i am aware that there must be so many letters
just like this one.
but i promise you, that this love is real.
you hid yourself behind your tear-stained face,
you ran away from your own name.
you took part in the name calling & shaming, &
you hurt yourself more than anyone else did.
but i forgive you.
i forgive you.
i
forgive
you.

because it is you who came here
to complete God’s purpose for you.
not anyone else.
he designed, delivered & devoted.
he designed you in his image.
he delivered you to his world.
he devoted himself to you.

he loves you. he adores you.
& i love you too.

if i can’t, then who will?
& how will you grow & love others?
& how can you not love someone who he holds so dearly?

so here it is.
i am not promising that it is easy.
because it won’t be.
there will be days when you wake up
hating & crying.
there will be days when you question
your importance, your purpose, your life.

but i promise you this.
i choose to love you.
i choose no more to be your enemy.
if i am tearing myself down,
how can i build others up?
every second that i love myself,
my father smiles even more,
& the sun shines straight through the cold clouds.

& he is saying:
“i am your valentine.”
true love is a straight road to my heart.
the rest is an obstacle.
i don’t need cards or kisses,
pennies or pockets full of poetry.
i only need my heavenly valentine
who hugs me into unconditional,
unfailing,
& everlasting love
without precaution or judgement.

& he teaches me to love the woman in the mirror.

mira.
la cafetería llena de ruido,
y el té que se derrama de tus labios
sin querer.
las páginas que cuentan historias,
y las ventanas que muestran vidas.

pero sigues pensando en otras cosas.

mira.
él no pensará en ti.
él no se preocupa de cómo estás.
él no está esperando por alguien como tú.

mira.
no por él.
mira.
por tu bien.

when were you going to tell me?
how did you think I would feel? did you even think?
you took what you wanted & locked me out,

making me say sorry so i could come back in,
expecting me to make amends.

why am i like this?
how do i scare everyone away?
i am your biggest fear, your phobia, the monster on the streets.
i paint my claws that i only ever hurt myself with.
my hair is a nest where nightmares hatch, & the mascara dries on my cheeks.
these eyes find the flaws, but they also see the scars and weep.
what? don’t you want to kiss me?  
or are my chapped lips too angsty?
do they say “crazy *itch” at you?  
do my endless questions also itch at your skin?
at least your skin seems comfortable.
but how dare i make this all about me, when we all go through the same.
right?

wrong.
because i am your drama queen.
i declare a set of rules, i keep records on what you say,
i write letters to your name & invest in you each day.
each day i put on my armour & climb the watch tower.
i see you on your horse.  
you are not the knight.  
but you shine regardless.
you earn the trust for you to enter the iron gates.
once you are in, the damage is done.  
it just takes your leave for me to feel the sword.
what hurts is that i tripped over it.  
my vulnerabilities were out  
in the open.
& you accidentally hurt me.
this, humans can’t promise not to do.

i am an addict.
i write my insecurities & my inabilities down,  
& my pride goes into poetry.
i do nothing about anything.
& i can’t.  
stop.
some would say it’s pathetic,  
how one can be so overwhelmed by the underwhelming,
how one can be so distraught by the daily doses of life.
if i accept it then i have given up my responsibility.
if i ignore it then it silently damages me & my capability.
if i address it i am holding on & i deny my viability.
whatever i do, it has won,  
& it has left me with nothing.

but that’s what a loser does.

sometimes i feel my feelings feel too much.
sometimes nothing makes sense.
sometimes it feels normal that nothing feels okay.
but that’s okay.
sometimes i stress about stressing about stress.
sometimes i hate my irrational abnormality.
sometimes i cry about my weakness.
but that has to be okay.

yes.
there isn’t a definitive answer to my questions.
there seems to be more struggles than strengths.
there isn’t a clear path, or a silver platter with a cure for me.
my clothes cover my cares like sugar coats the pills i swallow.
The pill being _.
but i make a choice.
a lot of the time it seems i don’t have one.
but i do.
sometimes i am influenced to make it,
but i do.
i do.
i always do.

always.

doctors and scientists are trying to find
the causes, effects, & answers.
i sleep & wait.
but instead we should be
talking
listening
trying
supporting
helping
fighting
& never ever letting go.

even if they prove it is part of my genetic makeup
i will wake up,
i will get up,
i will make up,
i will stay up,
&
i will help myself,
help others help myself,
help others help themselves,
& help others help others.
i will highlight my temples with wisdom & peace.
i will shadow my eyes with beauty & light.
i will paint my lips with humility & kindness.  

my genetics will not make up whether i give up or not.
they will not make up my mind,
or make up someone else’s.
my genetics are not choosing if i live or not.
suicide is not a choice.
suicide is not make-up.
suicide is not a gene.

& suicide  
will not take part  
in my genetic makeup.

you once said i always have a choice.
i was mad.

you said that to someone who was helpless.
you said that to someone who had tried everything endlessly.

but you made me see that i was giving up.
that i had given up.

i am crazy.
i don't deny that.
but while i am attempting the embracing,
all i need is an embrace.

you won't give me that.
i respect you for the respect you give.
i know i have baggage.
i didn't expect you to carry it.
if you don't believe
that you are the one to help me with that,
to adore me for who i am,
to keep me 'til i die,
then that's okay.

it hurts.

like a paper cut.
it requires all my attention in this moment,
but if it won a role in my life
it would be the grains of rice i eat
from my favourite dish i cook
on the wednesdays of a busy week.
mostly insignificant, yet memorable.

i'm not saying you are a paper cut;
i'm saying you paper-cut me.

papers cut unintentionally.
knives cut with purpose.

that's why it is paper.

it stings.
it will seem tiny later, but right now it screams.

it needs healing. it needs prayer.
it needs trust in the bigger picture plan.

my bigger picture plan will have you in it
i am sure. for you have great lessons to teach.
but don't think you are the only one,
or that you are the only teacher.

my bigger picture plan will have you in it
for i have known you long.
my bigger picture plan
is not mine to organise,
but it is mine to live.

& even if you aren't in it after
i (dramatically) mourn this paper cut
with yellow rice on my fork,
r & b in my ears,
& type up words with teary tissues,
i thank you for everything you gave me.
i pray for your wellbeing,
& i praise God.