I wish you knew what I was up to.
The girl you once knew
no longer exists.
She spent her days letting teenage dreams of love
consume her being,
infiltrate her aspirations,
drain her youth,
steal her time
She slowly gathered her belongings—
a handmade photo book
each page lovingly cut out
inscribed with the memories we shared,
the scattered fragments of her dignity
that slowly chipped away
each time she pleaded for the bare minimum,
and her armor of resilience
which despite becoming slightly dented
helped her emerge stronger
She constructed walls to protect herself
to create a space for her healing,
rebuilding the parts of her that had become so scattered.
she carefully laid each brick
in the hopes that they would block out your memory
She moved her belongings into the space she built,
becoming someone you don’t recognize.
A confident, resilient woman
who grew to find solace in solitude,
her own company like the embrace of the sun
on the first warm day of spring
I wish you knew what I was up to.
Why does this thought breach my subconscious
why am I still thinking about you
why are you
stubbornly etched into the walls of my brain
your legacy woven into the fabric of my memory
looming over my past
I wish you knew what I was up to.
Maybe it's the satisfaction of finally escaping
your metaphorical hands of manipulation
that slowly tightened around my neck—
those fingers that aimed to evaporate my sense of self-worth
as it slowly escaped from my lips
Maybe you are a symbol of
a moment frozen in time
where you were the person who knew me best
better than myself
the only person I wanted to be vulnerable with—
stripping down my armor of resilience
to expose my most protected thoughts
from the deepest pits of my brain
Maybe in you I see
the teenage version of me—
brace-faced, tight skinny jeans lovingly hugging my waist,
who is forever trapped in a soul tie
to someone who doesn’t love her like he says he does
because if he did, he’d set her free
Maybe, just maybe
I, selfishly, just want you to know that I’m doing better than you are
even though we both know that
you would be proud of me
I wish you knew what I was up to.
I live in my own apartment now, isn’t that crazy?
I’ve been through about five different hair colors
and five less-than-perfect talking stages
but at least I let them in
I do things that scare me because I know they help me grow
I moved halfway across the country to a new city
and became a teacher to sixteen amazing middle-schoolers
I finally braved driving long distances
racking up miles in the same gold minivan
(some things never change)
I am a way better public speaker—
I expect to take up space wherever I go
leaving less and less unsaid
I wish you knew what I was up to.
I, selfishly, just want to feel like I’m doing better than you are
There is something so satisfying about
feeling like I’m
on
Top
emerging triumphant
reclaiming victory in a years-long, drawn out, battle
because I’m proud of me too
I wish you knew what I was up to.
But you lost the right to know
who I am
the only place you get to exist now
is in my head.
