Ghost Letters, p.2

Dear First Love,

It’s been really hard. I don’t know what to do right now. I so badly want to move on, find another person, somebody that isn’t like you; I want to be free. I almost feel guilty for leaving you behind, even though you left me years ago. I still feel you holding me back, and I’m so selfish for feeling this way. I want nothing more than to stop, to cut my emotional tie. I’ve had a lot time to reflect, and I’ve found that I’ve been happier by myself. I found that you were not a necessity in my life. I still write about you, and I still think about you. I wonder what you’re doing, and I wonder if I ever cross your mind like you do in mine. You stroll through my mind– memories flash through my mind. The small memories that I shared with you, the ones that were insignificant in the giant spectrum of us. I’m sorry I keep writing to your ghost. I missed you today. I never did want to keep this feeling. I wish I could give it to somebody else.

 

You never even told me why,

Your First Love

Nothing

He is nothing like you.

There will be nobody compared to you,

and I’m afraid that will always hold me back from trying.

 

He is nothing like you.

Maybe that’s a good thing, maybe a different kind of soul is what’s best

for me.

 

He is nothing like you.

While you are trying to figure it all out by staring at what needs to be done,

he figures it out by getting it done.

 

He is nothing like you,

but when I lay next to him,

he feels just like you.

Letters of Self Love p. 2

WHAT IS IT THAT YOU NEED?

WHAT ARE YOU SEARCHING FOR WHEN EVERYTHING YOU CRAVE,

YOU HAVE WITHIN YOURSELF.

YOU MUST NOT WANT FOR NOTHING, YOU HAVE IT ALL,

YOU ARE FULFILLED.

NO AMOUNT OF OUTSIDE LOVE CAN COMPARE

TO YOUR SELF LOVE.

TO LOVE YOURSELF MEANS SO MUCH MORE THAN

THE LOVE OF SOMEONE ELSE.

DO NOT FORGET THAT, YOUNG SOUL.

YOUR BODY IS YOUR HOME, HE IS ONLY A GUEST

COMING FOR A SHORT VISIT,

DO NOT LET HIM OVERSTAY HIS WELCOME.

THIS IS FOR YOU, SWEET CREATURE.

TO NEVER FORGET YOUR WORTH,

TO NEVER LET GO OF YOUR WARMTH.

Letters of Self Love p. 1

LISTEN TO ME, MY LOVE

YOU ARE MADE OF VELVET LOVE AND THE STARS

THE TWINKLE IN YOUR EYES IS A SIGN OF LOVE,

A SIGN OF GROWTH,

NO MORE STRIFE.

YOU HAVE SEEN IT ALL, MY LOVE.

YOU HAVE SEEN WHAT IS NOT REAL, AND

WHAT MUST NOT BE SPOKEN OF.

LISTEN TO ME, CHILD OF THE STARS,

YOU ARE MADE OF MORE THAN THE RIB OF A MAN– YOU ARE MADE UP OF THE COSMOS

YOUR VOICE IS A SONG THAT OTHERS BEG TO LISTEN TO,

THE SONG THAT BECKONS SAILORS TO SHORE.

REMEMBER TO TREASURE WHO YOU ARE, CHILD OF THE COSMOS.

YOU WERE BORN OF EXPLOSIONS,

YOU WERE BORN TO BE ATOMIC

The Night You Left Was The Night I Became a Woman

The night you left was the night I became a woman. You held me close, and told me how much you had loved me. With both of our shirts off, you pressed my chest closer to yours. This is how I wanted to remember each moment with you. I swear you could probably hear my heart beating. This was such a natural feeling for me. I planted kisses on your chest, neck, cheek… that grew into buds of roses. Your cheeks were always red. Even when you spoke. I believed that you were the greatest gift that God gave me in this awful, violent world. With his own hand, he gave me a piece of gold from heaven. You were gold to me. Empty promises, and false profession of love flowed from your tongue—a waterfall destined to drown me. Death. You spoke on false hope. You spoke while sitting on the highest throne in the kingdom of my soul, and you torched this holy temple. My body was a graveyard of forgotten memories, and I had to hold vigils and funerals for each forgotten soul. My body had collapsed. Although you became my worst nightmare, one that I do not need to sleep in order to experience, your mind still lures me in. Your intelligence reminds me of what I have yet to learn about the world. The way you looked at me was how young lovers looked at each other in the movies. I hope to never forget the time we spent together. Never forget how much I love you. Remember how much you mean to me, and how amazing I think you are. I hope one day I love somebody as much as I thought you loved me.

What it Feels Like to Die

I can’t breathe. It feels like my heart is beating in my throat, as if I have swallowed a million tiny stones. My eyes are stinging, and I cannot breathe and I am blind. My hands are numb, and I can no longer feel your body. My knees cannot hold my body up anymore, and I fall to the ground, weak and without any more energy. My heart swells with the pain you caused, and it ruptures. You walk towards me with the words that killed me right in your hands, and you read them to me over my dead body like a priest giving me my last rights. You are preparing me for my next life with my God. You reach down, brush your fingers through my hair and say, “I still love you.” My eyes start to sting a little more. I am still dead, and I still love you.

There is nothing more in the world that makes me more aware of the wear on my mind that the moment of solitude enjoyed.

I was sitting in my class, and I was looking around at everybody around me. I saw how everybody was happy and socializing. They found joy in the social setting– discussing their common interests, their hobbies, everything that they could possibly talk about. I found myself happy knowing that I was sitting on my own in silence. I realized that my mind has been alone for so long that I have found joy in my own mental solitude. 

Love(d)

You welcomed yourself into my dreams last night.

You told me that you loved me.

We were in my bed, and your arms were wrapped around me

I could almost smell the woodwork of your skin.

You loved me so much that I never needed to love myself– you always loved me enough for the both of us. I’m still trying to learn the concept of self love,

I try to remember how much you loved me

in hopes of digging up some leftover love

for myself.

You told me that you would wait for me at the gates of heaven, but

I feel as if I had already died waiting for you at the front gates of my home.

I wish I could forget the thought of you,

but how could you teach someone to forget to think about

anything at all.

 

Saturdays, 2010-2014

The kitchen was always bright, either by your smile or the refrigerator light.

We used to sit on the floor of your kitchen, take each other in, and talked about our fears.

We always turned off the lights.

It was almost like living with a ghost in the house.

I remember Saturdays with you.

We spent hours in your room.

I laid in your bed watching you paint. You were an artist, an unfathomable person.

Each part of your soul was closed off to everyone you met, but me.

I explored your soul and your mind. Your mind was a maze of darkness that even you did not understand.

You were always afraid that they would take you away from me, I think that’s why I insisted on holding you close.

Saturdays were our days.

When your hands trailed my body under the moonlight, those were the nights of Saturday.

Saturday was the day I realized that I was in love with you.

The day I tattooed my heart on my wrist for you, placed my heart on a silver platter for you.

I wish I could relive those Saturdays; meet you again, introduce myself again, change the ending.

I hope you remember those Saturdays.

I hope you think of me on those sadder nights on Saturdays.

February 9, 2017 // 1:15 AM 

2 AM

I am afraid of falling asleep, I am afraid of bumping into you along the way. The feeling of your hips against mine is more than just a memory, and it’s still hard to believe that I will never hold you again. I’m worried that I will be this way forever. My writing is consumed by you, and I am sickened by it. I wish I had an easier time falling asleep. I wish I had someone’s arms around me right now. I am dancing with insomnia to the beat of my pen hitting the paper, writing about what it feels like to be alone.