calg poetry

Whats up? 

Nothing much. 

But I’m still here waiting by the phone.

Waiting on a call, New Jersey on the phone Wondering when you’d say hello.

all i have is myself and a bed filled with the demons in my head, music in the background of my melancholia, undone by the loneliness filling my chest

all my friends are a million miles away living a life i’ll miss out, learning how to grow up while i watch in pictures and stories of bygones

i’m nostalgic of who i was as carefree as she was, wishing it’s how it used to be before all this sadness weighing down on me; my eyes no longer shine i'm tired of being who i am

my days are filled with working until three in the morning; the nights are not a reprieve, that’s when all my mistakes mock and laugh at me; i wish for yellow flowers and green leaves but all i see are the ghosts from all my grief.

hope has dirt under her fingers, her pants muddy with soil, as she tills the ground and works the land growing flowers made from broken hearts

so i will water this garden made with hope from all the little things that make life worth living for.

i will plant seeds of hope each time i am sad and water it with the tears that fall from my eyes, that after all this rain, i might have flowers borne from all my hope and all my pain.

on the days i want to die i will make a list of all the things that make me feel alive, of all the beautiful things that make up life.

like iced coffee in the morning and waking up to the sun shining on a weekend morning.

like taylor swift songs about falling in love at your darkest, at your most broken.

like warm hugs from my father and comfort food cooked by mother, like watching funny shows with my brother, and spill the tea moments with my sisters.

like “how are you?” texts from my friends sent through funny memes over the internet, and setting up milktea dates with my best friend.

like cute pictures of our dog and poetry that make me cry and romance books that make me believe in love.

and all the green leaves and yellow flower days i’m still wishing for.

and hopefully at the end of this poem, i’d feel a little less like wanting to die and a little more like being grateful i’m alive.

Dear Little Me,

I am sorry. I am sorry for the hurt the world has caused. At 24, you shouldn’t feel so tired, shouldn’t feel like waking up each day is a chore. You shouldn’t feel like you have to work yourself to the bone, just to feel loved, to feel you are something of worth.

Little me, I am sorry. I am sorry you are still the child, left at your high school’s hallway wondering why you were never enough despite graduating at the top of your class. I am sorry you are still brittle glass that breaks so easily with the smallest feedback because you were taught to be perfect and failure was to be anything but.

I am sorry that resilience was taught like a crown to wear upon your head, that being infallible was what being strong meant. I am sorry you were taught never to cry, to brush it off your shoulders and keep your head high. I am sorry you were taught to keep it inside, to never let them see the emotional bruises you tried so hard to hide.

I am sorry for the dreams you will never reach, and the different type of grief this will bring. I am sorry the picket fence may never be, at least not like this, not with all this baggage we carry. Because a child shouldn’t be subjected to the pain caused by all the wounds that never healed. Little me, I am sorry, because I am the wound that won’t seem to heal.

Little me, I am sorry. Because this letter is too long, too many things I am sorry for. No one wants a child hurt, and at 24, I am sorry I can’t protect you more. I am sorry because there are even things to be sorry for.

Little me, I am sorry. Because sometimes the world is cruel and hard and will not apologize for it, so in behalf of all the reasons why you are hurting, I am sorry. Because no one has ever told you they were sorry, and only now are you learning how “I’m sorry” feels.

How it feels like balm to an aching wound, like a crater-sized you is a step closer to being filled whole. Because “I’m sorry” sounds a lot like “I love you” and Little Me, you deserve the softness and grace that love brings, where you don’t have to carry the world’s weight upon your shoulders, where you can break down because it was never yours to shoulder.

How “I’m sorry” feels an awful lot like safety - a space to make mistakes, a place to rest your head, because you were never meant to be perfect. Little Me, it’s okay if you need a break. Little Me, here you are safe.

Little Me, there are still so many things I am learning. Like how to smile at the face in the mirror each morning, and how to walk a little more slowly. How to look at how green the leaves are on the trees I pass on the way to work, how their yellow flowers fall slowly down to earth. How to make iced coffee taste sweet because there are days where the world is bitter, but hey, at least I have iced coffee.

Little Me, I am still learning how to say sorry to the Me I used to be and the Me I will never be, but most especially to the Me that I am and the Me I will be. And with “I’m sorry” comes forgiveness, which, too, I am still learning - how to forgive myself for all that I am and all that I will never be. Because the greatest lesson I’m learning is that it is okay if at the end of the day, all I have to show for myself is Me. Scarred, tired, broken, but Me.

For all the reasons you are hurting, and all the things that are overwhelming, Little Me, I am sorry. And I love you. You are safe here. Little Me, it may not feel like it, and honestly, I’m not there yet, but Little Me, I think we’ll make it.

Blame it on the wine Why I let you hold my hand, Drunk on the energy Fermenting that night

Blame it on the wine Why I sat by your side, Lost in the spirits Bubbled in hindsight

Blame it on the wine Why I danced you in moonlight, Spiked by memories Of our blurred lines

Blame it on the wine Why I wished time would stop, Blacked out on the high Of pretending you were mine

Cross my heart, Blame the wine I could’ve loved you for a lifetime If only I hadn’t sobered up.

can we take it back to that day, you promised me you’d stay, can we take it back then when you said you were okay.

the sun rose again you made it through another day.

there was no call at 5am just silence from the other end sent you so many messages, each one left unread.

your mom tells me you’re finally okay in the city of golden streets where there are no sorrow no more tears.

can we take it back to that day, where you write poetry that dream of dreams can we take it back to then when there was still another day.

the sun rose, but for you, there were no more days.

I wonder if you miss me when you see my face in the crowded streets or when the wind howls my name across your ears.

I wonder if you miss me before you sleep, when you close your eyes and dream of dreams.

I wonder if you miss me throughout the day, did I take up space inside your brain.

If I could love you, I’d love you in all the ways that hurt Because that’s all I know of love And all I know is hurt. If I could love you, I’d love you like blisters on my hand From writing you down in poetry On white and black paper lines

If I could love you, I’d love you in all the ways that hurt Because that’s all I know of love And the way I love you hurts. If I could love you, I’d love you like every sad goodbye Because we’ve done this a million times before And we’ve failed every single time.

If I could love you, I’d love you in all the ways that hurt Because that’s all I know of love And the way you love me hurts. If I could love you, I’d love you in the softest goodbye Because you never meant to break my heart But we can’t keep crossing uncrossable lines

If I could love you, I’d love you in all the ways that hurt Because that’s all I know of love And right now, everything hurts. If I could love you, I’d love you in the rear view looking back Because I’m tired of tears marring my words, And it’s time we finally said our last goodbye.

i fall and fall, every time, down the same hole.

quit you like a smoker quits smelling like smoke, alcoholics anonymous sober, told my friends its been a while since i’ve been hungover.

i’m not absolved of any wrong; walked down the same road when i said to myself “this is the last time, won’t go back anymore” - there i was on the same corner stand, looking through the liquor store.

shopping through the window, browsing the wine catalogue my rose-colored glasses broke, saw the red flags i didn’t see before.

with opened eyes as i look through the photographs i start to realize - was the taste of white on my lips really just red wine lies.

tried to turn back, close the book, run away as fast as i can, but you keep me with a chain around my throat, didn’t think the necklace memento was my prison hold.

please, i’m begging you, let me go, i’d like to get out of the cyclic hell hole.