Susan's Letters – To my first ever beloved

 I've only written to you once,

and the poems began long after you'd left.

But today I read of Emily's beloved,

and I wondered: "have I ever–

or will I ever–love as strongly?"

And the thought of you came to my mind.

I did not love you as strongly,

and did not love you for as long.

But you were there, ever-blooming summer,

before my letters to love had even begun.

And as I reminisce of a lover lost to summer,

or perhaps mourn a summer lost to love,

I remember you and I am grateful.

The glare of unruly salt, sweat, and laughter, 

to whom Apollo's shine could not ever compare.

I smile all the smiles you gave me, 

clean the cuts and scrapes of my knees you'd mend.

I'll disinfect the wound as you taught me,

and feel the sun on my skin through the clouds.

And the thought of you heals me as I move forward.

To my dearest, once-best-friend.

Your happiness is mine too.

You, who made love sunflowers.

To the Birds

Why do I still write to you?

It has not nearly been a while.

I need a place to put these feelings.

Are they even strong enough to leave?

The hardest cry I ever put into the sky,

is the one you wrestled from my chest.

How is it, that you ever held that power?

If I miss you again, tell me to not return.

If I love you again, I'll struggle to stay awake.

if I remain alone will my eyes stay open?

If I miss you again I'll tell myself, first,

feed my body to the birds.

Let me, before I reach for your hand,

Feed my body to the birds.

Marceline, who held my hand

The more I get to process the things that you've said to me the more resentment I feel, and the more I wonder wether I really want to be your friend in the future.

But I don't want to feel resentment, or the shaky, anxious grip on my gut whenever I think about you. I don't want you to have any more hold over my feelings, I want to hold my own hand as I move through this.

You called me your thing, you called me an object. Disregard the "most precious thing" because it is the last piece that matters. "You're mine" as a thing to say, is terrifying and disgusting. That made me feel used.

"I want you to ask me for help, to depend on me, so I can feel useful in this relationship", "So I can feel better about myself."

You wanted me to be as insecure and dependent as you. I shouldn't be strong and able to do things on my own, I should need you. The pieces of me that I was most proud of were the ones you least wanted.

You better not ever take these words back, I won't hear any more "I didn't mean it" or "I shouldn't have said it." Because if I am not allowed to take my words back, neither are you.

The one who says things can forget them but the one they're said to has to deal with them. And we've both been on either side.

I am not and was never a thing you owned, I was not put into this world to make you happy. My biggest mistake was not standing up for the feelings that cam from my gut, and taking what you said as "the path I should follow".

So deal with your own thoughts. Being hasty to deal with everything immediately won't do you well on the long run. Sometimes things need to be processed before they can be discussed.

So feel free to think whatever you want. The people who care about me most know how hard I tried.

Mint and Gunpowder

Every morning in this new place,
I drink mint and gunpowder.

And the night I dream of you,
It comforts me that I am there no longer.

You still grip over my heart,
in these nightmares I see 'returning'.

My fear is to ever want you back,
but once I drink

Mint and gunpowder,
it holds me and tells me: 

I'm there no longer.

Cutting Peaches

I can't breathe.
Neither can you.

Your soul drags mine heavy
around the room.

I don't know what to say,
you don't know what to do.

So that night again,
I cut peaches for you.

Are you happy?
You say you are.

You were just glad to not be alone,
I didn't have to go that far.

I cut peaches in the morning,
night and afternoon.

Whenever our tears are falling,
I'm cutting white peaches for you.

Tonight I've cut a peach again.
A different kitchen, different knife.

And as the thin skin rips, I'm thankful 

to not have you in my life.

My angel, your bones

My angel,
your bones are heavy.

They're heavy inside my body,
I've been hollowed out and bare,

And I shall feel no guilt,
for the blame is not only mine.

You cannot see your fault,
and I am too soft on you to tell myself,
that you too were wrong,

Angel, my bones are heavy.
As I bear them once I go.

This title has been in my mind for ages,
and only today have I found who to lay it upon.

Angel, our bones are heavy.
I cannot carry them for you.
And I do not want you to carry mine,
That's what you wanted me to do.

I'll place my bones back in my body,
your memory and the creases in my spine.
I'll hold you close to my heart forever,
But I know that we must part.

Button Up Shirts

You never say you love me.
And I've said it once.
And I will forever, to everyone except to you.

With the correct backdrop of a song at night,
My worthless thoughts now seem so solemn.
Wake up and cry, from a nap I don't remember.

When you're not here your words are cold,
The things you say are so empty.
Do you really care about me?
Or do you care for what I do for you.

My face is worth nothing to me,
Is the rest of me worth anything to you?
Do we even know each other.

I can't feel my dreams around you,
Should I just dream about her instead?
I'll hang on for the time being,

I'll continue to lick your wounds,
And my own, once you're done.

Until you no longer have use for me,
Once I swim back up from this headlong dive,
And run back into my own open arms.

Wash myself clean from your smell.

I was too hasty, wasn't I.