"Ammiro."


Adore me.
I don't want you to call me a fragile daffodil, or a wondrous contingency.
Don't call me a beautiful mess, and don't you dare compare my bones to Monarch butterfly wings.
Because once you create this symphonious masterpiece of an opinion about me, I will come back and scratch at the enamel in your mouth until all of your teeth fall out like a diabetic third grader.

Adore me.
Call me an elegant catastrophe, one that gracefully glides across body maps with oceans as fingertips.
Call me ravishingly fragmented because we both know I was never able to put myself completely back together after my own shadow up and left me.
Say that I am the entire universe with bruises on my feet from always being barefoot.
Call me a rythmic risk; compare me to the tallest evergreens in a forest of naked branches and old souls.
Hell, you can even compare my big brown eyes to stain-glass cathedrals in the hallways of vineyards, if that's what you fancy.
You can tell me I'm moon dust on Jupiter, but don't paint me into a Picasso piece of art, because I am the furthest of such.
See me for all of my imperfections.
Want me for those, and everything in between them, and the moon.

Adore me.
I know no other soul who has called me "pretty" and I never flinched.
I don't care about any of the letters in the alphabet except for the ones that spell your name -
A.M.M.I.R.O. -
That's Italian for "admire".

Adore me.
I want to hear you tell me that you promise to infinitely **** up my lipstick whenever you see me.
Tell me about every person you have ever been in love with, and why you were ever in love with them.
Tell me about the first time you felt the weight of heartbreak.
Tell me when you used your words as weapons against someone you never thought you would.

Adore me.
Because every so often there are wars going on in the one place where my sanity resides.
And let me tell you that it's like birthing nuclear bombs in the mosque of my soul.
So I would like you to adore me enough to maybe ******* stay when I spit venomous blasphemy at the world off of my never-been-Holy tongue.
But maybe my anger for what the world has done is commendable -
maybe my uproar is me emerging from the cage of everything negative that kept me prisoner for all of these years of my life.
Maybe it's my freedom pushing its way through my bones.

So adore me,
because this is the sun rising inside of me.
And I want to be able to stand next to you and hold your hand as you smile that smile of yours down at me.

This is the part where I am reborn.


- Meghan Julia   /   /   { m.j. }

I held onto your t-shirt for a month after I left your house before deciding to write this poem.

They say that if you hold on to something that was never yours in the first place, you'll start to feel guilty within a few weeks after you've taken it.
I took your shirt because I wanted to have a piece of you once I had stepped foot out of your door;
The guilt followed about two minutes after I even thought of taking it.

But I kept it anyway.

Sleepless is all I am nowadays;
Your arms don't encompass me anymore,
Your breath isn't hot on my skin,
Your scent doesn't travel throughout my sinuses,
and I don't have anyone to hold me when the nightmares do.
I guess you can say that I grew to need the comfort of the plaid shirt you gave to me-
The shirt I didn't decide to steal from you-
Because it's the closest I'll get to something of your own  choice that you gave me to keep besides memories.

This poem is a mess but so am I,
And I have never been messier than I am when buried in thoughts of you.
Some say that is about as healthy as a whole bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream,
But I beg to differ because at least one brings some sort of real comfort.

I can't tell you how many nameless metaphors I have written about you,
How many countless letters I have written to you.
I can't tell you how many sleepless nights I have gone through,
How many dryless tears have rolled down my face because I am engulfed with thoughts of what we were,
What we could have been.
I can't tell you how many timeless pieces of paper have made their way into the trash because I could never finish my trail of emotions to you.

My veins are not sober.
My heart is not weightless.
My eyes are not shiny.
There is no guide to help me out here.
There is no book of rules to follow to help me get the **** over you.
You have been my strong sense of calm that has put me at ease for so many months.
And all I wanted was for you to love me wholeheartedly,
To love and want me as much as I did you.

This poem is a mess, and so am I,
So I'm not even going to try to finish it with some magical, metaphorical, realization of mine.
Because the only realization I have come across, painfully, is that I'm not going to get another chance to show you how hauntingly, extraordinarily, completely, utterly, and truly breathtaking I am.

- { m.j. }

I am in love with the way your legs intertwine with mine. I am in love with the way your hands run across my skin. I am in love with the way I fall asleep and wake up with your body so close to mine; you are always less than millimeters away from me. I am in love with the way you lay your cheek on my forehead and when we are falling asleep together. I am in love with your teddy bear eyes, and the way you click your tongue when you are thinking. I am in love with the way your lips curl in when you get awkward. I am in love with your laugh, and how we punch each other every time we see a Volks Wagon; we call out the colors like it's the end of the world if we don't. I am in love with how your eyes become wider when you get serious. I am in love with the way you still keep every single letter I have ever written to you. I am in love with how you have an obsession with chewing ice; it sounds like you are breaking glaciers inside of your mouth. I am in love with how you let me run my fingertips gently on your ear to help calm me down. I am in love with how your arm lays on my stomach and chest, somehow waking me in such a gentle way. I am in love with the way you comfort me when we watch scary movies, the way you take my hand and lead me into bed with you. I am in love with the way you make me food without complaining about having to go through the trouble of doing so. I am in love with how you grow more calm and sleepy when I run my fingers through your hair late at night. I am in love with our nicknames and how you still owe me a better dance than the first time we heard our song. I am in love with the way you periodically poke me to wake me up every morning. I am in love with every single memory we have, with every stolen glance, with every secretive moment.
I am in love with so many things that are between us.

But I am not in love with you.


- { m.j. }

It happened in waves.

The first wave simply brought confusion. A state of denial, a hope that none of it were true. For the first time my heart stopped and I thought the world would stop spinning around me, but it didn't.

Second, came hatred. Self hatred, hatred for others, hatred for love happiness and affection. It's consuming - the self loathing. Questions like "why wasn't I good enough", "will I ever be good enough" , "I am too damaged to be loved", "was anything he said true or was it all just an act". For thinkers such as I, this wave is the most dangerous. Often I was left to ponder my actions, reactions, memories. Which brings the next wave.

The third wave: memories. Memories of both the good and the bad. Memories of the smiles and the tears. It hurts, it's confusing. I was fire and he was gasoline, we were made to compliment each other. Yet somehow, we caused destruction instead. How did we go so far to simply crash and burn? Was it my fault? Was he genuine at all? Memories grab you and keep you in the past. They take away all opportunities at a future. Do not stay in this all consuming wave.

Next was the bitterness. Bitterness against him, myself, my family, love. Everything. Much like hatred I held onto the wrongs done to me. I kept them close, in the front of my mind. As if remaining bitter would change the past.

Fifth was when the burden began to lift. Suddenly he wasn't the only thing occupying my mind. Our love, mistakes, and lies - it all began to fade. I couldn't remember his smile, the warmth of his touch, the sound of his laugh, the security of his embrace or the comfort of his voice. They were gone. I was full of a complex feeling of both freedom and suffocation. I didn't know how to react to this loss, but suddenly it became real. I didn't go to sleep dreaming of him, nor wake up longing for him. I simply... existed.

In this sixth and final stage I am content. I can breathe, dream, love, laugh. He is no longer the center of my universe, but simply another planet in my galaxy. I feel a sense of freedom. I am no longer bound by his lies, burdens, restrictions, deceit, or display of love.

It happened in waves, but I've weathered the storm. It's time to rebuild.

1.. I remember way too many small details about people so I have to act dumb sometimes so I don’t freak them out.

2. I’m really boring and awkward if I’m not comfortable with you.

3. If we can’t joke around with each other, we can’t date.

4. I love forehead kisses and warm hugs.

5. Things I want but won’t ask for:
-good morning/night texts
-pictures/ candids of us
-surprises, even the little ones
-visiting and bringing favorite food (or coffee)
-a hoodie that smells like you
-really long hugs
-piggyback rides
-slow dances in the middle of the kitchen
-sincere compliments (I might disagree with you, but it still means a lot to me)
-real, deep conversations about everything and nothing
-“gentlemanliness”
-comfort and patience (I get sad and I’m stubborn)
-tell me when, and how much you love me
-flowers
-cuddling
-picking me up and kissing me (especially for photos)

6. I tend to get sentimental often - you will know when and why you are loved.

7. I will get very defensive over myself, and you when with others.

8. I will want you right next to me holding my hand at church sometimes. (Even though I’m not religious)

9. Sometimes I get in trouble and won’t be allowed to hang out.

10. I write. So expect me to write about you, me, us, and some things we do together. (And expect me to want and keep the materialistic things.)

11. I know I am thin, but having an eating disorder makes me think otherwise. Scars don’t help either. So swimming won’t happen for a while.

12. Baby steps. I am not rushing into anything.

13. Little post-it notes left in my locker from you would make my day so much better. I’ll give you the number and combination.

14. Saturdays are the best days to stop by and surprise me.

15. Be spontaneous. Be spontaneous. Be spontaneous.

16. With time, I will eventually fall in love with you. And you will too.

17. Medium iced caramel coffee, extra cream, two Splenda, and an extra shot of caramel. (If you ever want to surprise me.)

18. I’m old-fashioned. Letters, phone calls, dates, movies, dinner, breakfast, Friday night football games, city nights, art, pumpkin picking on Halloween, walks, coffee dates (I’ll drink the coffee), the beach, concerts, film festivals, couch-cuddling. Spontaneous.

19. I tend to not like myself a lot.

20. Meet my family. Nothing will happen if you don’t meet them. They need trust.

21. I need trust and acceptance. You know my issues.

22. If you ever plan to make me yours, do it in a really really cute way. It’ll be so important to me.

So here is my pledge to you;

I will clean the coffee-stained cups after we stay up late watching old reruns of our favorite movies. I will fix the alignment of everything because OCD was never in our favor. I will lock the doors and windows at night and draw the curtains so our neighbors cannot see us inside. I will watch the rain with you from the left or right side of the bed (because I get the side closest to the window). I will stay up late with you when your mind is restless and your eyes are empty. You can tell me about your father and the way your mother makes the best turkey on Thanksgiving night. I will brush the knots out of your back and you can brush the knots out of my hair. I will hold you when your heart is heavy and you can’t move because nothing is okay anymore. I will stand on the sidelines cheering you on for every game I can go to. I will watch you climb the tallest mountains with the same energy as a five year old and I will silently wish I could be as strong as you are. I will **** the moths and you can **** the bugs and spiders. I will bandage up any cuts you create from being too full of energy when you accidentally hurt yourself. Maybe you can bandage my not-so accidental ones. I will wipe down the kitchen table after you teach me how to make something other than my usual burnt toast and boxed macaroni and cheese. I will watch you grow. I will water the flowers and I will make sure you eat all your meals and I will drag you to park concerts and cafés. I will show you what love is and I won’t stop until you know what falling in love is like. I think you’d like it. A lot of people do. I will make the bed and I will leave it messy just like how we left it. I will be the one under the mistletoe and I will be the one your mother adores. I will bury myself in the place right between your heart and your ribcage. I will be your mess of a lover. I will be home. And you will
Love me
Love me
Love me.

-I wouldn't mind making memories with you.

In three months, when you talk about me, I want you to talk about me like I put the stars in your sky, like I was a constellation or a galaxy or some type of planet that no one has heard of. I want to be the last thing on your mind before you go to sleep, and the first thought when you wake up. I want to be told beautiful things that aren't empty words. I want drops of Jupiter in my hair just like how Train sings it. I want you to tell people that my eyes are big and bold and deep just like the ocean. That my mind is complex and over-imaginative and poetic just like the moon. I want you to talk about the way I am daring, wild, and overly confident in plans that most times never happen because i don't think them through. I want people to know about me when you talk about me to them. I want you to bring up inside jokes, mistakes, fights, laughs, everything. Bring up the way I need materialistic reminders that I'm loved. Tell them I have half your closet. Tell them I keep your notes in a box beside my bed. Tell them I kept the first thing you gave me- an empty cookie wrapper that once held two M&M; cookies. Tell them that I get scared a lot and that my hair's always a mess and that I love too many movies and songs for my own good. Tell people that I feel more comfortable behind a camera lens than a desk. Tell them I'm a writer. Tell them that MJ changed your perspective on things. When you talk about me, tell them you're my US Marine. Say it with pride. Talk about how I like being barefoot and how I'm obsessed with gum and how everything in my life is enigmatic. I want you to talk about what ****** me off, what makes me happy, what makes me quiet. I want you to understand my silence. Talk about how I enjoy silent conversations sometimes. Tell them how I'm full of wanderlust and how I love the little things. When you talk about me, talk about me like you won't ever talk about me again. Make them remember me.
Remember me.

- {m.j.}