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@thewordsyouneverunderstood / thewordsyouneverunderstood.tumblr.com

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thewordsyouneverunderstood

The ghosts of the life we lived together still linger in the empty space where you used to be. I wonder if you ever did become a better person, if you continued to take that 2 hour train ride for who you loved, for who you left me for, if you’re happy. I am happy, I am whole, I am free. Years later, even when the ghosts come knocking at my door, I’m no longer afraid of them. We shared time and space together, they will always be a part of me. You will always be a part of me and still that does not mean that I give you more power over me than you deserve. I loved you once, and maybe in some other universe, I still do. I hope you are a better person. I hope by now you’ve created the life you dreamed of, still I’m not sure you deserve it and so I hope you’ve changed. I hope you’ve become the person who deserves the good things. 

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thewordsyouneverunderstood

I want a love that wakes up every morning and feels lucky to have me. I want a love without hesitation, without doubt. A love that can say, “yes, yes I am in love with you” without having to stutter at the question. I want a love that keeps me safe, but that at the same time pulls me towards the things that I am too scared to do alone. I want a love that holds my hand, that says “I am here, I am here”. A love that never lets me forget it. I want a love that never makes me feel alone, a love that understands, or at the least, tries to. I want a love that never curses me out in the middle of the street, a love that never frightens me. A love that uses their voice kindly, a love that understands my body still remembers what it is like to be dragged out into the mud of everything unholy. I want a love that knows I will always carry that trauma with me, a love that never asks me to ‘just get over it’. I want a love that understands not all the poems will be about them, a love that understands that there was something before this, before him, and it wasn’t always kind. wasn’t always a good place to be, wasn’t where my heart was safe. A love that understands I must tell these stories, a love that understands my survival depends on this. I want a love that always calls me back. A love that moves its own feet towards apologies whenever and wherever they are needed. I want a love that takes my hands and says, thank you. A love that appreciates me. A love that knows that although I am a woman drowned in sorrow and grief, I am still here, and I am still trying. I want a love that is my personal hype man, a man that doesn’t just tell me I am beautiful, but makes me feel it. A love that says, “ you are kind”, “you are smart”, “you are capable of anything”. I want a love that stands up first in a crowd full of people for me, even if they must stand alone. I want a love that isn’t afraid of what the rest of the world thinks, because they know that love is better without boundaries. A love that knows that love is better when you stop caring about what other people think of it. A love that doesn’t look for other people’s approval to love me. I want a love that never makes me feel unworthy. I want a love brave enough to stay, a love that wants to stay, a love that says, “things aren’t always easy, but this is where my heart is, this is where I want to be”.

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The ghosts of the life we lived together still linger in the empty space where you used to be. I wonder if you ever did become a better person, if you continued to take that 2 hour train ride for who you loved, for who you left me for, if you’re happy. I am happy, I am whole, I am free. Years later, even when the ghosts come knocking at my door, I’m no longer afraid of them. We shared time and space together, they will always be a part of me. You will always be a part of me and still that does not mean that I give you more power over me than you deserve. I loved you once, and maybe in some other universe, I still do. I hope you are a better person. I hope by now you’ve created the life you dreamed of, still I’m not sure you deserve it and so I hope you’ve changed. I hope you’ve become the person who deserves the good things. 

#abagailpacheco#abagail pacheco#things remembered#poetry#prosepoetry#lovepoems
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thewordsyouneverunderstood

you and i are proof that there is nothing rational about love. if there did exist rationality, we would have never made it. because your friends tried to sell you on the idea that I was not good for anyone. they ran you through a timeline of events, dug up every love that went bad at the core and placed it before you. they tried to sell you on the idea that i could have never be good to you. and yet, you stepped into the abyss of everything unknown. Told your fear to come back another day because courage was visiting. This is love. 

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On the day you were born, something collapsed in outer space. Still your mother forgets all about the things that happened outside of that hospital room on that day. On that day, she can only think about it as the first time she willingly put her needs aside for someone who was well worth it. I know you forget that sometimes. On the days when the world is falling at your feet in a way you can’t be thankful for- you are quick to forget. I don’t blame you. It’s easier to. On the day you were born, something collapsed in outer space.this was your welcoming. as if even the sky knew nothing would be the same again, as if even the universe knew you would change the world for those with whom you shared space with. And although your mother was the first to love you unconditionally, there will be many others after her. Don’t you ever let yourself forget it. 

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you and i are proof that there is nothing rational about love. if there did exist rationality, we would have never made it. because your friends tried to sell you on the idea that I was not good for anyone. they ran you through a timeline of events, dug up every love that went bad at the core and placed it before you. they tried to sell you on the idea that i could have never be good to you. and yet, you stepped into the abyss of everything unknown. Told your fear to come back another day because courage was visiting. This is love. 

#abagailpacheco#poetry#prose#prose poetry#love poem
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thewordsyouneverunderstood

I want a love that wakes up every morning and feels lucky to have me. I want a love without hesitation, without doubt. A love that can say, “yes, yes I am in love with you” without having to stutter at the question. I want a love that keeps me safe, but that at the same time pulls me towards the things that I am too scared to do alone. I want a love that holds my hand, that says “I am here, I am here”. A love that never lets me forget it. I want a love that never makes me feel alone, a love that understands, or at the least, tries to. I want a love that never curses me out in the middle of the street, a love that never frightens me. A love that uses their voice kindly, a love that understands my body still remembers what it is like to be dragged out into the mud of everything unholy. I want a love that knows I will always carry that trauma with me, a love that never asks me to ‘just get over it’. I want a love that understands not all the poems will be about them, a love that understands that there was something before this, before him, and it wasn’t always kind. wasn’t always a good place to be, wasn’t where my heart was safe. A love that understands I must tell these stories, a love that understands my survival depends on this. I want a love that always calls me back. A love that moves its own feet towards apologies whenever and wherever they are needed. I want a love that takes my hands and says, thank you. A love that appreciates me. A love that knows that although I am a woman drowned in sorrow and grief, I am still here, and I am still trying. I want a love that is my personal hype man, a man that doesn’t just tell me I am beautiful, but makes me feel it. A love that says, “ you are kind”, “you are smart”, “you are capable of anything”. I want a love that stands up first in a crowd full of people for me, even if they must stand alone. I want a love that isn’t afraid of what the rest of the world thinks, because they know that love is better without boundaries. A love that knows that love is better when you stop caring about what other people think of it. A love that doesn’t look for other people’s approval to love me. I want a love that never makes me feel unworthy. I want a love brave enough to stay, a love that wants to stay, a love that says, “things aren’t always easy, but this is where my heart is, this is where I want to be”.

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thewordsyouneverunderstood
“Eighteen years ago, my parents renounced to who they were. Today I stand as the daughter of sacrifice. Because to live in American means being everything but free- everything except yourself. To be the daughter of sacrifice means learning about what to give up in order to obtain something better. And indeed- I learned. All this to say, I am a girl born from abandonment. Of a country. A culture. A language. But most of all, an identity. I am finding it hard to take pride in that. And I know what it sounds like, it sounds ungrateful. So in my defense- to my parents: thank you for being selfless. I cannot pretend to know what it must have felt like to give up everything you were as an offering. I will not pretend to know how it felt when you realized it still was not enough. To this country: it is hard not to be in love with you for all you have given me. But I’m smarter than that. Less naive than I used to be. All this to say, I know about the promises. How they fell to broken pieces all around those who believed in them. I’ve become a first hand witness to murder. I’ve learned about all the ways you can die with a melody still humming in your chest. All this to say, this country killed something- killed it when it’s back was turned. There aren’t any headlines about that. There should be. Eighteen years ago, my parents consciously put away their distinctiveness. Of a country. A culture. A language. But most of all, an identity. Eighteen years ago, my parents learned denial. America calls it acceptance because that’s the only way to walk away clean- without the haunting of what has died here. Eighteen years ago my parents stepped out of their skin and became comfortable with deprivation. All this to say, America has started to look more like a landfill and less like a home. This is where all good things come to die.”

— America / @thewordsyouneverunderstood

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thewordsyouneverunderstood
“Eighteen years ago, my parents renounced to who they were. Today I stand as the daughter of sacrifice. Because to live in American means being everything but free- everything except yourself. To be the daughter of sacrifice means learning about what to give up in order to obtain something better. And indeed- I learned. All this to say, I am a girl born from abandonment. Of a country. A culture. A language. But most of all, an identity. I am finding it hard to take pride in that. And I know what it sounds like, it sounds ungrateful. So in my defense- to my parents: thank you for being selfless. I cannot pretend to know what it must have felt like to give up everything you were as an offering. I will not pretend to know how it felt when you realized it still was not enough. To this country: it is hard not to be in love with you for all you have given me. But I’m smarter than that. Less naive than I used to be. All this to say, I know about the promises. How they fell to broken pieces all around those who believed in them. I’ve become a first hand witness to murder. I’ve learned about all the ways you can die with a melody still humming in your chest. All this to say, this country killed something- killed it when it’s back was turned. There aren’t any headlines about that. There should be. Eighteen years ago, my parents consciously put away their distinctiveness. Of a country. A culture. A language. But most of all, an identity. Eighteen years ago, my parents learned denial. America calls it acceptance because that’s the only way to walk away clean- without the haunting of what has died here. Eighteen years ago my parents stepped out of their skin and became comfortable with deprivation. All this to say, America has started to look more like a landfill and less like a home. This is where all good things come to die.”

— America / @thewordsyouneverunderstood

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synapsisquimica
“How this darkness soaks me through and through,”

— D.H. Lawrence, from Selected Poems of D.H. Lawrence; “Under the Oak,”

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lysslovesallstar

sisterhood is so important you guys. I really cannot stress this enough. protect other girls even if you don’t know them. sit next to girls that sit alone. stand up for other girls. don’t just sit and watch another girl be disrespected.

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