This is a love poem to the person I hurt the most.
You are enough.
You are worthy.
You are clever and funny and beautiful.
You are so creative.
You are caring.
Your laughter brightens a room.
Remember this.
Remember this.
Remember this when you have your blue days.
Remember this when you find yourself crying and you don’t understand why.
Darling girl, remember you are loved even when you do not love yourself.
I haven’t been a good friend. But then again, neither have you.
That’s life, you say.
I don’t accept it.
Fill me in on all the things.
Explain to me the past few years of your life.
How do I explain to you mine? What do I say to tell you 900 days of the mundane, the sad, the little joys?
It’s a lot of me to ask.
You’re getting married soon.
I wish you the best.
It’s hard for things to be the same, but you can’t blame me for hoping.
Birthday cake is the best cake.
Birthday cake is the best cake when it’s your birthday.
Birthday cake is the best cake when you’re sitting at your kitchen table before work eating the last piece.
Tres leches is my favorite.
I keep a list of men close to my heart.
These are not men who have loved me.
No, I do not have those.
I keep a list of men, of men who have caused me pain.
The men who have chipped away at the fragile defenses of my heart and my soul.
The men who have taken all of me and given nothing in return.
I keep this list of men, each marked with their transgression– cheating, lying, manipulation and abuse– and I make memory of the things I lost with each one.
I keep it so I learn to not be so foolish again.
I keep it to remind me of the cruelty of those who would so easily take my love and use it against me.
I keep it as warning signs for when I let down my guard and try to love again.
Listen to me, my little one.
Listen to me, my darling girl.
Listen to me, my living doll, with rosy cheeks and shining eyes.
Do not let them define who you are, by what you can do for them.
Do not let them impose their idea of who you should be, and simply be who you cannot help but be.
Never let them look only at your heart shaped lips and think only of what they can offer, but make them listen to all the words that flow from within.
Because beauty fades and lust wanes, and what is left after the dust settles is what matters.
My brilliant girl, only take the ones that love the heart and soul, the ones that listen and enjoy, the ones that appreciate your wonder.
Because my baby girl, the heart once broken is never the same.
It can be mended, it can be pieced together with time and care, but it never loves as easily and as freely as it once did.
A broken heart carries scars.
Do not give them the power to destroy what doesn’t belong to them.
The Secret Life of Pandas 