So I have this friend I send pretty much everything I write to. A decent portion of our texts are my sending him links to google docs and his sending me screen shots of lyrics or videos of music he’s working on (hey you, finish your EP! also, everyone else, he’s super talented: go check out his youtube and pester him to make more videos).
We have this delightful creative semi-collaboration going on, and it’s one of my favorite things. It’s nice having someone who’s opinion I trust and who genuinely cares about reading things.
Anyways, I’m not sure if he remembers this, but I sent him a link to something I wrote a few weeks ago. He called me in response and said, “Michelle, do you ever send any of this to anyone but me? Because it’s really good. You could connect with a lot of people.”
“Sometimes Brenna and sometimes my mom, but mostly just you,” I said.
I rarely think about the things I write being able to resonate with others because they’re often about rather specific situations and deeply personal. It takes a lot of vulnerability for me to share things most of the time, hence why I only send it to my best friend.
But Zach and I made a pact to kick each other in the ass to do more with our creative passions so I started thinking more about sharing.
The night after we had that conversation, I went through my google docs and discovered I have nearly 50 pages of poetry just sitting there, collecting virtual dust. That doesn’t count the notebooks I scribble into for weeks then shove onto a shelf.
I have a library of material I’m doing nothing with, and that’s stupid.
So I think i’m going to start trying to share things more regularly. Maybe a poem a week. (Someone hold me to that. Zach, I’m lookin at you, dude).
Today you get three pieces that I wrote pretty much simultaneously. They’re all on the same subject matter and very similar but also wholly separate, at least in my brain. Maybe they’re all pieces of a larger poem? I don’t know. I’d been blocked for weeks so I was just happy to be writing again.
They don’t have titles yet so my creative self decided to call them ‘1,’ 2,’ and ‘3.’ I’m a creative genius, I know. Hold your applause, please.
Anyways. Read. Enjoy. Let me know your thoughts, feelings, etc. even if you hate it.
we are sitting on the beach
in complete silence
except for the sound of the mesmerizing waves
and the song i don’t know
blasting through the speaker he put between us.
in my head i’m taken to the last time we were on a beach together
we were together,
on paper at least,
laying on the most gorgeous beach
on the edge of a grecian island deep in the mediterranean.
and we were silent.
i tried to ramble
about the thoughts inside my head,
but you never wanted to hear them.
i tried to play a song to fit the moment
but you didn’t like my music
until it was the only connection you had to me.
so we sat in silence in the most beautiful place in the world
both wishing we were with people we liked better
because we were so obviously wrong for each other,
but too scared to admit it.
clinging to this idea we built
that was never our reality.
i escaped to the ocean alone
because being alone was less lonely than being with you.
i floated along
and thought the ocean was going to take me away
and i wished it would.
because anywhere was better
than with you.
and now here we are,
on a beach in the silence
and i ran to the ocean alone
because you still don’t care about me
only how much you can control me.
but i, much like the ocean,
will never be a force anyone can control.
you say that makes me unlovable,
and maybe it does,
but i’d rather be alone than with anyone who wishes to suffocate my spirit.
i’m circling a drain
that leads to a deep pit of depression and anxiety.
i used to call that place home,
but not since i left you.
i packed up and moved out of it
with no intentions of returning.
you wanted to spend three weeks riding the nostalgia train
and drug me along even though i didn’t buy a ticket.
you never cared much for what i wanted
because you never cared much for me.
i deserve more from this life
than to feel a pit in my stomach
and a weight in my chest
and like i’m worthless.
i was your emotional punching bag,
around to boost your ego and fill a void.
i was never someone worthy of love
or even to hold a place of sincere importance.
i know you are wrong
and the picture you have of me is not reality.
the facts may be true,
but the way i am with you is far from the best example of my character.
i am the girl with the heart that’s too big for her chest,
that loves with no expectation of anything in return.
you never believed in me
or my strength or my words
so you took them away any chance you found.
you say the truths i hold close to my heart
are nothing but lies
because in your world, i’m cold-hearted and cruel.
you cannot wrap your head around the fact that i’m easy to please.
you ask about him,
and i tell you that being friends with me is easy
if you don’t treat me like a piece of shit.
“if only they knew what the worst of you was like,”
you say in regard to anyone i let close to me or hint might be important
as if you have the power to destroy the good things i’ve worked hard to build.
you cannot fathom
that there was far to me than you ever saw.
i shut you out
long before i told you i did
and you were far too busy with anything but me to notice.
to you, i’m unlovable.
to you, i’m walls of defenses three layers deep,
and i never want anyone else to have fight so hard to get in
because who i am with you
is not me.
you took away my voice
siphoned all the ink from my pens
and robbed me of my words –my only solace.
i sat quietly while you belittled me,
every jab cutting deeper.
you used to live in my dark place, too,
so you know how to appease my demons
and drop one liners
that drop me to my knees in emotional agony.
sometimes i think you don’t really mean what you say,
you just want me to hurt as badly as you do.
then you say, “i’m just being honest, michelle,”
and i look at you in disgust
the person i once loved.
it’s worse, though, because you don’t seem like a stranger to me.
you seem like a familiar hell.
a place i’ve been time and time before,
because in some fucked up way i’m a sucker for people who treat me like shit.
you made it clear, though, that i deserve no better.
it disgusts me that you are who i put so much effort into loving.
i left because neither of us should feel as awful as we do together,
but you insist on keeping us in turmoil
growing angry whether i hand you your power back
and let you tear me down
or if i stand up and say no more,
allowing my inner warrior to rear her head –the part of me that always scared you
because that’s the part that left you
when you thought you had all your pawns in order.
we are a losing battle,
and one i don’t have an inkling of desire to fight.
our war is long over
and neither of us were the winner,
but if it means that much to you,
you can have a crown, a trophy, the grand title:
anything you want,
except for me.
because someone like you
doesn’t deserve someone like me.
i deserve someone who thinks the world of me
the way i would of them
if i decided to let anyone that close again
but you may have ruined me for anyone else.
i’m far from indestructible,
but i’ll never let you, or another, be my downfall.