to the girl who lives like a hurricane:
don’t expect to tell me about
your addiction to self-harm and
Nyquil and have me smile;
although, as I shiver from lakewater
and things less tangible, I seem to
acquire a talent for glossing over the list
of things I need to tell you--
is an asshole. California does not
begin and end in a tiny town where
people operate like clockwork around
the same happy working song. I am not
a fountain of wisdom, and, to be honest,
I can barely understand you over the
thunderstorms in my own brain.
you are beautiful and you are
to the girl I left back in time:
purpose is not a given. I am
the same teenage angst who used
to wear too much eyeliner and
complain about my future
as I’d foretold it-- loveless and whiny,
like me. I am her plus a few more
self destructions and minus
a lot more days to continue striving
alongside you for simple goals and
simple friends and simple memories
I won’t remember.
to the girl who sees the world in me:
I’m sorry. it always seems safe to
start off with that. ours is
a back and forth necessity; a
breathing, wanting struggle between
two people who forgot how to decipher
their own heartbeats, and I’m sorry
your parents don’t believe in you. I’m sorry
you’re stuck rewriting your life, I’m sorry
you’ve mistaken me as a seaside town
worth anchoring down in, and I’m sorry
you weren’t there when
I needed you.
to the boy who reminded me I was blind:
I forgive you, but not enough
to pardon myself of the very same crimes
that plucked me feather by feather, raw,
as though I were an angel being punished
for my original sin.
you and I are more similar than
I should like to admit.
the terrors I went through were always
tinged with blue, cyan, cerulean; the
watery memory of stories you’d told me
about living on the brink of death and
growing up old and hiding every single
thing that could remotely resemble a weakness.
even now, as my hands shake, I am reminded
of the way you bared me to my brittle bones
and watched me tremble, like the
deforestation of a flower in its first bloom
was something special. and maybe
it was in that moment I began to love you,
because all I ever wanted was to be
to the boy on the other side of the mirror:
I wish you were real for me. I want
to know you vulnerable, and see
the kind of tears you cry. I want
you to talk to me about school crushes
and depression and expectations; I want to know
what keeps you up at night and what effects
caffeine addiction has on a writer’s addled brain.
I want for once to talk to you without apologizing for
everything I’ve ever been-- you are
the only person who’s seen every splintered
piece of me.
five people have invested in the timeshare that is my mind these past few weeks and wow there's a lot I haven't said but I guess that's what writing's for, haha, my passive aggression and deadends
This is awesome. I don't have anything constructive to say about it, but I highly enjoyed reading it!
this made me cry. this is so real and emotional and they tell a story and... i'm not the poetic sort but i do believe this made my black little heart pink out a little. what a lovely piece. thank you for this.
oh wow I can't tell you how much that means to me, especially with how personal this piece is. thank you <3
"you are beautiful and you are
I wish everyone could say that like that.
your writing is always real, like, "look, I'm only going to say this once" kind of confession and you only need to hear it once. that kind of clarity and power of emotion is refreshing.
i absolutely love this. it is beautiful and very touching.
I just simply love you. Your words are the story of you and they are just perfectly broken and the mosaic they create is so beautiful it just wants to make one cry for the sadness behind them and yet the love holding them all together that's just so beautiful.
I think the first stanza is quite fascinating and ones of the most interesting stanzas I've ever read in one of your poems - I really enjoyed it. The other stanzas are great, too, but don't seem to hold as much power as the first one to me. Overall, it's definitely a wonderful poem.
Oh, this is fascinating. People, man. People.
God, Maddie. I just.
What's in a name, indeed.
Your poems are like an invitation, whether to enter in to someone else's life, or to enter into your own heart.
This made me tear up.
You're so wonderful with words, and weaved them in a way where I could see what you were saying. I've always loved your poetry and writings, you know.
This makes me feel like I know the people you're talking about in a really important way, but without knowing much else about them except their feelings. (Does that make sense?) This is beautiful.
I really wish you could see the you that I see when I read through your poetry. Your words define you, not just your words, but the emotion contained within them, every smiling simile and destructive metaphor adds color and depth to your image. This is amazing, a heartfelt crying out of all the things you wished you could say. Well you've said them my dear, and you've said them beautifully. I read heartache and vulnerability, confusion, loss, and hope. You have painted a picture in my mind of tragic loveliness, and I adore you for it. Can't wait to read the next one.
oh my gosh I always loved writing for the way I could paint myself in a different light. Thank you so much, as always, for your overwhelming support <3
you are atypical and it's okay. it's excellent.
God, you sound popular. I'd pay way too much to find out about all of those people... (Though I think you already told me about one of them... Maybe...) Either way, a bit long-winded but totally justified. Seems like you're getting back into your stride. <3