If you wake up and your stomach
isn’t flat enough you don’t let the
sun rise. When you felt unloveable
you blamed it on your reflection
and you told it the most terrible
things. Some days you feel happy
and somehow those days are
always the ones when your mirror
shuts up and smiles. Each night
your successes and failures come
back to how you looked that day.
You asked me, if I could have one thing, what would it be? So I said that it takes approximately 183 minutes to drive from your house to the beach. I said that I want to stay up all night and leave your house at four in the morning with nothing but a blanket and maybe a sandwich to share (but I’ll probably let you eat it all anyway because you’re always hungry). I want to sit on the beach and watch the sun rise. (Maybe you’ll give me your jacket because you know I get cold easily.) Then I want to spend the day at the beach with you even though I hate the beach because I’m still convinced that God considered creating mer-people, but made you instead. I want to eat questionable fried seafood for lunch at one of those overpriced buffet places with you while we make fun of everyone’s raccoon eyes and bikini tan lines. I want to sit in the back of your truck and watch the sun set, see how your skin looks just like caramel under the soft orange of the sun while we listen to the mix tape I made you for your birthday two years ago. (This is when I’ll cringe at how cliche it all is, but still want you to kiss me before the stars come out.) And I want to leave while the sky is still blushing so I can watch the stars and moon and all the heavens appear in your eyes before the sky tries to compare. I want to let the salty wind blow through our hair with all the windows down and be those obnoxious kids that play their music too loud, not bothering to turn it down at the stop lights. And I want to get back home around midnight, sit in your car a second too long so you get out and open the door for me, giving me just enough room to step out of the truck and right into a hug. I want it to be a Sunday so the next morning when we’re both fighting to keep our eyes open during advanced literature, second period, we can share a smile that no one will see or understand. That’s what I want.
I just want you to see the parts of me that I think you might find beautiful, maybe then you’ll fall in love.
He feels like that moment when
you put on new glasses and
realize that the wall has a texture.
I had forgotten what it felt like to
blush all over my body. When I
was fifteen I realized that jumping
from heights clears your lungs in
a way that crying in bed never
could. He’s never made me feel
like drowning. He’s only ever felt
like the air at the top of a cliff;
he’s only ever felt like clarity.
we talked about your death in my car at ten o’clock
in a deserted parking lot. you were in the driver’s
seat, lights turned off, music turned on.
and you told me that i wouldn’t care anyway,
so why does it matter?
and so i screamed at you, trying to make you understand
why the hell i care so much about you.
but i’ll never have the words to explain why and how i love you.
i just want you to know
and accept that i do, that you can’t leave
this world without taking me with you because
there’s no way i’ll be okay without you here.
and i wish you could just get it and think about it for
even a second, because,
i love you.
and there’s no other way to say it than that.
I’m not the girl your mother warns you about.
I won’t kiss your best friend or break your heart.
I won’t make you choose between what you love to do & me.
I’m not cold. I’m not reckless.
I’m the girl your father mentions when your mom’s not around.
I’m the girl that gets away.
I will love you more than anything.
I will kiss you when you cry.
I will stand by your side until you decide otherwise.
And you’re just like your father, so you will.
You’ll let me go & I won’t look back,
But you will.
I promise you, you will.
I’m that girl.