids of one another. After we tell strangers about each other. After I fathom that you aren't going to leave.
- (I want you to love me.)
// {m.j.}
8.23.15.
1:45am.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 9:41 AM UTC
**why?
you are so ridiculous. you think i ******* leave you purposely? you try living in my ******* world for once. most of the time when you text me, im in TEARS.
1. i have asked for honesty
2. i have asked for being straight up
3. i have been here for you
4. i have calmed you down
5. i have saved you some times
6. i have always answered you when i was capable of doing so
7. i have stayed up with you
8. i have cried with you
9. i have bled for you
10. i have panicked for you
11. i have ******* worried countless of days and nights hoping you were okay
12. i have talked you out of ****
13. i have called you numerous times to make sure you were okay
14. i have been honest with you
15. i have ******* been there for you when you werent even here for me
16. i have exhausted all of my ******* energy into you
17. i have told you to wear your seatbelt bc somebody loves you
18. i have gotten in trouble for you
19. i had my hopes up for you to come here and you never did
20. i have asked nicely and REPEATEDLY for nicole to get the **** out of this
21. i have done SO MUCH FOR YOU. And this is the **** i get. this is the **** this ******* list can go on for HOURS. i have BEGGED you to love me. i have BEGGED you to comfort me. to listen to me. to trust me. to be HONEST with me. im laughing because i guess i just wasnt ******* enough for you. i was not ******* enough. you know, i would have ******* died for you. and i guess in a lot of ways i did.
so dont you ******* dare tell me that im not trustworthy because i have been here for you since day one. and you have the nerve. and dont turn this **** on me when you're the one who turns your back and blames me for the **** you do.
why couldnt you cut her out of your life in the dating way? that is all i have ever asked for. and you know that. you know just as much as everyone else that i knew you were lying when you said you weren't with her. do you know how many nights i spent trying to drown myself or cut myself or swallow pills JUST because you told me you were killing yourself? i DESTROYED my insides for you. i destroyed my social attitude because you were all i focused on. you you you you. always you.
"is he okay? where is he? is he eating? is he sleeping? is he breathing??"
you. it was always ******* you. i lost friends over you. i lost my sanity over you. i went insane looking for you among the faces i saw daily. every ******* time we went somewhere i would look at all the houses and say to my dad driving our car "is he here? what about that house? dad pull over i think i saw someone who looks like him".
you know what. i just cant do this anymore. i have been here and there and this has happened and that has happened and the list just goes on and on. obviously she is hella important otherwise you would not be arguing with me right now. you would accept that you ****** up and move on. but yet you continue to fight me when we we both know you were wrong. you should have left her. i dont care if y'all are dating or not. **** happens. im okay with that. im just done showing that I care because once AGAIN, it all.goes.to.shit.
im done fighting the same losing battle with you. you're bio. her bio. your life. her life. your relationship. her relationship. dont i matter? dont i count? where do i come in? yeah we had a good ******* time. but i died for you in so many ways. i really did. and you were so oblivious to it. i looked at you like you put the stars in my sky. now my sky is dark. there is nothing left and it is a shame. because im not happy. and neither are you. we never work out. we always fight. we always end up hurting each other. you have her. you love her- and dont even tell me you dont. i let myself get my hopes up too often. and they all just come crashing down. but that is okay.
because i know what we are,
and i know what we are not.
{m.j.} **
Jan 28, 2015
Jan 28, 2015 at 12:29 AM UTC
***i fell in love with a writer. i will forever be in her world, even way past her death. i don't exactly know why i fell in love, or how i managed to do so, but i do know that i am perfectly okay with doing so. sometimes, when she looks at me, i am able to picture myself in her bed on my worst nights, and she by my side, holding me the entire time as i shake with fear and anxiety. and somehow, in those milliseconds when i look into those unkept swimming pools of eyes, i get lost and i forget who i am. she knows me like the map of veins on the inside of her wrists; she fathoms me in an unexplainable kind of way, more than anyone else, honestly. my sentences are not making any sense but i really dont care. i know she will read this. i know because i am purposely going to send her this link and she is going to let her eyes travel over each word that is typed.
okay let me start over.
how do you tell someone that they are all you want? that the dreams give you a craving that must be eventually put into words so they could possibly be put into action? i probably do not know what i am talking about. i went insane looking for her. i guess a part of me will always be insane, regardless of whether or not she plays a part in it. but, i do know this: i want her to be. i want her to drive me insane and i want her to push me to my limits. i dont want to just feel love for her. i want it all. i want the hate, the tears, the heartbreak, the pain, the joy, the angst, the lust, the melancholy, the happiness, everything. i want every emotion that comes with being in love with her. i want the hell, the heaven, and the purgatory. i want the planets in her veins and i want the constellations that linger on the edge of her lips so that every time i kiss her, i taste galaxies and nebulas. i want every ******* metaphor. i want every ******* reality. i dont know, i want so much; i am putting myself out here for her and i still dont even fully fathom whether or not she wants the same. i mean, i think she does? maybe, maybe not. it is yet another mystery i must learn to solve over time. i cannot go two feet without bumping into some piece of her. when i go out to get coffee, i imagine her sitting in that café right next to me, reading a book she bought for fifty cents at a yard sale. i can imagine her in the most obscure places; walking next to me in the grocery store, staring at the puppies through the window of the pet shop on main street, in the mall with me dying to try the new hot chocolate at starbucks, buying cheap shampoo at the dollar store because we are going on some sort of three day adventure to anywhere. i see her everywhere. i feel her everywhere. i crave her everywhere. and this letter may make me seem out of my mind, but oh ******* well.
some things we dont talk about. we simply dont have to. i think that there is a mutual understanding between us for some things. to be honest, i didn't only fall in love with a writer. i fell in love with someone who holds many titles: lover. poet. dreamer. thinker. listener. talker. adventurer. brand new day. she is so much. she is an arbutrary holiday that is dying to be celebrated. her bones are filled with wanderlust, and she makes a mean hot cocoa. there is always a lovely way to look at her. even the distance between us is equally as beautiful as the distance between stars.
she is the perfect combination of subtle and mysterious, all while making it seem as though she is an open book waiting to be read by the loveliest pair of brown eyes. she is a universely misunderstood paradox, and she has the capability of making you think twice about what you are going to say, even without opening her mouth. she is a foreign film so full of incomprehensible words, yet you can fathom everything about her if you actually take the time to get to know her. she can make you fall for her just by closing her eyes and making a wish at 11:11pm. she makes you contemplate the meaning of life, and she can paralyze you all while batting one eyelash. she is the feeling of a warm blanket on a cold december night, and she is the cool breeze that caresses you on a humid july afternoon. she is that new song you hear in the coffee shop but will never know the name of, even though you will spend innumerous nights searching for it on the internet and in record stores. and oh god, if only she had the oppertunity to see herself from my perspective- she would fall in love with herself just as easily as i did for her. for she has never encountered a love like this likewise of squeezing into last year's prom dress. every single day, she will make my heart beat indefensibly faster and faster. and she will continually wonder why i fell for her, and eventually she will understand why it was simply her who occupied my vacant heart even though my bed was preoccupied by broken promises and empty words. she gazes at me skeptically, yet understandingly. and i will never stop trying to let her know that i ******* love her until it is nothing short of crystal clear. i will never get used to her; she changes over time and so do her thoughts and emotions and perspectives and opinions. i will never fully fathom her, but god knows i will ******* try. and every single day, i will love her more than the last. and she will continually wonder why i dedicate so much to her, for her, and about her. the entire ******* world knows about her. she is all i ever write about lately, and it soothes yet annoys me at the same time because she is always on my mind. i have waited a lifetime for her to love me, and i would patiently wait another if it meant that she will one day be the first eyes that i see when i wake up on sunday mornings.
god only knows what is hiding in her weak and fragile heart, in those glassy and lost eyes. and although she has the tendency to change her religions, it does not lessen the fact that she the universe in her soul.
so this is my letter about the girl i fell in love with. she is the only girl i have ever fallen for, and she has made me see the world from a different perspective. and i cannot even thank her for giving me the oppertunity to become like this. i dont know, maybe i am insane, but all the great artists were; hemingway, einstein, twain, poe, cobain, the list goes on and on.
maybe this time things will be better than they were.
maybe this time you can be the girl i write about who sneaks into my bedroom late at night to spend even five minutes together.
maybe you can be that girl who admires me from afar.
maybe you can be that girl who writes love letters to me and drops it off anonymously at my house at ten in the morning, and once i read it i already know who it is from by your handwriting.
maybe this time you will fall harder and deeper for me than you did before.
maybe this time we will find peace,
and maybe this time every single memory of ours that we make will last for decades.
i love you.***
{m.j.}
Jan 20, 2015
Jan 20, 2015 at 8:42 PM UTC
trees are poems the earth writes
and the sky is the empty canvas
which is also filled with sadness
and happiness
and we cut the trees down,
ruining the artwork of the earth
and we are so inconsiderate
because we use the paper made from
those trees to write down our own
tragedies.
-how awful of us to be that selfish as to ruin the only thing that earth can claim to be art
Dec 26, 2014
Dec 26, 2014 at 12:38 AM UTC