Poetry: 20 things to remember

Deze tekst ben ik tegengekomen op Twitter. Het stond in afbeeldingen en was ietwat onoverzichtelijk. De oorspronkelijke bron heb ik niet kunnen achterhalen, vandaar dat deze niet vermeld staat.

1. Your self worth is not measured by the way your parents (or anyone, for that matter) treat(s) you.

2. You’re gonna be out of this soon. Just be patient.

3. Don’t do anything if you feel pressured into doing it.

4. Friends that tell you to “get over it” aren’t real friends.

5. Get rid of the people in your life that make you feel bad. As soon as possible.

6. You are not the number of notes on your selfie. Or your number of followers.

7. You don’t need to make anyone proud, only yourself.

8. It’s okay to take a sick day every once in a while, just don’t make a habit of it.

9. You can run away from your problems sometimes.

10. Being comfortable with the things you’re doing plays a big role on your way to happiness.

11. Your jean size is not important. Your heart size is.

12. It’s okay to build up walls sometimes.

13. Buy yourself that hamburger. You never know which one will be your last..

14. Take care of your body. Remember to drink water.

15. Don’t do anything if you’re going to feel bad about it later.

16. One day, you’ll find somebody that will love your imperfections.

17. Put make-up on if you feel like it. No one should be able to tell you what you can and cannot put on your face.

18. Be there for people, but be there for yourself first.

19. Your health is more important than that test.

20. Be loved. If not by other people, then by yourself.

Poetry: 40 Love Letters

40 love letters

Dear Dennis,
I still think of you.

Dear Andre,
I saw you kiss her.
I haven’t looked back.

Dear Patrick,
You’re just too young.

Dear Eric,
I said horrible things about
you.
Your teeth are fine,
it’s the rest of you I don’t
like.

Dear Greg,
Thank you for the poem, for
every single scar.

Dear William,
I love you, simple.
I like that we will never be we.

Dear Jay,
The bruises fell off
eventually.

Dear Michael,
I’ll never be enough to fill
the shoes
that will one day stand at
your side.

Dear Ben,
I did read your letters.
All of them.

Dear Freeman,
I’ll never stop looking over
my shoulder,
boots laced, ready to run.

Dear Jon,
I’ll always love you.
You are all there ever was.

Dear Derek,
There was no one thing,
your everything is
impossible.

Dear Eddie,
We are refracting magnets.
We will battle this to the
end.

Dear Dennis,
I still think of you.

Dear Ryan,
I love you, simple.
Sex under the streetlight was
a delicious accident.

Dear Kevin,
Your kiss came too late.
My lips were already dancing
in the other room with Jon.

Dear Ethan,
No.

Dear Joseph,
I said you were too pretty.
They said to try it anyway.
They are fools.

Dear Avery,
You are the definition of unrequited.

Dear Skippy,
I’m sorry about the whiskey
and the tampon.
I’m sorry I never called you.

Dear Nate,
Until you mocked my smile, I
was yours.

Dear Marc,
I like your wife too much.
Is your brother still single?

Dear Mitch,
You were my biggest mistake.
I’m sure that only makes your
smile more sinister.

Dear Allen,
While you poured Guinness for
Patrick,
I pictured you bending me
over the bar.

Dear Graham,
I’d have swallowed that
bullet.

Dear Miguel,
You said a man never forgets
his first redhead.
What color are my eyes?

Dear Dennis,
I still think of you.

Dear Francis,
I’d have broken you in half.

Dear Chris,
I’m sorry I stalked you.
I’d try to forget me, too.

Dear Dex,
I can’t be with you again.
Just accept it.

Dear Dr. Matthews,
No.
I’ll have you fired.
Again.

Dear Aiden,
I wrote a poem about you.
It’s everyone’s favorite.
I find it trite.

Dear Logan,
I think I finally stopped
wanting you.

Dear Cynthia,
I was drunk.
I thought you were, too.

Dear Ricky,
Maybe it was the red dress
or because I was fifteen.
Your brother married my
mother
on the same day I first
touched your cock.
Maybe you’re still a pervert.
Call me.

Dear Jeff,
I was your biggest mistake.

Dear Robert,
You are more than beer and
vomit.
You are more than I could
ever put into a poem.

Dear Dennis,
I still think of you.

Dear Dennis,
I keep your photos in a box.
Each
one, still in its frame

They say it takes 21 days….

Day 1: I cried so hard that it scared my father; he spent the night outside my bedroom door just to make sure I didn’t stop breathing like a newborn in her crib the first week.

Day 2: I went to work and cried in the bathroom.

Day 3: I believed I was cured, now I think my mind was playing a cruel joke on me.

Day 4: I told you I missed you and you replied with “thank you”.

Day 5: I saw a picture of you on Instagram and it lit my throat on fire so I burned your love letters over the flame.

Day 6: I smoked weed with a boy on his back porch and he asked questions you were afraid of but still I couldn’t kiss him on his couch.

Day 7: I couldn’t sleep because I kept dreaming of you kissing other girls on your couch.

Day 8: I gave you all of your stuff back and you thought I looked like a warrior but really I went home and cried an entire ocean into existence.

Day 9: I laughed without you.

Day 10: I kept finding excuses to text you and you kept ignoring me.

Day 11: I cried until my stomach heaved itself up and I slept next to the toilet in case those nasty dreams came again.

Day 12: Since when is heartbreak so goddamn romantic? There’s nothing pretty about losing feeling in my knuckles after squeezing my hands so tight to keep from texting you.

Day 13: I could never squeeze them tight enough; I could never have imagined that you would be so good at letting me fade.

Day 14: The doubt makes my spine feel less like vertebrae and more like a giant icicle (you never loved me).

Day 15: I found out you had replaced me and it flicked at my bruised but my ribs didn’t break.

Day 16: I told everyone about you and they said you were stupid for leaving but I think you were stupid for staying the first time you sliced my heart on the side of the road.

Day 17: I didn’t think about you for an entire night because I was drunk in bed with someone else.

Day 18: What color are your eyes? How big are your hands? Where was that freckle on your face I used to look at while you slept?

Day 19: Sometimes all I feel in my chest is my heart trying to break out of its case. I think it’s tired of everything I have put it through.

Day 20: I’m sorry I couldn’t ignore your birthday; I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Day 21: This was a shitty person about a shitty person but I don’t think of you so much anymore, I don’t think of you so much anymore.

– they say it takes 21 days to break a habit (via khanti-karuna)

Last night I asked my mother

Ik wil mijn persoonlijke gebabbel afwisselen met quotes, teksten, liedjes, filmpjes en wat al dan niet meer. Dus vandaag deze tekst. Ik kwam hem tegen op Tumblr en vond dat hij gedeeld moest worden.

Last night I asked my mother what love is.
After all, I think I’d forgotten.
I told her, “I’m tired of writing sonnets and staring at the moon and starving myself dry.
I want to know what love is.
You had dad and he had you until the wind blew him out. What is love?

She gave me a long, hard look and took me to the beach on a silver night, and I remembered why I had stopped believing.
He had started carving bottle tops into the table and
ignoring me while I sang and
rolling his eyes at all my punchlines and
saying he was texting his mother so often that
all I could do was drink and watch the flowers outside my window wilt as I wondered when I had given my life away to this boy
who didn’t even notice when I wore my orange dress and stomped all over the living room and just spat my name out onto the floor like acid over and over and over
until I found myself back at my parents’ house trying on my old prom dress and
reading love stories out of cookbooks and
leaving the lamp on in my room too late after midnight and
asking my mother what love is.
‘Love is when he memorizes the lyrics of your favorite song that he can’t stand and he doesn’t know why,’
‘Love is when you wash his name out of your tongue and wring it out of your brain but you can’t stop it still lurking under your throat”,
‘Love is when he sees your sad smile and buys you flowers until their scent surrounds your every move,’
‘Love is when you wear your white dress and you want him to talk to you but all he does is fiddle with his camera because he doesn’t want to ever forget how you look,’
‘Love is when you can’t sleep so he wakes up and takes you on a stroll through the sleeping city and when you stop in front of a fallen building there is music in the air that nobody else can hear and he suddenly wants to cry and you look at each other and somehow, you understand,’
‘But most of all, dear child,’ she grasped me by my shoulders,
‘Love is when, despite everything, you know you could finish the show without him, but not yourself.’
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