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Portland Grace Mar 2015
Back when the world was cold
and the rain came
almost every day

When flowers were soggy and
drowning
and we were eating the cupcakes your mother made
on your back porch at midnight.

When my world revolved around
"You look beautiful today"
Or
"By God you have the smallest hands I have ever seen"


(There was a lot of thunder and lightning in Nevada County last year because the climate just couldn't decide if it was
hot
or
cold)



My world was gray and damp
but in your passenger seat I convinced myself I loved the rain.

I dont love the rain.

California has been in a drought,
and we haven't spoken since Christmas.

I remember all your scars and blemishes
but I can't remember why I loved them.

I haven't worn my winter coat at all this year.

And I still hate the rain.
Portland Grace Mar 2015
For my mother,
who told me when I was 4 and didn't know better
that I was beautiful,
and when I believed her.

She told me,
"You know,
women pay hundreds of dollars
for that strawberry blonde color
that you already have."

And I looked in the mirror,
and I believed it.

When I was
12 years old,
and angry at my reflection,
for not being
thinner and fuller,
for my skin not being clearer
and my hair not being longer.
and my mother telling me
that I was beautiful,
but I didn't believe her.

When I was 16
and crying,
because my there would never be
a gap between my thighs,
or a perfect curl
in my hair.

And my mother wiped my mascara stains
off my face
and told me
I was beautiful.

And I told her she was lying.

My mother,
who is beautiful.
Who gave me honey hair
and almond eyes.
Who gave me a garden of freckles,
and the softest skin.
How could I look at my mother,
and say I was not beautiful.

For my mother,
my grandmother,
my sister,
my cousins ,
my brother,
and everyone else in my blood,
who ever felt like they weren't beautiful,
I will tell myself that I am.

I am 19,
and I am so far from home,
that when I look in these different mirrors,
and I feel lost and scared,
and I feel like I am not beautiful,
I look to my mother,
my gorgeous mother,
who will tell me
I am beautiful.

And I finally believe her.

I am learning to love myself,
to love the skin I am in,
it is my home,
and I will not destroy
what my mother built me.

Today,
I wake up
and I look in the mirror,
and my mother doesn't even have to tell me
I am beautiful.
And so are you.
Portland Grace Feb 2015
Today you turn 19,
and I often think about how much things have changed in one year.
These concrete 'remember the date' days make it easier to recall,
like how I felt on Christmas and New Years and Valentines day.
How last year we went out to sushi, I got you that Perma t-shirt, you and your brother took all of us bowling, and you wouldn't hold my hand when there were people around.

Today you turn 19,
And I remember feeling like a surrogate for you to **** your emptiness into.
I remember the constant nagging of not feeling good enough,
the self-loathing that plagued me through our entire relationship.
Hating other people who had never done anything to me just because they meant more to you than I ever would.


A lot has changed in a year.

Today, you turn 19
and I woke up in the arms of another,
and I woke up with a sleepy smile that lasted into morning, afternoon, and night.
I woke up with his name in my mouth and his lips on my shoulders
and I woke happy.

Today you turn 19,
and I can look in mirrors again
and I don't wake up wishing I was someone else
and I don't punish myself for things that aren't my fault
and I don't skip meals trying to look the way you wanted me too
and I don't hate myself anymore.

Today you turn 19,
and I didn't wish you a happy birthday.

I'm better now.
I'm healthy,
and happy,
and loved.
It's almost Spring.
Don't ever let anybody make you feel like you are not good enough.
You are good enough.
They are not good enough.
Portland Grace Feb 2015
I thought about all the wasted words,
the blood on the walls,
and dry skin
from the compulsive ways
I had to wash my hands
after he ****** me.

I thought about old scars,
new scars,
and newer still scars.
Scars that would burn from the inside,
until my skin would crack
and I would come pouring out,
again.

At least I have something to write about.
(again)
Portland Grace Jan 2015
I wrote you a book,
did you keep it?
Did you look?
When I stole your glances,
out your cracked window
two stories up?
Did you eyes follow me down your steps
when I slammed the gate?
When I spit on your lawn,
with my heart in my hands
that you tried to give back,
but it was already too late?

I wrote you a book,
four volumes long,
but all with same plot,
and the same stupid songs.

There's a chapter in there,
somewhere towards the back
it's covered in blood
and it's written in black.

Somewhere on a mountain,
high above the sea
there's a woman in red
and she's smiling at me,
she says
"Stop running in circles,
because you can't stop looking back,
chin the **** up
and plan your attack"

There's a stain in the stairwell
where blood leaked from your hands,
in December at midnight
under layers of sand
there's dust that shouldn't
have choked that young man.

When I checked your watch,
grabbed your wrist in an alley
and threw out the time,
into the trash can beside me

and picked up my words,
and left you there in street
with blood on your hands
and no shoes on your feet

I wrote you a book,
I wrote it for years,
I wrote it at night,
so that you wouldn't hear,
when my pen scribbled *****
and nightmares appeared

There's a cork in the bottle,
I put the glass down,
I emptied the bath tub,
and painted my frown
and looked up at your window
as I slammed your front gate,
no tears in my eyes
but I watched you the same
as a man who could murdered me,
and make me believe I was to blame.

I wrote you a book,
I never wanted to write,
did you read it all,
did you tear out pages,
and pin them on wall?
Did you throw it outside,
when rain started to fall?
Or did you skim it over,
for a second or two
then put it back down
thinking this can't be for you.

When my memory smokes in your mind,
like some rekindled flame,
I hope you remember
my face and my name
but not all the sins
my book burned on your brain.
Portland Grace Jan 2015
Some days I wake up and I look in the mirror, and I look at the person staring back at me and wonder, when did I become the ghost of a shell of a girl? I remember when my eyes used to shine and I would look at my reflection when I walked by windows, thinking I was really something to be.
It's a little past new years, and I've come a long way from a year ago, two years ago, three years ago. Sometimes I smile and I light up again and I mean it. I really do. Some days I still fall back into the rhythm of numbness and I think about cutting ties with everyone around me because I don't want to drag anyone down with me.
Everyday unfolds in front of me like a mystery, and I guess that's the same for everyone everywhere, but when I wake up there's ultimately one question I ask myself, "Will this be a good day, or a bad day?" And the truth is I never really know the answer, no one does. Some days I can get hit by frozen rain and I brush it off because I remembered my umbrella and I was a little bit stuffy anyways and the wind feels nice when it brushes my cheeks. Some days It's sunny and bright and there is every hope for my future but I still struggle to form words and I can barely even hear myself when I say "You're okay, you've always been okay." There are hurricanes on my fingertips and if I stand too close to an edge sometimes I convince myself I will jump off.
I am healing and growing and learning and trying. I am a mess of perfections and imperfections, obsessions and discontent.
I am a warped record that once had something to say, but the sun and the rain and the moon have damaged me and I keep repeating the same lines as though time might change their meaning.
My room was covered in the names of the people who hurt me, changed me, broke me, so I stripped off the wallpaper and repainted my colorful walls with the dullest shade of beige they had at Home Depot. When I looked around at my bare walls I packed my bags and moved 800 miles away from everything that reminded me of his ******* acne scars or the way I almost broke my mothers heart. The desert dried me out and I am learning to look at sunrises again without hating myself, and I am rewriting stories on how to love myself even if I don't always feel like I should.
I can hold the hand of someone new, and feel something without drowning. I can feel wanted without being scared and I am even starting to tell myself that I am good, even though most of the time I do not feel very good.
I am learning and breathing and kissing and feeling.
I am okay, I have always been okay.
Portland Grace Jan 2015
Leather bound,
lavish and
rough.
Turned through
stiff pages
with nothing on them
but dust
and curse words,

When I finished reading
cover to cover,
I thought I might
rip open it's spine
and destroy the whole thing
so that no one else
would have to.

That *******
first edition
****** *******
closed book
swallowed me whole.
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