love, dear abby... @lovedearabby - Tumblr Blog

love, dear abby...

✎𓂃the pen is mightier than the sword ⚡︎

➵ 21, female, she/her, leo, istp

➵ ask me anything, anytime. i love answering “dear abby,” asks

want me to write something for you?

➵ writing requests: OPEN

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QUOTES + POETRY:

➵ 2024: Collection

➵ 2025:

➵ january

the magic 5% that writers surprise you with - follow to see more

➵ Grey Poem

➵ Friend Poem

➵ Keychain Poem

➵ January list

➵ 2024 Collection

➵ currently writing a book

➵ the loving mother to a handsome black cat and adorable yellow mutt

➵ according to my DNA, i am 108% likely to consume more caffeine than the average person. it’s literally in my blood

#navigation #pinned post #pins

I woke up and realized I didn’t miss you anymore, and that not missing you didn’t hurt either.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

neat-deadandlive-things

Dashboard views part 7/x.

It's hard to pick but this might be my favourite one.

TO ALL THE MOTHERS WHO DID THE JOB OF BOTH PARENTS.

I think I finally found closure

After all these years.

Sometimes again I still cry

But it’s a different sort of tears.

I know it’s not my fault,

All the choices that you made.

I had nothing to do with

if you chose to leave or stay.

It’s been three years tomorrow

that I last spoke to you.

I’ve rarely seen you around here

And I’m not sure what you’re up to.

Mom sometimes looks at me sad and says,

“I didn’t want things for you this way.”

I give her, her roses and smile saying,

“Happy Father’s Day.”

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

what a shame that I’m all you have show for a legacy,

and everything I’ve ever done has been in spite of you

KARMA.

“I’m a free spirit,” she said,

No, bitch, you, are spirit free.

Knocking the wind out of me,

as you always pretend to be,

A source of positivity,

while making my insides feel dead.

I will now and always dread,

this incoming storm I’m forced to dredge.

You love talking shit behind their backs,

yet act like you are holier than thou.

You should keep in mind even Hell has standards,

and not even there you’ll be allowed.

Incapable of accountability,

but you sure love to share your account,

“It’s not gossip if it’s true!”

I can write a book with the truths about you.

But you wouldn’t like that much, would you?

If I openly called you ‘a little bitch?’

I was only ten when you ran around town,

At age 35, tarnishing my image.

Now you’re old and look like a handbag,

But don’t flatter yourself; you don’t look like Coach.

For some reason your still with him,

And in that house like a roach.

But now you hate your job, and your mother in law,

You’re start regretting what you made your heart of,

FYI It’s stone, and I got another five letters for you,

It’s one word: Karma.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

I will never beg you to stay

When you and I know you’ll just walk away

…

seventh

eighth

seventeenth

nineteenth

twenty-first 🧺

- part two

twenty-second 🧺

twenty-fourth 🧺

BAND-AID

Call your new toy by your pet name for me,

insist that that’s not how that is but I see,

I caught you red handed as you replaced me.

It was plain and simple, Destiny.

Pretend that you’re pure and that you share love,

But I know how to tell when looking at one,

You’re unstable and you blame everyone.

No wonder you’re so lonely in Edmonton.

Claim you don’t take sides yet turn and ‘campaign’,

To get others to leave me, but with you to stay,

The fact that it’s not real, that’s really the shame.

They’ll leave you too one day.

You were shocked and confused when I stood up to you,

Went crying to Kevin, but he thought it through,

He knew that you were lying to him too.

Too bad and screw you.

Do you need an emotional Band-Aid?

You’ve got no friends left after your charade.

Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I ain’t.

It’s all because you’re a snake.

On Monday, you cried to me about your boyfriend,

Then Tuesday, you told me, I wasn’t a good friend,

Three weeks ago you decided it was the end.

You’re not such a nice Canadian.

You made up some false narrative in your head,

Badmouthed me to all of our mutual friends,

And now to me, you’re simply dead.

I hope it was worth it in the end.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

“He left me the way he always had: disappointed, but not surprised.”

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

I want so badly to talk to you, but have no idea what to even say.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

WAR.

Three rotations around the sun,

and sometimes I’m still not over it,

I know the war is what I won,

But those battle plans just won’t quit.

I dug many trenches back when fighting,

years later, they aren’t filled,

‘Should I’ve done things different?’ Keeps me awake,

With sleep deprivation, I’m skilled.

I think of who I might have been if you hadn’t happened,

But if not, I wouldn’t have met that man, I wouldn’t have stole his hat and,

Put it on; “combat vet” it read right on brim,

The two of us weren’t so different, we both had wars we tried to win.

But that’s the thing about going to war:

even if you come out on ‘top’,

The ghosts you met will follow you,

The haunting will never stop.

But there’s something nice meeting a veteran,

Literal or not,

He’ll support you unconditionally,

your back he’s always got

And so I bought him flowers,

A simple thought that crossed my mind,

I’ll never forget that smile

When he revealed it was the first time,

That someone gave him something

for his service, not anyone,

The thing is, he’s got no idea

how much for me he’s done.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

Thank you for treating me the way I never knew I was supposed to be treated.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

I don’t just love the way they love me; I love the way they make me love myself.

- LOVE, DEAR ABBY

“A hero is a person or character who is admired for their courage, achievements, noble qualities, who looks fear in the eyes and doesn’t even blink.”

That is the quote I saw on the wall of my sixth grade students classroom today. I strongly disagree.

All humans have hesitated. It’s instinct. It’s vital. It’s as strong as your heart beating. It is the culmination of thousands of years of survival. Hesitation is a universal experience.

Therefore, a hero always “blinks.” That ‘blink’ is the moment that human beings realize what they are doing. That singular defining moment that changes the gravity of the situation. The exact second that the given circumstances could produce a hero if the right choices are made.

Humans program robots. Robots don’t blink. If a robot were to walk through a path of throwing knives without blinking, would it be a hero? No, of course not. But by the first definition, they technically would be. The reasoning as to why they aren’t? Because the robot faces no repercussions. The robot has no risk. The robot has no real understanding of the danger, nor have they been forced to confront the facts of what they are up against.

That's where we come to our hero blinking. In order to be a hero, you must blink. You must have a moment to see the horrors that all logic would tell to run. Because it’s in that blink that the hero confronts the danger they put themselves in, and pushes forth anyways. That is what makes a hero. To have that shackling sensation of hesitation, and where most others would turn back, they trailblaze on. They trailblaze on anyway.

So here I propose a new definition:

“A hero is a person or character who is admired for their courage, achievements, and noble qualities, who looks fear in the eyes, blinks, and despite facing the world’s darkness, chooses to continue being the world’s light.”

GREY.

How the worlds gone grey,

all the colors left.

I hear that you’re ok.

Don’t you have any regrets?

All the struggles,

All the pain,

All the time I wasn’t ok.

All the years,

All the hurt,

All the times I wished I wasn’t yours.

I stopped going to therapy,

not because I thought I’d manage;

I didn’t go because it’s not fair,

For me to pay the repairs of your damage.

You got off Scott-free,

and I’m not at all shocked,

but I know it’s not me…

It was you who caused,

This slow motion car crash.

All these years later, I still have

the bruises and the whiplash,

but you don’t have a scratch.

I replay it frame by frame,

Incinerated in my brain,

So I could forever torture myself

Asking myself again,

What did I do wrong?

Was it me?

Did I ask too much?

What did you need?

What could I have done,

differently?

Or even worse,

was it you and not me?

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

FRIEND.

I count the days that have gone by,

To remind myself to be proud,

But the longer the voices have been quiet,

Only makes them all the more loud,

It’s not only when I’m awake I’m fighting,

It happens even when asleep,

I wake up, shaking and shouting,

My veins start to burn as I weep.

That burning hot pain in my back,

Damn, my arms and my wrists and my throat,

can’t smother them with hands or scratches,

It takes over and drapes like a coat.

I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong,

‘Is there anyone out there like me?’

But then I remember my friend, my love,

Good old PTSD.

LOVE, DEAR ABBY

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