I wrote you one thousand love letters,
But only a few were right.
I poured everything I had into them in the hopes that my pen marks would bleed through
and etch my words on to your heart.
And I know where you kept them all tucked away.
I imagined you sneaking looks at them
in late hours of the night
so you could read them silently in my voice and pretend I was there
as I did with yours.
I noted every curve of your penmanship
And memorized how you wrote as if it were a dying language.
But then you stopped looking at my notes.
The ink faded and my love was no longer legible to you.
As your words still resonated in me, mine fled from you.
And the words became sharp and venomous
They hit me in the gut and i spit fire back because it was all I knew how to do.
And I am sorry.
While we may never again exchange folded papers filled with secrets and sweet nothings,
I hope some day you find yourself late at night
reading my love letters
you never threw away.
They say the pen is mightier than the sword
If this is true then God was the sword and you were a pen
And I was the pencil who laid you a foundation of erased mistakes only for you to trace upon them as if they didn't exist.
And I was cast in the bottom of some cluttered bag
while you were gently capped and placed in a box lined with blue silk,
And you knew I would always be there to test the waters before you spilled the pages with your brash delicacy.
But you needed me and I craved you for completion.
Together we created sweeping illustrations and lengthy novels with dozens of sequels.
We depicted a tale of modern love in our ball-pointed journey.
But my graphite stayed intact while your ink started to run out.
I could see as our pages unfolded that your colors no longer spread as boldly.
You became more and more invisible as I desperately etched harder and harder into every page hoping to give you clearer guidelines
but you no longer had it in you.
And soon enough we couldn't make anything beautiful.
You had run out.
And I'm still hopelessly drawing maps desperate that you can regain what you once had and use the indentations on previously blank pages to find your way back to me.
Forward is a difficult direction to move towards.
Walking away from him is moving forward
But staying with him is moving backward
And ten steps towards the bottle is moving backward
And ten steps away from the bottle is moving forward.
So how do you know what way to point your compass when the direction you're told to go in is completely arbitrary?
When I was younger moving forward meant success.
Getting A’s and B’s and staying out of trouble.
But as I grew up the little details that used to be irrelevant started twisting the path and what was once a straight shot is now a complicated maze of dead ends and trolls under bridges.
Moving forward was put on hold when puberty set in and the idea of body image made me obsessed with every mark and shape of my skin. When boys were no longer gross but objects of affection. When friends became more than friends and best friends was synonymous with jealousy.
Moving forward became more fuzzy when a new substance was introduced to me that made walking in a straight line more difficult than usual but when it got dark I wasn’t so scared of what lay on either side of me.
Moving forward became more interesting when you could inhale giggles and laziness or melt rainbows and dreams onto your tongue.
Moving forward was stopped completely the second time my best friend was ***** and I had to leave my path to hold her hand as she tried to move forward on her own.
Moving forward slowed once I made it back to my own road but checked behind my shoulder every few seconds because I now understood that there are really ****** people in this world.
Moving forward complicated itself when love became the ultimate distraction.
When I stopped mid journey to take the scenic route in another human being and thought I was still moving forward but actually was getting hopelessly lost.
Then he left me in the thickest part of the forest and I started to move backwards to retrace sunken steps in a ground I was too naïve to realize was muddy the first time I had walked it.
And I have to come to the realization that moving on and moving forwards are not the same thing because my feet can place themselves one in front of the other all day long but it does not mean that my heart drags far behind in a state of helpless nostalgia that moving due north will not solve.
Soon enough distractions no longer sway me from my path.
My surroundings are a blur because everything that makes me full of light I have already passed and I am told over and over again to keep moving forward.
So I will no longer stray.
I will keep my eyes on the horizon and hope the soles of my shoes along with my spirit do not wear down before I arrive at my destination.
I have no idea of where I am going but maybe if I keep moving in the direction that is “forward” I will get there
And maybe one day arrive somewhere that makes me feel whole again.
kind of a slam poem i think. more evocative when spoken but thought i would share.
Punching brick walls and
tempting free falls and
giving up on
all i've worked for
Climbing thin vines and
dodging land mines this
risky business will
catch up in time
Cutting corners and
thrilling horrors and
silver linings that
always tarnish I
am not pleading but
always leading this
love thats breeding
Snow is melting and
flowers dying and
i am trying to
hold the tying
these knots keep tightening
and i am fighting
to keep this simple
Cave right into me
Tell the seven seas
scream it louder
just for me.
**But you wont even try
and you're giving up
and im exhausted of
this impending love
So think a bit
and come back to me
Ill be right here
also old. also dear to me.
Dear the first greatest thing my heart laid eyes upon
You follow me everywhere.
With every step I take you're one step behind me
A handsome burden whom I am unable to detach from.
You keep me up at night when my eyelids struggle to stay open
But shutting my eyes doesn't do any good when everything that was beautiful comes in replaying frames over and over again after midnight.
You, who in a matter of minutes shattered everything that was innocent and happy inside of me
are still the most fantastic thing to ever have graced my life.
Maybe if love was a little less menacing you wouldn't have let go so quickly.
Maybe if I spoke a little softer, loved a little quieter, kissed more gently you would still be here.
Maybe if, maybe if, maybe if, maybe if.
Maybe if you still loved me I wouldn't be writing this.
I wish we could have been a little less hostile
I wish you didn't take her places you know id be just to show that you've recovered.
I wish she didn't walk by me in silence with a stare that says I won.
I wish you kept your promises and I wish I could unlove you.
And you tell all your friends I'm crazy yet none of them know how we cried in each other's arms and you said your life was forever changed the night you walked away and never came back.
They may know how to make you laugh and
She may know where to touch you but
No one knows the beautiful human that took me years to discover.
I hope you remember the times where we pretended the outside world was insignificant and forgot that time is a heavy burden to bear.
We both knew somewhere deep within that time and love cannot coexist but if we suppressed it enough perhaps we could be the exception.
And as I reflect on our eternal countdown I realized that maybe that's what happened.
We weren't the exception.
Maybe we simply ran out of time.
Today I let someone buy me dinner.
Today I let someone say, "you look pretty."
Today I let someone make me laugh
And show me around the city
But because I let you inside of my heart
Years and years ago,
When he leaned in to kiss me as you'd done before
I said "I'm sorry I have to go."
Today was supposed to be good for me
Because I thought I was ready within
When I thought I was going to let you walk out
I invited you back in.
Today I let someone take me out
And my smile became a frown
After all of this time believing I'm healed
Today I let someone down.
not always a big fan of rhyming poetry but in some cases it just seems right
my hand still reaches for the spot on my chest where the necklace you bought me once rested
because muscle memory has not forgotten
how much you meant to me
you'll see me
"why did i let her go."
— The End —