Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Megan Grace Sep 2019
i can’t teach you to
love yourself,
but i wish i could
teach you to see
yourself the way i
see you. if you could
see the way you glow,
feel the radiance of
your heart when you
enter a room. you
would never question
it, never question it.
just a small thought from a day of feeling small.
Megan Grace Nov 2018
i think my soul
knew you before
my mind did. as
if all the **** i went
through was just
paving stones and
concrete, just
making sure i had
the right foundation
for you.
how many
coincidences are
too many coincidences?
i really couldn’t tell you.
but there is a softness i
feel in my rib cage that
i’ve never felt before,
like all those weeds i
thought i’d been growing
in there were actually
just a prairie for the
yarrow and the anise
you’ve wound around my heart.
thank you for holding me so gently
Megan Grace May 2018
most sunny afternoons
i could swear i hear you
from behind me with a
hey, dewdrop or a
how you doin’ today, mim
and i think when i turn i’ll
see you walking up, tall
and gangly with a hat on
and your big smile. but it’s
just a breeze through my hair,
just the warmth of a spring
day on my face.
mom says it’ll get easier, says
we should all keep believing
that it’s you in those moments,
reaching out from some far off
intangible place in the only ways
you can.
he just wants to see you smile,
baby girl.

so i’m trying to reach back in
the ways i think you would if
this had been the other way
around and i hope you see me,
hope you can feel my love
floating up to wherever you
are. i hope you’re proud of me.
we lost my stepdad a few months ago after a very hard and courageous battle with brain cancer. every day feels like another step i’m taking from him, but it’s getting easier. slowly but surely.

sorry i’ve been gone so long.
Megan Grace Nov 2017
you are a ****, she said
she said, *you are a ****
i have scraped knees and
a quickly bruising elbow,
a finger to my lips and a
dinosaur washrag dripping
onto my thigh.
but, grandma, she said-
there is a calming, silencing
tone to the thumb wiping
my face clean, a soft smile.
even gardeners mistake the
new, stray trees on their
fence lines sometimes, meg.
11/10/17 -- from my journal

my grandma told me this story the other day, when i came to her with some self doubt. she told me to "always be a tree even if you aren't supposed to be one."
Megan Grace Sep 2017
“i was born to make biscuits”
and so we let him.
flour, butter, one egg, messiest
table in the hole entire county.
mom watches bug and the boys
roll in the leaves outside, and
greg and i drink coffee by the fire
in thick socks and knitted throws.
a burst of the season arrives with
each sibling but we smile anyway,
kisses and cold hands pressed on
our warm cheeks until we're all
the same temperature. pop's biscuits
are done, so we sit and don't say
grace- just thank each other for
the things we have which no one
else could have given us. mom's
already missing the birds, and
wendy says she thinks she found
one of katy's old hats in the back
of her garage last month and she
even brought it with her this time.
we talk and we laugh and the little
boys nap and we just are.
we just are.

i haven't seen my family in a long time. this is all i can think of right now.
Megan Grace Sep 2017
orange soda, fizzy tongue,
creamsicle smiles.
we lived in sync, there,
with an ocean breathing
between us.
i would have swallowed
the sun if it could have
helped cool you down

but i wanted to burn
god, how i wanted to burn.
from my journal
  Sep 2017 Megan Grace
people only knock

for the warmth, outstay

their welcome,

i've never wanted to

love quickly

i want to lay each

brick, caulk every corner

and be

(c) Brooke Otto 2017
Next page