Your eyes were made
to glisten in the pale moonlight
and to sparkle when you laugh,
not to shed tears because of him every night.
Your ears were made
so that you can jam out to your favorite songs
and to hear your family tell you they love you,
not to listen to him insult you for so long.
Your nose was made
to rock a little silver nose ring
which boosts the self-esteem that he shattered,
not to be covered in makeup trying to hide everything.
Your voice was made
to declare your own happiness and find peace
by standing up for yourself and finally leaving,
not to be silent…just letting the toxicity increase.
You were made
to be happy and to be loved in every way.
You deserve better than the cards you’ve been dealt,
and I truly hope you realize that one day.
I wrote this a year ago as a pep letter to myself before I chose to leave my husband. I stumbled upon it today, and it brings back all kinds of emotions. Maybe someone can relate.
Once upon a time,
in a town by the eastern sea,
there stood an abandoned lighthouse
as big as an old oak tree.
Locals knew not to disturb
what haunted that crumbling tower
while frightened tourists shared new
stories of “accidents” almost every hour.
In this lighthouse lived the lonely spirit of
a child whose name resembled a flower.
Each sunrise, Rose played on the broken stairs
of that lighthouse humming her favorite tune.
She looked to the clouds and prayed
for friends each lonesome afternoon.
At night, she whispered lullabies to herself
as she counted centuries of passing moons.
Young Rose found the bittersweet answer
to her prayers early one summer morning
when a little blond boy raced up her broken steps
clutching his green balloon while exploring.
She pet his hair softly and devilishly grinned
before shoving the boy with no forewarning.
The locals heard a blood curdling scream
and tragedy fell upon the town by the eastern sea.
But as that green balloon ascended to the Heavens,
little Rose was, all of a sudden, a lot less lonely.
Five years from now,
I often wonder where I’ll be.
I think of all the changes in my life
and how they’ll end up affecting me.
I could finally finish my novel
and become a legitimate writer
and maybe my stories might be able to
make someone’s day just a little brighter.
I could look in the mirror every day
and finally be proud of the woman I see.
I could pursue my happily ever after
and be the best possible version of me.
Five years from now,
I don’t know where I’ll be or what I’ll do.
I just hope that no matter what happens,
I end up standing beside you.
Writing down goals turned into a poem.
Cautiously walking up those famous steps
made of sparkling and shimmering stone,
he inhaled the mist from the tops of the clouds
when he suddenly realized that he wasn’t alone.
In front of the massive iron rods stood St. Peter,
so calm and collected, yet his smile seemed hollow.
The gatekeeper’s keys jingled and he said, “Welcome to Heaven”
as he opened the gates and motioned for him to follow.
Peter led him through a kaleidoscope of his memories:
playing fetch with his dog when he was ten,
smoking his first cigarette in the school locker room,
running through Vietnam with his Buddy, Ben,
kissing his redhead under the banner that read Bride and Groom,
the first time his daughter prayed and whispered “Amen.”,
seeing his first grandson on the monitor while in the womb,
and cursing at God for letting his cancer come back again.
His 82 years of life flashed before his eyes
as he walked alongside the keeper of the keys.
When they reached an oversized solid white door,
Peter turned towards him with such grace and ease.
"Beyond this door, is your own personal Heaven
and what lies ahead is what your heart craves most."
His blood began to pump faster and faster as Peter
pushed the door open to reveal a bright blue coast.
He nodded a thank you to the Saint as he stepped
through the doorway and his toes touched the sand.
He inhaled the crisp sea salt air before an angel whispered,
"I’ve missed you" as she gently grabbed his hand.
His redhead wore a smile brighter than stars
and she wrapped her arms around him in a loving embrace.
Just then, he noticed a man in white walking towards them.
She leaned in and whispered, "Are you ready to see God's face?"
Sometimes late at night,
I wish I could read your mind.
I wonder if your deepest thoughts
about me are either cruel or kind.
I wonder if you ever think of me
or how often I feel like you left me behind.
I wonder if we’ll ever be friends again,
but that just makes me wish time would rewind.
I’m sorry for how things ended with us,
but all I wanted was our relationship defined.
I still pray for you and I care about you deeply,
and more than anything, I just wish we could turn back time.
I thought maybe
I’d feel better
by pouring myself
into the ink of this letter.
I wrote paragraphs about how
much I loved you and hated you,
each word teeming with resentment
from everything you put me through.
I poured my heart into the pages
apologizing for the mistakes I made
and questioning whether or not
things would be different if I’d stayed.
After hours of writing and
staining each page with drops of tears,
I put the letter in a crowded drawer,
wiped my face, and whispered, “Cheers.”
I hope you fall in love
with a writer or a poet
because you’ll be immortal
in their work before you know it.
I hope you find someone
as amazing as Dickinson or Poe
who’s able to describe the beautiful
things about you from your head to your toes,
someone willing to write paragraphs
about the first time you played in snow,
or entire thriller novels inspired by
your fascination with crime shows.
I hope you find someone who brainstorms
a million different possible ways
to tell you they love you just to comfort
you when you’re having a bad day.
I hope you find someone who will
use you as their muse for everything they say
and someone who thinks of you every
time they fold their hands to pray.
Fall in love with a writer or a poet
and whether you’ll agree or object,
you’ll learn that in that someone’s eyes,
you’re nothing less than perfect.
Written for my Muse. You know who you are <3