Letter From A Loved One
Dear girl with the sharpies and sewing needles
It’s been a while, hasn’t it?
You’ve grown up a bit, haven’t you?
Since the last time I saw you finish something you started
You’ve stopped reading your horoscope on that website a long time ago
The one you used to read for the sake of proving wrong
Because you never really were very superstitious
And you always found the idea of everyone born at the same time acting the same hilarious
But I could tell you used it as a motivation
Because it always said Scorpios were people of commitment
And people of unmatchable passion
So you wanted to match that to commit to your choice of hobbies
And to always work on your drawings and plush toys until they were deemed satisfying
But you’ve been slowing down and paying less attention to detail
Dear girl with the novels and storybooks
You haven’t been reading much lately
Although you keep up with that habit you have
Of buying more books before you even finish the ones you already own
But the stacks of unread plots are getting bigger
With the stacks of subtle lines under those eyes that I used to love
Now the only characters you grow attached to are your own
The ones you say have bits and pieces of yourself in them
Though you only ever claim the flaws they have
Rather than the good qualities that really make them reflections
On the fragile glass surface that holds the makeup of your personality
Dear girl with the rings and bracelets
Your hands are always moving
They have been since you were a small child
Holding pink and blue crayons in your tiny fists
To make scribbles and lines that you called unicorns
Because they could be anything you wanted them to be
But nowadays the restless body parts that you used to use to make creations
Are shackled to themselves in handcuffs made of string, elastic, and leather
So you can lock your hands away for breaking and entering
Into the room where you keep the ideas that you’re too afraid of letting out
Your fingers are held down and entertained by the rings that you adore
And you love when they get compliments
But when the fruits of your efforts are pointed out as sweet
You pluck them off the tree and let them rot in the fridge
So you can offer the store-bought apples instead
So when the fruit has a flaw, it won’t be something you had made yourself
Dear girl with the downward gaze and hesitant voice
What happened?
Confidence transformed into low self-esteem and an unwillingness to move
A fear of change
A phobia of anybody really listening to the words you still speak in spite of your own anxieties
And you hope your messages get lost in translation
Despite how desperately you want for somebody to understand you
Despite how much you want to turn back time to before you turned thirteen
When you could stand up to your full height that everybody made fun of for being below theirs
But you would brush off their comments
As you ran your words effortlessly
Over the tongue you never held and through the mouth you quickly learned
Could be used for something other than eating food and chewing out other people
Now the only times you truly speak to strangers are when you’ve scripted yourself
Not only when you’re on stage with your poetry
But before you ask a question in class, or when you’re ordering food, or asking for help
You prepare every syllable
But your heart still thumps a tad too loud for ten minutes after you’ve spoken
Why is that?
Dear girl with the brown eyes and nervous smile
You seem to have forgotten me
You’re so wrapped up in the world around you
You’ve tied your attention to only the things you find wrong with yourself
And the things you find perfect in your friends
You have left behind the only person that’s always wrapped around your lungs
And making sure you’re still breathing and your mind’s still moving
The one who shares your thoughts and words
The one who shares memories with you
And knows exactly what’s in that precious box of yours that you seem to be opening less and less
When you really should be looking at it more
You seem to have forgotten the one that can’t ever leave
You seem to have forgotten me
Dear girl with the silly little drawings and poems
The sharpies, sewing needles, novels, and story books
The rings, bracelets, downward gaze, and hesitant voice
Keep those brown eyes shining
And don’t ever stop smiling