You asked me to write
a poem that killed
all the parts of you
that make you love yourself less.
But darling, I don't
know if anyone's told you:
The things that make you
afraid to show yourself
make me love you
all the more.
And you may talk
about how much you hate
the bumps and ridges
splashed across your skin,
but you also talk
about how much you love
the mountains in Colorado.
Do you think that the earth
has ever cared
that it has drier parts
or areas with a little more texture?
Do you think that Nature
ever wanted to cover up
the parts of her that weren't perfectly smooth?
If the water stayed still,
and never rose or fell
the oceans wouldnt be quite so breathtaking
because waves would never crash.
And you might think you're covered in tsunamis,
disaster zones left in the debris of your disease,
but don't ever tell me
that a home in that aftermath
isn't still a home.
Because with or without the water damage,
the part that makes it important
is the things on the inside—
and no, I'm not referring
to things in a home anymore.
Now I mean your heart,
now I mean your passions and your past
and ever single word
written in the story of you.
So darling, you might tell me
that you hate the bumps on your skin,
but there is something amazing
spelled out in Braille
written on just the outside cover
of one of the greatest stories I will ever know.
The thing about Braille like yours is that
it can open the eyes of a blind man
without even needing any magic.
And the thing about book covers is
that you'll never really know
how much you love a book
based on the words on the outsides of it.
But darling.
I need you know know
I've read you cover to cover
and I absolutely think
your story is one of the most beautiful ones I know.
With or without the tsunamis or Braille.

I needed to know
if I had any power,
so I blocked off my heart
and found the fastest way into yours.
I got you to let me in,
and let you think my laughter
was about having you back
instead of about what it was.

It was about watching you care
when I knew that I didn't.

I thought I was having fun
playing with your heart
in the exact same ways
that you had played with mine.

I thought I wanted
to make you hurt
cause you hurt me.

But then it worked.

I took it too far
because I still didn't think you cared
and I told you I felt nothing
as you were about to tell me you loved me.
And you sat back and closed your eyes
and that was when I knew:
you didn't mind that I didn't feel the same.
You didn't feel the same either.

But last night you almost kissed me,
until you stopped and pushed me away again.
And I never could have expected
what you told me next.

But then I got what I wanted,
and I realized how much you hurt,
and everything in me shattered
hearing your voice break.

And there have been far too many apologies
so I'm not sure if this one will even mean anything to you
but I can't say sorry enough
for wanting to hurt you
when you're the one who matters the most to me.

Whatever you do,
don't ever ever ever
throw out a piece of paper.
One day you could
be cleaning out your room
and discover a sheet
covered in scribbles
and notes in the margins
and raw thoughts
that might even seem to come
from another you entirely.
But whatever the page says,
you'll see yourself in it
and be taken back to those feelings--
if they're good, they'll remind you
of times you felt happiest;
if they're bad,
you'll be able to look at them
with wisdom you didn't have then.

The eraser is not your friend.
It tricks you into thinking
that words you have dared
to get out on paper
might not have been good enough.
A really cool thing
about things you write
is that it isn't like real life:
any ending you don't like,
any aspect that isn't
exactly completely perfect right away
(and believe me,
not many aspects will be)
can always be returned to and rewritten
any time you want to change it.
But write your first drafts in pen,
because any thought you have
is going to be beautiful
because it is your own.

And finally, if you ever do need
to get rid of a piece of paper,
recycle it.
Cause the beautiful part
about recycling
is that it takes something
that you just werent able to use
and turns it into
something that could be
meaningful and beautiful
to somebody else.

I have a lot of favorite places
that are too far away
from where I am right now.

I can't walk out the front door
and be at the beach,
I can't put on my sneakers
and jog to Times Square,
and I can't pick up my camera
to go explore the mountains.
(I'm not even close enough to Chicago
to go there any time I want.)

But in this town
we've found a way
to take the least exciting places
and make them extraordinary.

I've never felt safer
on a high school campus
than when I'm in the corner
of the theatre building's upper level
where the first of many kisses happened.
You say your car is ******,
but there are few places I'd rather be
than the passenger seat with my hand in yours.
And the streets of my neighborhood
have been paved with our laughter
as we've tried to find adventure
(and avoid ticks.)

So maybe my world isn't
full of life and stories
like some of my favorite places,
but because of you,
it's pretty amazing anyway.