I keep my first love in a tin box,
On the top shelf of my closet,
Where I need to stand on the tips of my toes,
And nudge with the tips of my fingers,
To bring it down, back down.
Sometimes it comes down smoothly,
Perfectly balanced between heavy and not so much.
Other times it slips through my fingers,
And tumbles down; the lid falling unto the carpet,
Memories consuming the floor whilst emptiness creeps in,
And I’m reminded of all that could have been,
But what will not be.
Poem by Jessica Grace Sparks
*This poem is a year old. I was hesitant to post it but think it needs release. There’s nothing left now of this first love but memories and new (true) love has filled in all the parts of me that were wanting. It’s amazing; It’s only when you finally find the “one” who inspires, motivates, supports, and loves you, regardless of all the messy parts, that you really discover what it is to love someone wholeheartedly and how it feels to be loved the same way in return. My first love was hollow compared to what I know now.
not heavy or loud,
creating the phrases that capture me
you make even the simple,
the quiet and the unseen,
spread, travel, envelop
everything that I am
becoming everything that you see,
and then we kiss.
The past few weeks I’ve come to realize that I’m way too hard on myself. I never speak up or share my feelings because I think they aren’t worth sharing.
This started some weeks back as I was lying in bed with my boyfriend and we were talking about my hair. For the last 2 months I’ve been growing my hair out. It’s hard since my hair is very fine and thin, but I started to take better care of it and not dye it. So, since I haven’t dyed it my natural hair color has begun to rear itself ugly head.
There, that’s where it started.
I described my natural hair color to my boyfriend as “boring mousy brown”. He looked at me and, before looking back up at the ceiling, said: “I think you’re too hard on yourself.”
I didn’t really have a response.
I started to think about myself; I thought about how I view myself and how I think about myself (and, from there, how I talk about myself). Generally, I am not the kind of person who defends themselves when their opinions are dismissed or their feelings rejected. I’ve convinced myself that whatever I’m feeling is silly and it would be a waste to talk about it.
Deep down I have this fear that I am not enough.
This is not healthy.
After spending days and days re-evaluating how I view myself, from what I think, to how I speak, about my feelings and my body even, I’ve decided that I need to start thinking of myself, my thoughts, and my feelings as important. As worthy. Baring the pain and secretly crying when I have privacy has been my way of dealing with hurtful words (from criticism of my opinions to those of my body). It’s not working anymore. I need to express my feelings and I need to see myself differently; I need to see myself as worthy.
I am worthy. What I think and what I feel is important and worth expressing.
I am enough.
He watched me dance.
I touched his eyes as they
stepped further into my soul;
the doorway closed to those
who wait for the lock to break.
Barging in, taking away my pain,
he drove his misery into me,
deep down, under my skin,
I could tell my little secrets.
Shh, don’t let them hear my love
You waited for me to come down,
the sky told you to fly away,
but all you could do was cry.
I was already gone, into the earth.
When I am in love I will be jealous of a spoon
Resting between her lips-
Doors, which hold my breath,
(as a captor holds a captive)
Lips, which have the power to
begin me and inevitably,
A spoon resting there,
Caressed by softness and warmth
After the burn of hot tea,
In the afternoon.
When I am in love I will be jealous of a spoon. Poem by Jessica Grace Sparks