Author: Forgotten Shoes

(This is for march madness, by the way. And it took longer than I’d care to admit. I hope you read it with patience, and an open mind.)

If Only For a Moment

You dont have to be what they want you to be.

I hope you look away from their expectations and just grow

and keep growing with reckless abandon

until you’re beautiful in your own eyes and you’re comfortable in your own skin.

I hope no matter what your father said

or didn’t say

you still go after your dreams in the middle of the night,

and chase them in the bright light of the afternoon, too.

Because a dream is never something to keep in the dark.

I hope you know that even if you don’t get very far in this madness in march,

you’re still worth the writing inside your heart and mind.

It’s still worth reading and it’s still worth letting it go.

Also, as much as your writing is worth letting go of,

You are worth holding onto.

I wonder who you are…

See, you could be like a bonsai tree, beautiful, but trapped and molded to perfection by everyone that isn’t you.

Or you could be a wildfire ripping through everyone else’s trees and destroying lives by the thousands, until you find what you’re looking for.

Or you could even be a sapling. Trying its best in the worst possible circumstances, yet never giving up, no matter how small everyone else says it is.

I hope whoever you are, you’re strong and you stand true to yourself, rooted in the ground, and in your purpose.

I hope you let them give you that hug and then I hope that you give it back.

And I hope you never let go of what makes you smile when all you want do is give up.

I hope you realize that this letter truly is for you.

The you that appears to fit in perfectly

The you that hasn’t given up yet

The you that is scared.

I know you are, and I know that you will be again.

And I know thats alright.

But more than that, I know that you’re going to change the world

if you let yourself.

I hope you hold onto your light and your favorite song and your best ideas.

But I hope you let go of the look on his face,

or the tear in her eye,

or the tone of their voices.

I hope you let yourself make mistakes until you make something you could never let go of. And I hope that as you read this it makes sense.

I hope it changes your life, if only for a millisecond.

And finally,

I hope you see that, if only for this moment, you mean the world to me.

I’m sorry all of this has been so sad. I don’t know if I even know how to write happy poems or happy posts at all. I think I only ever write when I’m sad. If I’m happy, I try to just enjoy that moment. But maybe I should try to capture the essence of it more often.

“Suffering feels religious if you do it right.”

-from Chelsea Hodson, from Tonight I’m Someone Else: Essays, “The End of Longing.”

It’s like a ritual, its like an offering, its like a prayer.

It’s like the only thing I deserve to do when it gets to this point again.

I don’t let myself stop until somebody tells me i need to.

But thats a rare occurrence.

I don’t know if anyone will even notice today.

Should I keep going?

Does it matter?

How to deal with disappointment

I still don’t know

I wish there was a cure, a doctor’s appointment

That could fix this

That could dry my tears and give me a second chance

That could hold my hand despite its fist

That could spare me more than a sorrowful glance

I feel crushed and bruised and broken

I feel lost and hurt and torn

But no one hears words so soft-spoken

My sleeves are wet and crinkled and worn

Maybe I found my third thorn

I wish I could tell you how terribly I’ve felt all morning

How I’ve replayed every moment leading up to that call

How I’ve wondered and wondered if you loved me at all

How your sisters and prettier and so tall

How I’m just the silly one that never helped you at all.

Dad, I’m sorry,

about all this

I know you told me

not to worry about it

But when my sister curses my name and calls me a waste it’s hard to imagine

That you’d struggle to fill my place

I don’t know how much longer I can hide

I want you to see the tears and realize my regret

But knowing your humor and jokes full of my expense, id rather die

Than let you see me cry.

I’ve Already Written This Poem

This poem has, um

It’s already been written

It was different

It was longer and

More well-written and it was

Just so different

But now, it fits in

In its haiku-shaped box

But now I wonder

Like all of these words

can I fit myself in, too?

Like a new Haiku.

But I’m already,

I’ve already been written

Too. Like a haiku.

Like The Moon

Write Club #1

February 2020

Someone once told me that

Like the moon 

We must have periods of emptiness 

before we can feel whole again. 

And since then I’ve thought to myself, 

Is that why God kept you from me my entire life?

Is this why you’re not with me now? 

Do I really

Need

This feeling of emptiness in order to 

Someday

Be whole once again? 

Do I really need to have craters in my skin in order to love myself? 

Do you really need your hair ripped out before it can be grown again 

Fuller than before?

It all felt unfair. 

My hands were crescents, waiting for the water

The mirror was above the faucet, 

Staring me down

My head was a comet

Burning with reason, direction and purpose 

All unknown 

But so very fast 

And hard to keep track of 

My eyes were Stars

Twinkling in the moment 

Only to shatter and explode

When the light 

Became too much 

Your smile was the sun 

Breathtaking and big and bright

But dangerous 

If I looked into it for too long I wouldn’t be able to see anything else

If I got too close to it, 

I would soon fall. 

My hands were crescents 

Like the moon

Waiting for the water 

To fill my palms like her hands once did 

And like your hands still do 

My eyes were Stars 

and your smile was the sun 

and my head was a comet

And our bond was a solar system 

Revolving around your smile except 

Your smile was never as easy to look at as

 my hands 

Like the moon

Against the sun.

As I said earlier in #9,

tonight my hair is the way I wish it always was

My clothes are the right color and theyre comfy and don’t look as bad as I envisioned

And I feel like maybe I could reinvent myself if I let go of the idea that I have to be original

Because nothing is ever really original

But maybe thats okay.

The way that my hair is wavy and flows over my shoulders,

The way that its late at night but I’m not angry at myself,

the way that I’m actually looking forward to making something again…

I think those are good things.

I think these are the everyday simple things I should look for.

Maybe original things are pointless,

Maybe its even more pointless to search for them.

When have I ever had an original dream?

A small, warm house with plants and colors was never an original wish,

And a partner who loves me and dances in the kitchen at midnight to silly and slow songs was never an original hope.

But those were always what I wanted.

Maybe…

I should accept the fact that

I am allowed to enjoy things,

And hope for things,

And wish for things,

Even when they are average and boring and unoriginal,

Simply because I deserve them,

and because I will love them.

Tonight, my hair is the way I wish it always was

I let it dry hanging down my back after my shower, not caring about the stream of water dripping down the back of my T-shirt

I think I’ll do this more often now.

I’m reading a book that is more relatable than anything I could have imagined

I’ve had very good luck with books this year so far

I finally finished a book I had kept on my shelf for months, last week

And today, in my confusion and frustration and other weird teenage feelings,

I picked up another book

this book had been sitting on my shelf for weeks, I could never fathom finding time to read it

But now I think I’ve figured it out:

You don’t make time for books

If that were how it worked, no one would ever read

See, what really happens is a book sits on the shelf until you need it

Until the title on the spine happens to become your favorite color

Until the book calls your name, or yells at you from across the room

Until your feelings are so much you can’t bear this world any longer so you must join another

Until the book knows that the words it contains are exactly what you need.

I needed the words in this book tonight. I’m not sure I’ve ever read something this fast.

I’m not done with it though. I’m 44 pages in and there’s still so many and I’m so glad,

because this book yelled at me today and told me that I can’t go another day without its pages in my brain and its light in my eyes.

It was right.

It’s starting again.

The absence of hunger.

The apathy.

It’s not worth it.

what’s the point.

It’s too much effort.

It’s confusing,

It’s not what I want.

\

I looked up from my writing, trying to compose myself.

And my little sister is looking at me,

Wide eyes, small teeth.

Why is she smiling at me?

“You accept the love you think you deserve.”

I must be so selfish.

I don’t think I really deserve anything you give me. And yet.

I will never pull away from your hug.