Unsent letters you’ll never read & broken words I can never speak out loud. A compilation of Freeverse writing and poetry by Courtney Hope.
I wake in the morning and reach for you,
can you feel it?
It’s mid afternoon and I’m wrapped up in your warmth,
can you feel it?
It’s 4 am and you’re in my dream with our fingers intertwined,
can you feel it?
I rest my head on the pillow and pretend it’s your chest,
can you feel it?
Is there a drug that just silences all this noise—all the buzzing—in your head that tells you you’re never going to be good enough?
No matter what you do, it weakens you.
Everything just tears you up, rips you to shreds.
It’s as if all the weight is on your shoulders.
No matter how hard to try to hold it,
you crumble underneath it all.
You’re too weak to hold it all up anymore.
Self harm can be a hunger,
razor blades on skin.
Bruises and sleepless nights
and blood and tears.
It can also be sitcoms, and all our favorite movies.
Your perfume I still spray on my pillow to hold.
Keeping your books within reach,
reading the inscriptions.
It can be eating bolognese,
yours was my favorite.
Or countless written words and spilled ink.
Clutching onto the softness of plush toys and small animals.
Drinking your favorite tea,
out of the mug with your initial on it.
All the songs I swear were written
with you in mind, just playing on repeat.
Finding you in every new song.
Birthday cards and letters you’ve sent,
still framed on my dresser.
Gifted jewelry I will never get rid of.
The feeling of the gold chain resting on my neck.
Thoughts of you.
Dreams of you.
Pictures of you. Videos, too.
Why did I take so many?
Thank god I took so many.
Is this self harm?
Is it healing?
Is it grieving?
It all feels the same.
Look at me — I’m smiling in this one. I’m happy. Radiant, even… wouldn’t you say? How do I do it? How do I mask all the pain and all the anger and resentment behind those eyes?
If nobody sees the pain, it’s as if it’s not real.
Right?
Why do some people play such big parts in your life?
When I first met you I didn’t think anything of it.
I didn’t look at you and think, “I’m going to fall madly in love with you.”
But slowly, quietly, without even knowing it, here I am.
Head over heels.
But why?
Could anyone make you feel this way if you gave it a chance?
Or is there only one person out there who is right for you?
I’m not sure how it works.
I don’t think anyone ever will.
But whether it’s destiny or not, I got lucky.
I can’t remember our last kiss,
and yet it still haunts me every night
I care
oh so much
far too much
of what they think
How unwise of you to think we’d only ever exist between the lines of poetry on a page. To think that the poetry alone wouldn’t have been enough.
There’s that word again. It’s such a foolish word to describe someone as brazenly fierce as you are.
Is it the nightmares that keep me awake, or is it the ghost of you that still lingers on the cold sheets beside me?
Be careful with me,
I’m more delicate than I let you see.
Accompanied by the silent hum of the evening and the restless want of my fingers. To channel that want into words. To ache to write rather than the ache to touch. Ache to feel.
Always caught in a
never-ending battle of
wish you were here,
wish I were there.
The loses from this pandemic are insurmountable
