My good friend Anne Hambuda has commissioned me to share some of her new work. We wrote a couple of pieces together last year, Consuming Love and Thoughts to Words and I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I got to see her do her thing at Spoken Word last year and it was brilliant. This poem is all her and I remain in awe.
This boy once used to stay up late on the phone with me.
He would wait until I would fall asleep.
I thought he was great, I thought we were we.
It was kinda silly then when I fell in what I thought was love.
And he got me to believe that it was only us.
At some point his feelings for me became a burden and too confusing to get through.
They were congested with meaningless promises and too heavy to hold on to.
Then holding his hand seemed to me like a chore.
It was tiring and boring and nothing like before.
His words suddenly became hard to digest
and everything I wanted to say to him got muddled in my chest
and turned to bullets I spat at him.
I was always mad at him.
And mad at me.
Am I really so hard to please?
I beg please.
Let me go,
Let me be.
I had to keep writing letters to myself, Like
Dammit learn to love yourself.
Love all of you,
And that includes
all the bumps and scars,
And the bruises and marks.
Fall in love with your own imperfections,
Know that all that matters of you is your own damn perception.
Forget about glitter and gold and people who only care how you look.
Drink hot tea and take walks and read some really good books.
Forget people and places that make you feel down.
Only keep things and experiences that build you, around.
Write and learn and grow and be.
Before I can ever try to love anybody else I first need to love me.