Author: lina adams

introduction post again

ice cream is my favorite food group.

i re-read harry potter every year,

and only reading it once in that time frame is nothing short of a monumental feat.

i keep a pack of thank-you cards on hand at all times

because someone is always deserving of my thanks.

when the rain thunders into my skin,

i feel the sun on the inside.

every thursday

i wear a bright orange shirt with the words “hope squad” printed across it

that makes me look like a traffic cone,

-and does not compliment my skin tone, by the way-

because if i believe that anything will carry us through,

it is hope.

i write poems about my broken family

in hopes that one day

i will see one that feels whole.

i write poems about ms. cook,

a person i love who made a terrible choice in firing three bullets;

i believe that good people make bad decisions in the face of impossible situations,

but it is always up to us to choose love instead of judgement.

i write poems about how i once wanted to die more than i wanted to live

because i don’t feel that way anymore.

i write poems about sadness and anger and joyandpainandloveandloveandloveandlove—

life is not about feeling happy,

it is about feeling it all.

and i hope that one day,

i will struggle writing poems like these,

that when my pen hits the paper it will not tell stories of what the world is,

but of what it could be.

i have a secret, desperate aspiration to write words beautiful enough to be quoted one day,

so i study the words quoted by the greats and the forgottens of time,

i title my words with theirs.

in the time i’ve had this blog,

i’ve stopped praying to god and started praying to Love.

i hope to inspire others to see the good in everything,

and like van gogh,

“for my part i know nothing with any certainty,

but the sight of the stars makes me dream.”

i believe in dandelions,

in shooting stars,

in wishes,

in love.

and in the darkness of my room at night,

the glow of gull’s classroom,

the blackness of a poetry-slam stage,

i see a someday-life for myself that is so beautiful—

i can almost taste it.

sometimes,

i forget that i make the world better

simply by being in it.

the real lina adams

is one of my most favorite humans.

her words feel like hugs,

and her rainbow dresses and bunny hops somehow make the sun itself shine brighter.

she is the human equivalent of coffee

in the best way.

i leave her remembering that good still exists for me,

for you,

for us,

that the world doesn’t have to be this way,

and there is much to be done about it.

i borrowed her name

in hopes that i could be a little more like her-

that i could change your understanding of the world,

reach out,

touch your soul,

remind you that as long as

my heart beats

and your heart beats,

we are not alone.

sometimes,

i forget that i make the world better

simply by being in it.

i think that the rest of you do, too.

marilyn mondeathroe,

because of you,

i see hope in dragonflies,

in rhymes,

in anger.

i couldn’t be happier,

more ecstatic,

for another year to spend writing next to you.

i love you.

theflameofthewest,

we found each other in our writing,

we looked at each other and saw ourselves.

i hope that one day we can meet in real time and space,

instead of through a screen.

until then,

i’ll be snapping for you.

i love you.

lyseric bliss,

i will never see vsco girls the same way again…

thank you for trusting me enough to sign up for a cult-ish class halfway through the year,

for letting me read your words,

for sitting by me in both our english classes.

you made walking down the hallways an adventure,

and i am proud to be friends with someone as cool as you.

i love you.

callisto altair,

i love your words,

they break me and make me whole all at once—

they are a gift.

you are a gift.

performing your words with you at my first slam is a memory i will treasure forever.

please keep writing.

i love you.

olive stewart,

i don’t have words to tell you how much i love you.

and i know that sometimes,

you want to change parts of yourself,

but know that if i were in charge,

i wouldn’t dream of changing a single thing.

i couldn’t be more excited for all of our adventures.

i love you.

kinstugi,

i will forever be grateful to mrs. gull

-and her infinite and all-knowing wisdom

for subtly forcing us into best-friendship.

you are more phenomenal than you will ever know.

i can’t even wait to be annoying-best-friends with you and ash next year.

i love you.

fineagain,

we met on a hot bus,

but i will remember you for all the moments we’ve had since then.

you remind me why i believe in hope,

and i pray that one day my soul will be as good,

as pure as yours.

i love you.

amanda lorian,

you call me the god of writing,

but it is you that i look to,

you who always has the words i wish i could say.

your rendition of “happy birthday” will fill my soul forever,

and believe me when i say-

we’re just getting started.

i love you.

ada simone,

the thought of never having met you brings tears to my eyes.

i’ve told you before,

and i’ll tell you again,

you change my understanding of the world every day.

thank you for guiding me through my grief,

for flaming my sadness into poetry.

i owe you the world,

and then a little extra.

i love you.

to the real lina adams,

you are the reason i smile when i say the word “family.”

i hope to one day be half the person you are.

thanks for letting me borrow your name,

you can have it back now. 😉

i love you.

to those i have not named but who have touched my soul in love,

i love you.

in the words of drew dudley,

“there is no world.

there’s only six billion understandings of it.

and if you change one person’s understanding of it…

you’ve changed the whole thing.”

please know,

you have changed my understanding of it.

you have changed the whole thing.

i hope,

that if i’ve left anything with you,

it is that you choose love.

over and over again

until your lungs have taken their last breath,

until your heart has given its final beat,

until your eyes close for the last time

and your soul touches infinity,

keep choosing love.

i’ll always be here snapping for you.

forever and always,

-ellie

the first time you realize

that your mother does not love you like she says she does

will be a demon more than a memory.

it will become harder to ignore her.

you’ll hear the malice hiding in the nagging comments she makes,

see all the moments she sets you up for failure,

start fearing her promises

-when you realize how broken they are.

the first time someone else tells you they love you

you won’t believe them.

your mother’s voice echoes too deeply in the depths of your soul

to let you believe anything good can still exist for you.

but they’ll tell you they love you again,

and as you tell them about your mother,

about her words,

they won’t run 

-though you were certain they would.

instead, they’ll hold you tighter,

and you won’t hear a broken promise when they say that they love you-

you’ll hear something whole.

they’ll have to say it a few more times.

you’ll keep thinking they’ll see too much of you,

that they’ll finally see who you really are deep down,

realize the things your mother always knew.

but they see it all,

and they stay.

there’s no love despite

or anyway–

just love.

one night,

you’ll forget how to sleep,

drowning in your mother’s echoes.

they’ll break you a little.

but maybe tonight…

choose the other voices-

you haven’t been loved like you should’ve.

i love you forever, and nothing will change that.

we are here with you.

we are here with you.

an alternate reality in which the i love yous on my tongue do not get caught in my throat.

in this version of the story,

“i love you,”

is not a chain:

it’s a butterfly.

i did not walk in on my eleven-year-old brother

holding a knife to his skin.

he only uses knives to cook with grandma,

the only marks on his skin are from forgetting his oven mitts.

i do not spend night after night

listening to screams destroy the broken foundation our family is built on.

i do not hold my sister through her tears

as she tells me she’d rather die

than live through another night of this.

the only nights i don’t get any sleep

are the ones my sister and i lay awake

talking about the stars,

the vastness of the world,

and our place in it.

my sister and i do not sit in my car

evaluating which family members will still want me 

after finding out

i was not born to love a man 

but a woman.

i go with a girl to prom,

the only comments made are those praising our matching dresses.

my family’s main goal is not happiness,

not a broken exaltation.

the only thing in our sights is love,

and because love alone is not enough,

we have boundaries,

trust,

communication,

vulnerability,

forgiveness.

and because we have this,

love is not just in our sights,

it is within us.

i do not spend my life chasing dreams of unattainable perfection,

i do not drive myself to insanity

just to hear my mother say,

“i’m proud of you”

-she’s still never said it.

i do not set myself on fire

to keep others warm.

i run toward the things that make my soul warm,

i tell myself that i am proud of how far i have come,

i cultivate the fire within me,

stumbling toward the light,

finding myself in the stars.

god is not a set of rigid rules,

blind faith with clearer consequences than promised blessings.

god is the higher self we reach for,

the light within us all

reminding us how to live,

the reason why we live.

in this version of the story,

“i love you,”

is not a sentence-

it is a life.

sometimes

the short poems

are the hardest

to write

change one word

and the whole poem

avocados.

-atticus

another day goes by

where i barely think of you,

and i wonder

if i miss you

or if i miss

the version of myself

who died

when i lost you.

but then

i see another one of your ghosts

-someone with bleach-blonde hair at the grocery store,

and my heart stabs itself

on the memory of your

i love yous.

i keep reminding myself

that i am allowed

to grieve someone

still walking around

if she’ll never again

walk into my life,

instead

forever treading

on my

guitar picks.

i remember grief

like i remember old friends,

walking through the pages that are my life’s story.

sometimes,

grief was the friend

holding me under the waves,

salt water searing my lungs,

until i finally fought my way to the top,

only to find

i was fighting a colossal storm.

grief was the friend 

who left my heart black and blue

while observers 

thought they were helping

by offering band-aids.

grief was the friend 

daring me to drive without headlights

or to throw back some pills

because i didn’t want to feel anymore.

grief was the friend keeping me up

late nights turning to early mornings,

the one leaving me cold on the floor,

stripping my soul bare.

other times,

grief was the friend pushing itself to poetry,

the tears rearranging into ink patterns on blank pages.

grief was the friend

telling those onlookers

to hold me tighter,

weaving our life-threads together,

reminding us why we were willing to pay the price for love.

now,

grief is the friend

who walks with me always,

tinting my beautiful moments with the fear

that they’ll soon be over,

but reminding me 

to hold them

while they’re still here.

grief is the friend contrasting 

all of my life’s colors,

showing my eyes 

how bright they really are.

grief is the friend

whispering sorrow

while proving joy.

i remember grief 

like i remember love

knowing i’ll never have one without the other

and still waking up

to choose love.

you say you’re in the process of dying

like it isn’t sad

maybe not for you

but you will not be the one

trapped by endless nights of sobs

grieving your irreplaceable loss

i’ll be the one pulling out pictures of us

looking back on all of our adventures

you’ll come to mind every time i see a dolphin

-i’ll remember how amazing you thought it was that wild animals could be so close to us

if i listen hard enough, 

i can still hear your laugh as you were carried over the water

my mom never understood why books were so important

but you and i could talk for hours about the intricacies of dragons

marveling at magic in foreign lands

i can’t stand the thought

of walking through the library alone

knowing you’ll never be there at my side 

and anytime anyone tells me it’s their anniversary

i think of you

and the waiters who thought your long-time love was cause for such celebration

they penned their own song for you

and then i’ll hear you getting after me for not practicing my piano like i should

but how can i play

when you’ll never be the one to hear it?

there are a million more moments you’re supposed to be here for

my graduation

my wedding

my kids

my whole life

-which sounds so selfish

and it is

but grief is selfish anyway

whatever makes you stay

i’ll do it all

i’ll make all the caramel brownies

play all the songs

dye my hair for every holiday

-just like you

if you’ll just stay

another night

but then i see how you shake your head

when you joke about me not going to prom with a boy

i hear all the worse things you’ve said

about girls going to prom with girls

and the saddest voice inside me whispers

maybe it’s better this way

maybe it’s better i remember you still loving me

instead of shaking your head

at the girl i wish i were taking to prom

i hate that the first poem i write in weeks

is about the people with whom i share my blood

about their words

how they break me

i hate that i could write that poem with a new abuse

every day if i wanted

i hate that when my seminary teacher asks me to write about a time i was hurt

or unloved

or unwelcome

i have so much to choose from

it’s almost overwhelming

i hate that when everyone was joking about canceling school

being quarantined for weeks

i was terrified

not of a deadly virus

but of being home for that long

because i didn’t know how long i could hold on

i hate that i was right to be afraid

being terrified of my home is the only way to survive

or i might not be paranoid enough

i might slip up

need the domestic violence hotline i know by heart

i hate that i was just starting to think i wasn’t a wreck of a human

that maybe surviving is enough

until i sat in the walls of this cage for too long

and started believing all the words thrown at me

stopped resisting the fights i keep getting trapped in

just dumped gasoline on myself again

to help the gas-lighting along

i hate that i write poems in my head about the people i love

the moments i want to dance

the times i feel the sun from the inside out

but the lines get buried

before they’re on paper

swallowed by grief

abuse

loss

hate

brokenness

take your pick of the sad adjectives

i’m drowning in them all

reasons i still believe in God:

i turned on my playlist titled,

“love letters to God”

for the first time in years. 

the black and blue left on my heart from preachers

started to fade.

the notes rose up into praises,

my tears released the pain of sleepless nights

as they cleansed the lyrics falling from my lips.

reasons i stopped believing in god:

scripture verses are referred to as swords

more than they are referred to 

as songs.

one page of the bible

isn’t worth brains blown out by bullets of hate,

isn’t worth lives built on fear.

no god in his right mind

condemns love.

reasons i believe in Love:

strangers turn into family

and fill holes that were once terrifying chasms.

my best friend sings for me when my world is dark,

even though it makes his hands tremble while he picks the strings.

my big sister’s words may just be sounds

but i feel them like hugs.

when all i could see was endings,

a resounding i love you

made me put down my handful of pills.

my heart has been shattered over and over again

but still beats stronger.

looking into my future,

seeing my wife and i watching movies on the couch after putting our kids to sleep,

love wrapped around us like a blanket,

reminds me why i wake up in the morning.

our love is holy.

all love is holy.

my finger tips have started cracking

i play my guitar strings for too long

any noise just to drown out the strangled thumping of my heart

cracked finger tips are better than broken heartbeats

i forgot i needed to survive for a minute

being loved for too long

makes you soft

you start forgetting all the things that hurt you

and you start believing in the good ones

the ones that make you feel whole

if i try hard enough

i can numb the ache

forget how much i miss being loved

but then it’s three a.m.

again

and my heart’s track plays louder

my mind sees all the things i keep telling myself i can live without

and be just fine

i only have to believe the lie enough

to make sure

i wake up tomorrow

dear abused girl who shared my room one night,

my house might have once been a safe place to run to

but if you knocked today

i’d tell you to keep looking

when i saw you last

i didn’t think i was seeing my future

if i had been smarter

i would’ve watched you closer

asked some questions

i wasn’t smart enough to ask then,

but please hear me now

i should’ve studied your go-bag

mine is filled up with guesses

some broken promises

did it help to run?

i don’t remember if you flinched at being touched

or if your muscles stiffened

all i know is that mine do

does your skin ever forget?

the screaming fills the corners of our house

finds every crack

builds bars of every bad thing

can you build anything that isn’t a cage?

i don’t know how to explain the nightmares

i just know i only see what i live with everyday

and wake up numb

again

again

again

do you still see them on the insides of your eyelids?

i wish i cared about myself enough

to end this

to make it all stop

is there a day you stop hating yourself for letting it happen?