Dear Simone, I’ve been dying to tell you how you’ve changed my life before even having life. How your eyes light up an entire universe inside of me that houses people and places and feelings I’ve never felt before. How your beauty reminds me of a childhood I never had. A jewelry box containing my most prized possession. My little peanut turned lemon turned mango turned melon in my little then big belly. Green with envy when we go to the park, because everyone wants to look at you, to love you, to hold you, to be loved by you. And I could never wind the clock back to a time I never knew you. Your tiny fingernails feel like butterflies against my face when I kiss you goodnight and you hug me like I am the moon. In your cotton onesie I watch you sleep as peaceful as a glacier stream on the first sight of spring. Hoping to keep these memories in my head like a video replaying over and over a highlight reel of the highest point in my life. Because you are my blood – a sickly, sweet mix of all the good parts of me and none of the bad, because you will be better than I could even fathom. I will carry you and your laughter and your sorrows and your tears and your dreams and your troubles on my back with the strength of a thoroughbred horse. So I tuck you in, and say good night. I can’t wait to see what unfolds as I put these thoughts in an envelope and send it to you now, in the future. My Dear, Simone.
#writingwithRupi A few days ago I participated in a poetry workshop the amazing Rupi Kaur hosted on Instagram live. We wrote three different types of poems with the first one written in letter form. We all started with the words, “Dear [insert word here], I have been dying to tell you …” We free wrote for a few minutes, and then she provided 10 random words we were to incorporate into the poem. We weren’t allowed to stop, or make edits. The whole process was stressful yet cathartic, and I was humbled at how many participants were such amazing writers. I hope she does it again, and I hope you enjoy this little poem from someone that is not a poet.