They kiss until kissing makes them laugh."
1) A boy telling you you’re pretty won’t make you see the beauty in the fullness of your cheeks, in redness of your lips at 2 in the morning when tequila is making the bar bathroom spin. He can’t take away the ugliness that you see in yourself, you have to do that.
2) You have to be ready to hear someone say they love you. You have to be ready, and you have to be willing, and you have to listen. Because sometimes, they won’t say those three words, they’ll put a blanket over you while you’re watching a movie, they’ll kiss your cheek when they think you’re asleep, they’ll smile when they see you first thing in the morning. But you, you have to be willing to see it, feel it, let it in. Letting someone love you takes practice.
3) Don’t make compromises you can’t live with. Compromise is a different version of what you want, not a whole other Universe.
4) Learn to say no. No - to a movie you don’t want to watch; no - to sex you don’t want to have, no- to a relationship that’s driving you mad. Say no - to things that hurt you, to people that extinguish your fire, to jobs you hate and places that are desolate. There are bad things that we can’t control, bad things that happen and we are sucked into and have to feel with every fibre of our being, but the rest - learn to distance yourself, learn to say no.
5) Don’t expect people to walk through fire for you - not your parents, not your friends, not the person you’re in love with. Love doesn’t mean sacrifice, love shouldn’t mean sacrifice. Don’t expect someone to give away pieces of them, so they could fit you better. And don’t feel hurt when they refuse to - it’s self-preservation. Instead - learn from them. Do it as well.
6) Don’t tether yourself to people. Learn to make connections, to love, with both your feet steady on the ground. Learn to let people pass through your life; like a summer breeze, not a storm that’s just been unleashed.
7) Learn the difference between growth and growing up before it’s too late. Rooftops and water fights and ice cream for breakfast can be a part of your life at 10, 25, or 35. But by the time you’re 35 you need to learn to say enough, to be able to walk away, you need to be able to love yourself. Love yourself the way you loved yourself at 10, before the world had a chance to fill your head with ugliness."
I can’t remember the last thing you said to me,
but I think it was “I love you.”
I like it that way. I won’t say that I’ll never be satisfied with love,
but I’ve certainly never been happy.
I don’t want you to tell me you need me.
I am cleaning mud out from beneath my fingernails,
and I am happy now;
while my best friend fucks in the living room and everyone else
lives on hands and knees and bruised palms.
I am good at being alone.
In the morning, I carve beauty from bone.
I call my mom. I make it known
that I am happy here.
There was a time where I felt so empty,
I would have never imagined living
on full. I would never have imagined going months
without calling you. My ribcage, a birdcage,
both snapped in two. Splinters. There was a time
when I couldn’t imagine being here. A phone
full of friends to call. A rented room, a tall
stack of books, a cup of soup. There was a time
when I didn’t think I would live to see twenty.
Now I am living on heart and ideas,
and I still cringe every time I feel the place where you ended things
but it is getting better. There:
a letter I wrote you. An emptiness.
I uncurl my fist.
Mother, when I first moved here I never thought that I would be able
to open the door and let the rain in.
Mother, I’m doing it.
Listen: I’m happy now.