- "Have you ever been to a funeral before?"
- "Do you want to hold my hand?"
- "You look like you need a hug."
- "Please hold me."
- "Don’t worry, it’s not real. It’s all a dream."
- "Shhh, it’s okay now. You’re safe in my arms."
- "Hold me until I forget."
- "I don’t feel good. Stay with me…"
- "Don’t worry, baby, I got you."
- "I had that horrible dream again. Can I sleep in your bed?"
- "You can’t run from your fears when you’re in my arms."
- "Kisses won’t make it better, but you can try."
- "I’m going to love you until you love yourself."
- "You look like you need cheering up."
- "I need cheering up."
- "The past is in the past. The future is for us. We can’t help what’s gone."
- "You woke up screaming. I figured breakfast in bed was in order."
- "You’re the light of my life. Please don’t go."
29 July 14
No one ever told you that the happiest four words someone could string together were “I’m used to it,” but because the moment never came when you learned, you use your glue and your staples to try to hold yourself together.
I have been thinking about that since the moment I read your poem and how evolution has shaped us all into such sad people, and how we might never know the light of day because we are never told to open our eyes, and how our children will grow up cold and alone because we will never learn how to love, like our parents and grandparents before us.
I have been thinking of what you’re not used to. Snuggled in the back of your couch, curled up watching a movie and seeing the look in his eyes that screams his love for you as your own eyes light up at all the right parts. Her fingertip as familiar as your own as your lover traces the patterns of your face. The butterflies that take flight in your belly the moment he glances at you, though he’s stared at you for years straight.
One day, you’ll be used to it. You’ll be used to how her lips caress your scars, giving testament to the battles you’ve survived, the questions answered through the years of love that you’ve shared. You’ll be used to how their eyes dart to you when you smile, as if you had to unzip your soul to let out such a merry laugh. You’ll be used to the spotlight he puts on you whenever he holds your hand, thumb stroking your knuckles in just the way you like.
You’ll be used to the pet-names, the inside jokes, the requests to just stay in tonight so he can keep you all to himself. For a little bit, you must admit, you even dipped so low as to hate the wonderful person you are- you used to think you deserved it as much as you deserved the burns and cuts and scars: and you’ll still flinch when people ask you why you look sad some days and where the thin little lines came from. But you’ll be used to being reminded of being in a better place by her smile. You’ll be able to stop trying.
I have thought about how we have adapted. I have thought about how girls like you have your monsters and your regrets that keep you up until morning, how boys can hide away their feelings thinking themselves lower for having them, how those of us who are different have long ago been told that exactly what to be so we’ll “fit in”. I have thought about how when I enter a room, my fingers immediately feel for the rubber bands that I twirl around my wrist because I’m nervous. “I have thought about how when I am hurting, I never let all of the pain show because I’m afraid of letting other people see me vulnerable.” I have thought about the kids whose friend are mean and need to be replaced.
I have thought about your evolution, and how it is not finished, how you are not the final product of who you will become, how your mother may shoot you down, and your father may make you feel worthless but how you will rise past it all the same. I thought about feelings and hope and how others have shaped us to be smaller than what we could grow to be. I have thought about the poor kids who think they should conform as if tearing themselves apart is a good thing, and those who will never recover because of it. “I have thought of the things that have killed me.” And about the things that still are.
I know that it makes me sad. The thought of what you’re not used to.
in response to a poem by INKSKINNED (r.i.d) to whom the internal quotes belong, may she forgive me for using them, and who’s work you can find at http://inkskinned.tumblr.com/
I’m aware my poems are not usually this long nor in response to others’ work, but no one should feel this sad that they can write poetry like hers. Her original poem can be found on the page above, posted on 29 of July.