Coping Mechanism

[poemsanonymousblog]

I WISH PLANTS NEVER GREW

You’re driving me crazy. And you’re doing nothing wrong. It’s just when I bought you, I didn’t think you’d grow so strong. I signed up for five, maybe six medium-sized leaves, but now? Today I woke up and you had ten! And they’re huge! The worst part is I can see you’re sprouting two more and I swear they’re climbing upward as I stand here.

I know it sounds ridiculous now, but I wish plants never grew. I never imagined having to accommodate so frequently for you. And it’s fine for now, I just worry what will happen in time.

Remember in the beginning, I wanted you by the window, but there’s wasn’t enough room (your leaves were getting crumpled), so I gave you my desk? Well, if you begin to outgrow this place, too, I’m not sure what I’ll do. I don’t have much else left.

I think I can handle ten leaves. If you were to just stay like this, I think we’d be fine. The problem is we’re in this in-between phase where I have to make a choice, and I feel like you're just getting started, and I’m afraid of what that means. I’m already in deep and you know that, so there’s no scenario where I can’t let you grow. I love you, you know.

And then there are two new sprouts on the way! What am I supposed with that? Your constant changing suggests my endless rearranging and I don’t know how many more ways I can stack my books before they capsize onto the floor. Of course, I want to keep knowing all of your parts, I’m just afraid I don’t have the space. I’m just afraid of all the ways this could break.

All the ways this could break:

Suffocation

What happens when I wake up tomorrow and there’s an eleventh leaf? A twelfth? What if they need more stretch, like before? What about in a couple of months? Will the stems you so confidently boast become so long and gross, they’ll suspend themselves into my walls, across my floors, and tangle the area above my head? What if I have to bend and break and fold just to walk through the door? What if I get so entranced with the expanse of you that I don’t know me anymore?

Obsession

Or worse — what if I fall into you? If I admit to loving you always, I submit to the incessant worrying about you. Are you close enough to the sun? (I know sometimes it doesn’t come out for days, we live where it rains, and you’re not even native to this location or place.) Are you getting enough water? (I’ve been checking the soil and it still looks wet from the last pour of nectar, but I know it’s unnatural for you to even be indoors. Do you see the rain outside and hate me for not letting you be in it?) Inevitably, I’ll feed and move and worry about you so much, you’ll drown and tire and wilt and die. I’ve never known how to love right.

Loss

Or worst of all — what if I lose you? Sometimes I have to step out of this room and sometimes I can’t be with you and what if I’m away too long and there’s no one here to feed you? What if one day I wake up and you’re not okay? How could I not break? What happens if not one more leaf sprouts out from the center (that’s my favorite part of this winter) and instead, I have to watch them fall onto my desk? If I must see your body turn brown, the joyful sprout begin to sag, and the soil shrivel so assuredly that there’s no chance for revival, I must go with you. I can’t imagine this room without you. I can’t imagine it wasn’t because of me. We both deserve to be free.

But it’s too late. I chose you. I’ve admired you every day since. I must deal with the consequences: I must suffocate a bit. Obsess a little. Be willing to lose you and give you reasons to hang on to. I must learn how to breathe this way. It was a cold, dark room without you anyway.

[poemsanonymousblog]

The Right Way To Say I Love You and Goodbye

Simultaneous to leaving the ground, my awareness of losing closeness settles in. You will remain here, and me there, and while I knew it before, I feel the weight of it now. I understand why you cried last night and why I couldn’t help but come see you today.

I want to tell you that I love you again because I don’t think I’ve said it right yet. The first time I told you I was scared, so I used the word “think.” I corrected myself quickly but alongside amendment is not how you should know it. Or how I meant it.

The second time I told you, today on your street, I felt forced to. Like I was leaving, I didn’t want to let go, I knew you weren’t going to say it, we hadn’t talked about saying it once before, so I just said it. Kind of halfway and too casual, hiding in your neck. I didn’t even say “you,” I used “ya.” You said it back again but it didn’t feel right and I walked away weirdly. It’s more delicate a thing than I realized.

I know I love you because I think it constantly and feel you in my throat, but I’m sorry I don’t say it well. It doesn’t mean I love you any less. I think I just need time to comprehend all of this.

Anyway, I know you were sad last week, two days ago, and today, and I couldn’t relate, but now I’m above ground, on airplane mode, and on the verge of having a panic attack. I won’t touch ground for another eight hours and at that time you will be asleep, even though it will be mid-afternoon for me and they’ll be speaking a different language and the land will look different and the feeling will sink in, once again, that there is a giant ocean and half of two continents in between us. All I want to do right now is tell you how desperate that makes me feel because I love you and so then you’d comfort me and rest your hand on my hand and be warm and soft and sweet and I’d nuzzle into you and you’d tell me that you feel the same, but I have to be me.

I’d feel better because I know you are right and even more, that I am right in loving you.

You are as good as they come. I feel very lucky to be feeling what I feel for someone as safe and loving as you. Don’t tell anyone this, but I have thought before about how this feels like I’m done. I don’t need anything more. You, by all accounts and by entire surprise, seem to be the other half of my whole.

I miss you so deeply I just need to get it out. I’m on airplane mode, so my notes app must be the one to hear me.

[poemsanonymousblog]

The Night Before I Move Across the World

You’re lashing out because you don’t know how to feel upset and at mercy. I don’t either. I am upset and I am writing to no one instead of calling you. I just wish you would tell me what you really mean — you are scared I’m going to leave. You’ll start all over. You miss me and you don’t want to call. I’m tired and busy. My hair still smells like the smoke you used to erase me. I’m not yours and you’re not crazy.

[poemsanonymousblog]

I will keep you at an arm’s length and learn how to love you. I think I already do. We both know we aren’t supposed to go much further than this, but I tend to forget. We can float above water and take note of every cloud or we can get curious and drown. I never found many answers in the sky, but it is your holy ground.

[poemsanonymousblog]

Stage 2

If you really want an update on you, I guess I’ll give it to you. Because fuck you, I still regret it. I was there when you got the news, and I ran away. Fuck the way I was raised. I think about you sometimes, but you don’t deserve it. I’m angry at you now like I’m supposed to. I think about you less than I ever have, and I hope that hurts you. A local sports star marries his high school sweetheart. I hope this gets to you.

I think about you sometimes, like on long drives, or when I try to fall asleep. I can still fantasize your romantic gesture to meet me wherever and ask if you can still have another chance, I let you.

I see a picture of you on your 24th birthday—no wait this is a whole other story. Point is, you looked like someone I never knew.

I think about you sometimes, but I know you don’t deserve it. I try to imagine what it’s like to be in love with someone else, and I can only picture your cheeks covered in my kisses. I hope now you only represent the love I am capable of, not the person who deserves it. I hope I can give it to someone good.

[poemsanonymousblog]

Archives

I remember everything for what it was. I miss you. I miss everything about you. And I know I miss being in love too, and I know I miss the girl I was too, but most of all I miss you.

I think I did the best I could once you left. But every person after you I loved a little bit less.

[poemsanonymousblog]

Spiral Part 2 (The Bottom)

I still remember your face, but I’m sure it’s changed by now. I still remember your voice, but I know it’s shaken now. I still remember your heart, and though I know I ripped it apart, the pieces are there, and they’ll forgive me, still. 

I know that everything I am now is because of you. I know I lost my voice because of you, I know that I lost my mind because of you, I know that I never loved again because of the absence of you. Because of what I did to you. Every day I am alone it feels more normal. It feels more permanent. The only time I can let anyone in is when the streets outside my childhood home connect to yours. And then I remember that I told myself to never love again until you again. She listened. I will try again with you, and that is it. I promise you this. My body and my mind refuse to have it any other way. I don’t have control of this.

[poemsanonymousblog]

Spiral Part 1 (The Fall)

I feel myself edging the curve that swoops me downward, unable to grip onto the sides. I will die at the bottom of this slide. I have been down it before, and it took me years to get the grip to climb back up. I feel myself edging the curve and I tell myself to do more yoga. I tell myself to write more. I tell myself to get off my phone and find a way to feel more grounded. I tell myself to feel you, but stop missing you, too. Whenever I edge the curve of missing you, I propel myself down headfirst. This way, at least I feel you at all. 

[poemsanonymousblog]

Oklahoma City Part 2

The last time I was in Oklahoma City, you were showing me your new home. The reasons why the skies are bigger than the ones we know. I wasn’t mad at you, though. I was jealous and afraid, but I never doubted you’d find skies who’s sun rays touched your skin better. You always loved the summers.

The last time I was in Oklahoma City, I was making plans to come back in a hurry. I was picking out hotel rooms and places to get married. There is not always a paved road to recovery. It took years for me to not fantasize about the planes landing in Oklahoma City. It took years to not think about what drawer you’d fit my suitcase in. And now that I’m back, I’m just sad for all the memories I never had. This city holds a million stories that will never be told. A million kisses it would’ve held. This city had every possibility for the fantasy of you and mrs. me. I’m sad for the way it had to be.

[poemsanonymousblog]

Oklahoma City Part 1

I have been over you for quite some time. I don’t think about you, I don’t miss you, and I only rarely ever dream about you. I booked a trip to your city for the first time without thinking of you. I don’t find you in everything anymore, and nothing is yours.

That is why it hit me harder than it should’ve.

I didn’t miss you again. I didn’t want you back. I didn’t need to contact you. I was just sad.

This is a place I planned to implant memories in. This is a place I had filled with love. Every burger joint was supposed to have touching hands and a late night love you kiss. Every hotel room had one bed.

And I come here now, and I like it. There are great restaurants, the streets don’t make me anxious, and I like the people I’ve crossed paths with.

I spiral.

You chose to live in a world I could’ve lived in too. I could have spent weekends here and breaks and holidays and Tuesdays. I could’ve spent weeks and months and moments with you here and I could have been happy.

I didn’t choose you. I didn’t take a chance. And although I’ll write to you about how I should’ve, I know the engagement text is coming and I won’t feel stupid. I’ve already accepted what’s yours is not mine, what’s hers is not mine, and what’s ours is not anyone’s. What once existed, memories and fantasies alike, is no more. 

[poemsanonymousblog]

Atheism

How many words must I write for you to come back to me?

If there were a God, three would’ve sufficed.

[poemsanonymousblog]

THE TRAIN TRACKS IN MY TOWN

My mother told me recently how much entertainment they provided when I was a child. We’d pile in the car, pack a picnic for lunch, sit by the railroad tracks and watch all of the cars pass. We memorized the blinking lights to signify when the next ones were coming. And from which way, and on which track. We’d anticipate, wait, stare as hard as we could down the tracks, and then run away giggling, sit in our seat, and feel the powerful air blow onto us as the train passed by. We loved the excitement of it all. Sometimes, we’d wave our hands at the conductor, motioning for him to pull the horn. When our movement caused his action, we’d scream hooray in celebration.

I don’t look at the tracks anymore, but we’re getting there.

When I was three, I met my best friend. She happened to live right across the train tracks from me. In fact, she lived right on top of them. Every time my mother drove me for another sleepover, we’d pass that spot we would picnic at. Every time I visited her, for the next 15 years, I’d think about how often we’d hear the train’s horn. I’d always ask her if it was hard to sleep, even though I got used to the noise too. Whenever I’d hear the horn, I’d think of her, somewhere in her house, hearing it too.

They don’t make me think of her anymore, or the picnics with my mother, but we’re getting there.

In junior high, my best guy friends and I spent a summer day wandering the park between our houses. Completely spontaneously, we decided to follow the river. The river ran all through the park, and eventually into the railroad tracks. We swam fully clothed in the water until a park ranger made us leave. We raced the cars of the trains and felt the bold air blow past us and the horns wailing in the already distance. To this day, we still talk about the greatest day of our existence.

If I’m ever close enough to feel the wind again, I don’t think of this day anymore, or my childhood best friend’s house, or the picnics with my mother, but we’re getting there.

When I was seventeen, I was in love with a boy a year older. He was getting ready to leave our town forever, and he gave me one of his senior photos. Signed “I love you” on the back in black marker. In the photo, he stood in the middle of the train tracks, tossing a baseball in his hand, with the blinking lights in the back to signify if one was coming. None were. I held him close. Tucked deep into my binder, I pulled him out whenever I missed him most.

But now, when I see the photo, I don’t think of the love anymore, or the day with my guy friends, or my childhood best friend’s house, or the picnics with my mother. But we’re getting there.

Later that year, Caroline snuck out of her house in the night, left a note in her passenger side door, walked down to the train tracks, and jumped right in the middle. I imagine the lights were blinking twice in a row, green. I don’t know on the left or right side. I imagine she knew, and it didn’t matter. They found her body scattered around the tracks. In fact, in the same area me and my mother sat, near my childhood best friend’s house, the place me and my guy friends wandered, and where my high school sweetheart smiled for a photo.

So now, when I see the train tracks, which weave in and out of my town, I just think of that.

It does neither me or her justice.

[poemsanonymousblog]

Welp, as it turns out...

“you are not as beautiful as my poems”

[poemsanonymousblog]

must i live on with so many pieces of me gone?

or worse must i love again with such little remnants left of my heart?

[poemsanonymousblog]

I don’t have the money... or time

if i talked to another therapist about you i don’t think she’d understand i’m not just another young girl with her heart broken

i am the only girl who has lost you

[poemsanonymousblog]

Sad, sad girl

Sell all of me back into the world. Promise a day where I break too near to the sun. Promise a day where I fly too low to the ground. Promise a day where forever feels different than your skin. Promise me there is a day that my heart feels fuller than it does today. Promise me there is a day where I will be okay.

[poemsanonymousblog]

Atheism

How many words must I write for you to come back to me?

If there were a God, three would’ve sufficed.