Author: lina adams

when you start writing more grief poems

than love letters,

and the weight of your world

is too much to carry,

remember how the sky breaks sometimes.

feel the dribbling rain as it becomes a torrential downpour

and breathe.

let the tears brimming on your eyelids run over into sobs

and breathe.

see the air where she should be,

allow it to break you,

let your heart collapse with your knees,

and try not to drown in the empty space.

go through the calendar on your phone,

november 26th, 2018.

watch the memories of the hugs and the i love yous – 

not just the trembling hands,

the broken hearts.

in the months and years when it still hurts to breathe,

reach for the words of those still here:

it won’t always hurt like this,

won’t always hurt so much to breathe.

when you’re living in all the moments she should be here for,

listen to her words as they wash over you,

i’ll always be here for you.

i love you.

remember how the sun still rises and whisper back your i love you –

you know she’d be here if she could.

give your heartache to the sky,

and remember to live,

to take your beating heart and somehow go on in the face of all that is missing.

let your tears fall and remember –

her arms may never hold you

but the memory of her love always will.

someday i hope to raise a family

in a place you could not mistake

for any home i’ve ever been in.

brenna, she says,

there’s no such thing

as an unhaunted house.

-brenna twohy

you told me today

that i belong here

at home

with you

sealed together forever

your next sentence

told me you can’t imagine anything more unrealistic

-or terrible

than me “playing mom”

like i did when your church came before our family

-again

-again

-again

and when you got that new job

i got cheated out of a summer

-a childhood

to wake up before the sun

to love the kids who were supposed to be loved by you

and those months

you barely got out of bed

didn’t even think to be a mom

so i did it for you

and every day since

no regrets

i say i’m pretty terrible at cooking

but i can whip up a pinterest recipe

when kids start crying for food

-someone has to

and i’m pretty good with cleaning schedules

i used to lysol our house

-in hopes it would finally become a home

and it’s a real shame

i can hold my own

in a circle of moms talking about their parenting style

i got to know mine pretty quick

a “thank you” would’ve been nice

i don’t know if i would’ve taken it

i know i wouldn’t have taken an “i’m sorry”

even though i deserve it

a hundred times over

instead you blamed me

for the broken family

you see every day

i can barely see through my tears

my head is spinning

your words shouldn’t still break me like this

i know i’ve been home too long

when i start believing

every word you say

when i just get sad

instead of angry at you

-but i can’t

not when you’re right

this isn’t the first time you’ve said things like this

not even the first time those exact words have come out of your mouth

everyone else doesn’t understand why you would say that

but i do

you see all of me

if my parents think i’ll be terrible at their jobs one day

aren’t they right?

don’t they know best?

you told me today that i belong here

in this house

that’s really just a cage

masquerading as a home

i’m scared

because i don’t think you’re wrong

and i wonder

if i’ve really got it in me

to build anything

that isn’t a cage

i stopped calling you my best friend today

even though it’s been six months since you left me on read

and two since you told me you didn’t want me anymore

i found a year-old picture of us

saw our matching beanies

remembered the grief we leaned on each other through

felt the tears from all the moments we handed each other tissues

then i remembered it’s all over now

and i’m supposed to be okay

there are a million moments i want to tell you about

a million more i picked up my phone

-only to drop it back on my bed

i can’t count the tears that have run down my cheeks

-from today alone

i miss you

i don’t get it

this is stupid

but you deserve all the eloquent poems

because you taught me what it is to be loved

you were the only one i let pull me back from the depths of my depression

no one else was allowed to give me hope

just you

so i miss you

and i’m going to keep missing you

but i’m also going to send my new best friend a text

tell him how great he is

i’ll polo my big sister

tell her thanks for giving my favorite hugs

you might be gone

but i’m not alone

i never was

and you’re missing out

on the million more moments i’ll fall in love with

that i’ll spend with all the humans i love

the moments you could’ve been here for

but you’re not

and when i have one one of those moments

-when i laugh so hard i forget how to breathe

-when some of my smiles deepen my eye crinkles

-when the light of hope shines through a dark world

i’ll think of you

how you’re not here

-and how i’m slowly learning to be okay with that

it’s harder to give up on the light

when the people who love you

have made sure it’s a part of you

after they’ve made sure

you know they love you

it’s hard to forget that love

but when sentenced back to hell

it’s harder to believe in it

you’ll be tempted

everyone is

at first

then you’ll feel the bile rise in your throat

when you miss feeling loved

and you’ll have to tell yourself it’s over

-that will be worse

don’t give in to hope

-it’s only there for everyone else

only makes them feel better about the hell you’re in

stop looking for the good things

-it hurts less when you can’t touch them

forget that you have been marked by love

forget it’s touch

forget what safety feels like

forget the ones who brought you here

they are gone now

it’s all gone now

give in

succumb

hope is vertigo

love is nausea

the numbness will keep you safe

forget about life

-you weren’t meant to revel in its beauty

you are haunted

bound by the rules of this game you have been forced to play

this game

called survival

my mama tried

she grew up in a home

-that was really just a house

where she spent her saturdays waiting on the porch steps

-for a daddy who never came

where her mama’s sex life mattered more

than loving her baby ever would

that scarred little girl set out to break the chain

to save the children she had yet to see

my mama came from a house

but tried to build a home

she poured a foundation of perfectionism

built walls

-bars

of fear

she tried building a home,

but all she had ever known was a cage.

my daddy tried

he grew up in a house of screams

he had never known silence

-and never would

he grew up with a church building

-that was more important than a family

and he didn’t know any better

my daddy tried to make a home from a church

his foundation conditional love

his walls regret

he tried building a home

-but didn’t know to question when mama built a cage

mama and daddy tried

but they didn’t know any better

they set out to save us from their childhoods

didn’t realize they only thing we’d ever need saving from

was their fear

they set out to break the chain

but slowly locked the cage

we didn’t know to question

didn’t even make a sound

i look around at my sister

my brothers

my only prayer for us to be strong enough to break the chain

our parents set out on their quest to save us from the world

before we were twinkles in their eyes

but the only monsters we ever need saving from

are the ones we come home to

every

day

i’ve tried to make a safe place in this cage

but demons cannot be hidden forever

and i stopped trying to pray

someday i’ll look around at the kids i have yet to see

and i hope with every ounce of my soul

they will never know what it is to grow up in a cage

the only promise i have for them is the love i wait to give

love that will never be something they have to carry

only what carries them

dear kids,

someday,

i’ll try.

but not to save you.

only to make sure you know

there is nothing you will ever do

to make me stop loving you.

we’ll build our home together,

and i don’t know what that looks like yet,

but i can’t wait to see.

dear mama and daddy,

i know how hard you’ve tried,

but someday this poem will be my goodbye to you

and all your abuse.

dear sister and brothers,

i’ve never believed in anyone

as much as i believe in you,

the world is waiting –

go love it.

dear future kids,

i love you.

i don’t think about how you left anymore

until late

after the moon rises

i think of what we were

what we could’ve been

you were light

every time i sat with you

it was easier to breathe

the sun shined brighter

my heart remembered things would be okay

i was heavy

hurt

broken

i still didn’t know how broken we all are,

didn’t know that’s how light gets through

i can still feel my heart pounding

hands shaking

standing outside your door

feeling the weight of the world

knowing light was on the other side of that door

i was not brave yet

i am still not brave

if i could go back

change it all

walk through the door

take all the potential we had

and make it something beautiful

i don’t know

if i wouldn’t stay away this time

i wonder what it felt like

walking up those apartment steps

with a gun

in your coat

loaded

i wonder what those three bullets sounded like

i wouldn’t know

i never heard them

but somehow the sounds still haunt me

i don’t know how accurate it is

to say you left

to say you chose that night

over me

when i was never a choice

but that’s what i say you did in all the poems i write for you

you’re not dead

just gone forever

i knew something was wrong when you watched my cry inconsolably, over something you had done and you didn’t even flinch. you didn’t attempt to apologize. nor were you remorseful. instead, you carefully twisted it around to be my fault. i knew then, i was dealing with a monster; not a person. -unknown

apologies

are hard to come by

in a house

built on dysfunction

my mother’s lips

scream many words

none of which are

“i’m sorry.”

not after calling me an apostate

not after making me a mom of three at the age of fourteen

not after making me hide in closets

to avoid her touch.

not sorry

not sorry

not sorry

every kid

says they’ll never be like their parents

after washing dishes

after taking care of the dog.

i said it

after she told my sister she was broken

after she shamed my brother for his depression

after she gave up on being a mom

then changed her mind

and thought she could just come back

no big deal

not sorry

not sorry

not sorry

my mother gave birth

to two daughters

two sons

who only know how to be sorry

we’re sorry for feeling sad

we’re sorry we aren’t perfect

we’re sorry for everything

we’re sorry

we’re sorry

we’re sorry

we can’t stop saying it

i promised myself

i would never be like my mother

so i say i’m sorry

for feeling this way

for being this way

for existing this way

i can’t stop saying it

even if it’s only in my head

i’m sorry

i’m sorry

i’m sorry

dear school counselor,

this is not a suicide note.

i’ve already written you one of those,

and you don’t need any more goodbyes

just more thank you’s.

so here’s one from me:

you told me you loved me once

it was so strong

i heard it over the pills

and decided to stay another night.

so thank you.

dear once-best-friend,

this is not a suicide note.

it’s an ode to flowers named george

and sticky fingers covered in whipped cream

and perfect driving.

it’s a thank you for loving me,

for taking care of me,

for believing in me.

it’s a reminder we won’t have any more moments like these,

and i don’t quite know what to do about it.

dear sophomore english teacher,

this is not a suicide note.

it’s a thank you for giving the best hugs,

even though you’re not a touchy person.

i never feel more validated

more hopeful

more seen

than when i’m with you,

and i wish you understood how wonderful you are.

dear murderer-i-love,

this is not a suicide note,

but it would make you worry anyway,

so here’s my list of hopes for you:

i hope you know how much you are loved

i hope you know how much you’re believed in

i hope you know you insipire me every day

to be myself.

because you love me like that.

dear counseling intern,

this is not a suicide note.

you already asked me about my plans to die last week,

and i told you i wouldn’t.

i look at you and see my future,

i look to you and hope for it

at least.

being an at-risk youth is more than a statistic,

but i see you

and i hope i’m strong enough.

dear biology teacher,

this is not a suicide note.

but if it were,

i promise i would tell you.

this is a thank you

for being my at-school mom,

for promising to cry at my graduation,

for holding me in my hyperventilating.

you’ve taught me more about motherhood

than my own mother

and there aren’t enough poems to say thank you for that.

dear english teacher across-the-hall,

this is not a suicide note.

we just became friends,

and i don’t know everything about you yet,

but the way i feel safe when i’m with you

makes my want to give you

my whole life story.

dear new-best-friend,

this is not a suicide note,

even though we’ve both written those.

this is the beginning of a story we’re writing

about late night car drives

guitars and ukeleles

about how shooting stars make us feel so small

in the most grand way.

dear big sister,

this is not a suicide note.

this is a promise that there will never be a car accident you’ll never forgive yourself for,

never too many pills in my body,

never an obituary labeled with my name you’ll have to see.

i love you.

dear suicide,

this is not a note to you,

i’ve written you enough for the rest of my forevers.

this is a reminder of why i hold on,

a reminder of the beautiful things my life is

and the ones it will be.

dear past self,

this is not a suicide note,

the one you’re writing will never be read.

it gets better.

i promise,

it gets better.

today in science class i learned

every cell in our entire body

is replaced every seven years

how lovely it is to know

one day i will have a body

you will have never touched

-l.m.

i keep myself awake at night

even when my insomnia

and anxiety

and depression

take the night off

because i never feel more safe at home

than when she’s asleep

her hands can’t bruise me

her words can’t cut me

i’m afraid of the dark

but i’m more afraid of her

and the way her hands feel

every time they come within two feet of me

my skin never forgot how it felt

shoved against the granite counter

never forgot

the purple ring on my arm

somehow she wonders why

i stiffen at every caress

a somewhat final thank you letter to my best friend

i hope you know

that when i tell people they’re like you

it’s one of the biggest compliments

i could ever give.

i smile every time i think of you,

i always will

even if those smiles

cohabitate with tears.

you’re too good.

every time i think of the things you did,

i break you into a

“before”

and an

“after”

two different people

because there’s no way

my best friend

could’ve hurt me like this.

you taught me that i could be loved.

period.

no strings attached.

and i’ll never be able to tell you

how much that means.

but i hope you know that i’ll never forget.

because of you,

i cry

and

i laugh

i smile through the tears because that’s what we did together.

you taught me to see the good,

and well,

you were my good.

you were my only good thing for so long,

but you brought me to other good things

good people.

you made sure i would know i was loved,

even after you were gone.

i still don’t know how you took all the broken parts of me

stitched them together with hope

made the pieces into a life worth living

into someone who finally saw they were worth loving.

all i know is that even if we didn’t make it in the end,

i would go back and do it all again

in a heartbeat.

so thank you times one million.

i hope you know

just how wonderful you really are.

and even if we’re never what we once were,

i hope with everything in me

that every good thing finds you

for the rest of forever.

i love you.

love,

ellie