I wish you could’ve seen
the poems I wrote for you:
oh, when I was a little girl I adored you
I thought you were the sun and the sky and the clouds
every word you said would be re-accounted
in stories and stories and stories to so many friends, so many times

and every time my eyes would be filled

with the utter idolization of your wondrousness.
I would’ve traded the moon for you
I would’ve sworn the sun revolved around you

your name spoken was the manifestation of my adoration
I would’ve given anything to be your favorite
I would’ve given anything to be the person:


you went pumpkin picking with

you taped crayon drawings to fridge for

you ran along the beach with

you read stories to.
I wish you could’ve seen
the poems I wrote for you.
the new ones aren’t that great;
they speak of complications

and anger

and confusion,
the innocence of a bright mind
opened to the obviousness of your humanity.
you didn’t believe me but,
I knew your flaws before we met:

I didn’t love you less,

I loved you all the more,
for what a challenge you presented to my curious mind.
but do not underestimate the impact

of a curl tucked behind an ear, of attentiveness, of care, of affection, of absolute doting, of
complete adoration
to a girl utterly disregarded and abandoned
for most of her life.
do not underestimate the heartbreak that comes

when all that attention and care is taken away, and she becomes

disregarded once again.
oh, she understands.

(but do not underestimate her.)
I wish you could’ve seen
the poems I wrote for you:
because I loved you to the moon and back
and, for all it turned out

for all my hopeless idolization of your personality

for all of the apathy filling me when I think of your avoidance

for all your hypocrisy in enacting your principles

for all I promised never again
I still find myself believing in you;
oh, but I wish you could’ve seen
the poems the little girl wrote for you
before she grew up.