[one of my favorite standard prompts: letter to oneself]
Dear sweet, wrenched heart,
I came to visit you, because
I wanted to remember this -
this first deep breath of living on my own.
I'm not surprised I found myself
hoarding glue and macaroni,
convinced I could make a family
out of leftover nostalgia
and a few nights of laughter.
But I'm glad I got here.
I remember that relief
of finding people
I could lean on,
when my family's shoulders
were so far away.
But this is a resting place,
dollface. You know it already,
which is why I can say it out loud.
You moved to this city
to learn how to be a dandelion,
how to be a compost heap,
how to churn and transform
and grow,
and instead you've moved
into a greenhouse.
I'm not telling you to move.
I know you're scared,
no matter how much you think
you have no right to be.
I know the intricate vines
of grateful and guilty
have trellised themselves
to your heart.
I know the doubts
that keep you up at night.
I'm here to tell you
it's bedtime. Take the world
off your shoulders.
It'll still be there
in the morning,
next to your coffee,
your housemates in their bathrobes,
eating the bread you baked.
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