i am the love letter. lillian grace
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finished you in a day
I mean theoretically you were the one to make me feel whole but I mean…all my pieces were there in the first place yours just made it a hell of a lot more confusing
today
today i wrote three words on my arm:
strong
willed
young
and right now it seems that’s all i want to be
see the parts of songs that hit me the hardest are the calm within the storm or the storm that finds a way to interrupt the calm but when i listen to them i can’t do anything else because i am entranced
i keep wishing i could write more about love because love makes people create such amazing things. but there is no love that deserves my words right now. i need to end this saga of poems about the girl who i saw today and walked in the opposite direction of. she doesn’t deserve this art. i am tired of handing it to her.
i want to write a poem about how much i love my generation but i realize the wrong people will hear it for the people i love are the ones who don’t even know my name
it’s been three months since i’ve seen my sister and i never realized how much it took out of me until i was lying in bed at 5:00 tonight and wishing she was here
i smelled smoke when i walked upstairs thirty minutes ago and there was no panic. i don’t know what i felt. there’s no energy left for fear. maybe that’s good for me.
i’m trying i swear. i just lose sight of where i’m going because i am so afraid of where i am. someone teach me to be fearless.
i sat down to write and couldn’t. all i did was complain. who am i becoming where is the girl i knew why has she left me i need her i need her i need her
please talk to me. tell me about your day. rant to me. i want to hear it. you’re the best person in my life. please.
i’m tired. but i will likely stare at my computer screen all night and pray that sleep will find a girl who isn’t looking for it.
laundry list
you are a laundry list in my head
I wish i didn’t remember the little things about you
and trust me, I’ve read way too many sad love poems saying how hard it is to forget someone like you
and trust me, I think 98% of them are written at 4 am when their mind is on you because that’s what people do at 4 am
and trust me, 4 am is not the right time to figure out your life. 4 pm is. or some other time when you see the sun and not the moon
but you do not cross my mind at 4 am. instead i dream of boys with artistic minds and girls who don’t hide from themselves. I dream of beautiful people who will look at my art with a critical eye and not a loving one. or maybe both.
you pop into my head at 2 pm when the only thing open on my computer is a health assignment that I have no interest in doing
you show up when I’m scrolling through instagram after a chem test and for some reason a girl got her haircut like you. and I look at her for a moment and refresh. and refresh. and refresh
because goddamnit instagram just because I search for pictures of her doesn’t mean I want to actually see her
I did once. maybe twice. maybe not.
I have a google doc that is a list woven from her and my heartstrings
it tells me secrets that she spoke under her breath when she thought no one else would notice them
she hates the taste of coffee. she fidgets every single second of the day. she loves numbers. she feels tingly when she eats minty things. she types at 58 words per minute. she loves bagels and walking in circles. she always checks for trolls under bridges.
I never quite realized how much information I had about her until she wasn’t mine.
there are particles of hope hidden behind every huge paragraph
I wrote her letters upon letters upon letters telling her I’m sorry telling her I love her telling her I don’t want to lose something that I just realized I had
writing things like:
“I’m messy…Hella messy. I suck at making plans because I’m a crazy introvert who isn’t used to devoting this much of her time to a single person…I’m messy…I’m not good at making the first move. I’m not good at making a scene. But some part of you makes me want to make a scene everywhere I go and that’s kind of incredibly beautiful. I don’t like to stand out, but, god, I want to stand out to you…I’m messy…But I promised you that once summer started, we’d try to figure it out. We’re going to figure it out. I hate cleaning up messes, but, I mean, this one is one that I look forward to finishing. And honestly, I look forward to being in love with you the way there.”
I told her I was in love with her
I never wrote that on my laundry list of things I knew for certain because I was always eternally unsure
I ordered an extra container of my favorite lip gloss for her
it came in the mail a few days before the day I broke up with her while standing in the security line of the JFK airport
it’s still sitting on my desk
I think once I finish the container I’ve been using, I’ll use that one
I’m tired of giving her things that weren’t yet hers
I want to say this will be the last poem
I mean it’s been months
but when I’m scattered, somehow my mind latches onto her
so maybe she’ll live in my head just for a bit longer
we’ll wait and see
wait until someone else hands me their laundry list and says
“here. this is yours now. don’t worry. you’ll never have to return it to me” and I’ll smile and nod because I won’t have to return it to them but I’m sure I will anyway I lose my laundry lists far too often
“it was a war between people we didn’t even know”
one of the problems with not talking to someone for a long time is that you forget how to talk to them and then once you start again it becomes so time-consuming that you lose a little bit of your sanity every time you send something.
conversations are strained with people i love and people i think i love so i can never quite tell the difference. it’s honestly very confusing.
i’m easily overwhelmed and talking to you for even a few hours overwhelmed me, but i know that tomorrow i’ll wake up and want to do it over.
i want to do it over.
i’m actually quite confused about the way you’re treating me, and I don’t believe walking on broken glass is the way to figure things out. avoiding things isn’t romantic, it just hurts.
I don’t even fucking know if you know me. I know you. Down to the deepest parts and you have no idea who I am. I hate the me I was when I knew you. Let me do it over. Let me meet you again. I’ll give up everything I know about you just for you to know me a little better.
i am afraid of disappointing someone who doesn’t even care, that’s how bad my self control is just so you’re aware.
i have never once written poems to the reader. that’s why i write to people like you. because you’re never going to read it. my poetry can stay hidden in a world that you don’t know. you might as well just keep it unknowing.
please learn to know. it hurts when you don’t.
i’m afraid to publish things because i’m afraid someone will ask me