© Photo by Nishe
I am a writer and you are my poem
So let’s try to make this beautiful,
Let’s try to get those words off my chest.
I’ve been hiding them, burying them six feet under my skin, so that you can never see
anything.
Never suspect any one thing.
But now my heart’s too full, the words are flooding my brain and I’m breathing faster
than I ever should... I feel like my lungs are going to explode.
I want to stop being sorry for all my soft.
I refuse to apologise anymore
because I miss you, or because I want to say it, or because I text you first, or again.
I just want to be me and be ok with that and feel that you’re also ok with that. I might
not be the coolest kid on earth or the prettiest girl on this planet. I’ve got my flaws
and my dark thoughts for myself,
I am a sensitive one and yes, I cried a little the other night
Because I was hurting.
But I could never blame you for any of that,
Or for anything at all,
for you’re my angel.
I remember my mind was all dark thoughts and sickness... and then I found you – you’ve
dragged me out of the deepest abyss of my scarred mind and wounded heart.
They don’t understand but
Only you have been my light
In this petrifying darkness.
So I don’t want to be cool or indifferent. I just want to be me.
I just want to be honest.
I am a writer and you know that.
I make up stories from my life and my own hurting and loving.
One day, you will stumble upon more than what I already let you read,
And you will trip over millions of thoughts and writings
Wondering to whom they’re all unknowingly addressed,
Being unsure of whether they are fictional,
And haunted by the question of who could possibly be that guy
Who found the key to my castle,
Opened my soul,
And stole my heart.
I am a writer and you are the voice in my head when I’m alone,
The whispers approaching my ears like sweet melodies playing on the opening of a music
box,
The harmony protecting my fragile little world.
You are this beautiful mystery, this heavenly being, enchanting my universe and calming my insecurities.
It is your voice that makes me look up in the sky every time,
See the angel that’s telling stories to the world, showing us all the wonderful things
that still exist and shine.
You’ve touched my life more than you’ll ever imagine
And in a way very few people ever will.
I’ve tangled myself in your symphony,
Embraced many different notes and eventually realised that
My home is where you are.
I might not be allowed to say or write all this but I’m a writer... or maybe pretending
to
be one – I don’t even know anymore -
Thinking that my clumsy words will make sense and will pierce your heart.
But the truth is I cried a little the other night
Because I was hurting.
But I can never blame you for any of that,
Or for anything at all,
for you’re my angel.
Although we often stand in different time zones,
Although we are once again stroke by an unfortunate timing,
I still want to believe that this is just a game, a test my heart has to take,
And I am still convinced that we will meet again someday, that it’s written somewhere or
that we’ll have to write it because this simply cannot end that way.
But you see... even if we can never see each other,
I still write you these little notes, trying to fashion my feelings into beautiful
artwork
And I know that
You’re present,
You’re in my life,
You’re my friend,
I care about you,
And I will never ever give up on you.
So let me be this writer and murmur my poetry to your ears and heart and bones tonight.
Forgive me if my words are sometimes inept and confusing;
Just know that I believe in you and will support you for as long as I’ll be living.
May these words cover your soul with flowers and make your heart smile,
Might the delicate touches of them colour your sky in blue.
And with every single one I write,
understand that I’m just trying to tell you
how you’ve taken over my life.
So take those words,
drink them down,
and let them fill you with my support, gratefulness and love.
You’ve inspired me to write them all down,
These words I can now believe in,
and my heart beats a little faster when I know you’re reading.
Marie
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