i am the love letter: an index of every high school love poem i've ever written

By lillian grace

"i am the love letter" is a love poem collection through the lense of a high school poet with tired hands and an endless heart. her journey through love isn't a complete one (there is always more to see), but this grouping of poems provides a complete picture of a soon-to-end chapter of her life. her high school experience must be chronicled. here it is, love poems acting as language. prepare for the secondhand embarrassment and deep nostalgia with care.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tablo Publishing
• Release date: Mar 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781922381958

Book preview

Preface

Dearest reader,

Wow, okay! If you’re holding this book in your hands, I may have actually done it. A part of me wants to tell you to close it and read no further. I think that is why you must continue. I think maybe that’s why it exists in the first place.

This collection has been in the making since my sophomore year of high school, but the poems begin towards the end of my freshman year. No pieces were edited, no pieces were omitted. The catharsis I feel about releasing these poems into the world almost equally matches my fear of anyone ever reading them. To think that I am sharing my most intimate moments, those personal both with others and with myself, with anyone who so happens to order this collection makes me giddy with nerves. Saying that this is my truest act of bravery would be an understatement. This is the capstone of a seventeen-year journey to recognize and extinguish fear within myself.

I considered the concept of leaving all names mentioned in my poems in their original positions. Granting anonymity to those I’ve loved partially bothers me as a concept. The more I considered it, however, the more I realized that all names would prove is that I am incapable of the adage forgive and forget. Using malicious intent to speak identity into each of these poems would only go to prove that I have not grown at all. The fact that most of these poems were written as private gifts to love initially is enough of a band-aid to tear off for those written about anyway, I believe. Should you read this and recognize yourself in the lines, I think I want you to believe you are correct. There is a little bit of romantization in the thought of shipping a copy of this book to everyone I’ve ever loved. Obviously, I won’t do it, but it is incredibly poetic to think about. Putting this out into the world as a form of artistic expression instead holds much of the same effect.

The most profound part of my existence as a writer is that I think I will never run out of ways to write about love. It is one of those concepts that never gets old to anyone, but, to me, it is intoxicating like nothing else. I’ll admit, reading any of the poems towards the beginning of this collection feels like walking on broken glass. My command of language has visibly improved exponentially over the past four years. There is power, however, in providing a fully honest picture of myself and my perception of love, horrible poems and all.

So, why an index? Why chronological order? Why keep the bad poems present? Why do nothing more than a few grammatical and format edits? The obvious answer is why not? The actual answer takes a little more digging to get to. Much of the reason I write ties into my fascination with the concept of youth. On the opposite side of that, however, lies the reality: youth does not last forever. My biggest fear is that one day I will grow older and be one of those adults who looks at young people and only sees drama and misunderstanding. Personally, I think that misunderstanding is the most beautiful thing in the world. I notice, even now, seniors looking at freshman and ridiculing them for being exactly what they (we) used to be. I do not ever want to lose my sense of perspective. I do not ever want to forget how it feels to have everything carry the full weight of the world. Immortalizing my words in this way is my own personal safeguard against that fate. In creating a fossil, I am vowing to remain curious and craving.

I find myself hoping that, if I write a long enough introduction to this body of my work, every reader will understand it exactly as I would like them to. Aside from that being simply impossible, it also would be a disservice to me as an artist. Everything I give is open to interpretation. That includes this. That includes a glance into my snapshots of love and its full tsunami. I am entirely aware that you, dear reader, will not always know what I am talking about. I am also aware that you, dear reader, will take in my words with grace and trust. That is the purpose of literature. That is also the purpose of humanity.

It has taken me long enough to realize that, after all of this, I am the love letter when one falls in love with me. Whether you are the girl who kissed me for the first time, the boy I found myself avoiding eye contact with, the girl who victimized herself in the wake of choosing someone else over me, or the boy who still receives my love-poem-promises, I am still the greatest gift I ever gave you. I think that might be the most moving thought I’ve ever allowed myself to have. I think spending my life assuring that I learn how to devote myself to those interested in reading me rather than my work is the most valuable pathway. It is ironic to say that in the introduction to my first book, but it is the truth I have fought to reach. Thank you to all the false loves that have taught me such; you are the reason I insist on honesty with myself. That is a good thing. Thank you to the truer loves that have taught me more.

Thank you. Read with care. Trust that everything I say is true. It was. It is. It will be.

Yours and mine,

Lillian Grace

a dedication

To those who I said I would dedicate my 1st book to

To those who love me with honesty

To understanding and time

To genius hour

To you

litany of contents

FRESHMAN YEAR:

first girl

maybe forever

transatlanticism

honest

open letter to closeted queer young girls

leftovers

honest once more

+trying

jigsaw

today

it was a war between people we didn’t even know

weaponry

falling in reverse

a little more

SOPHOMORE YEAR:

are we ever really ready?

ghosts

what am i even looking at anymore

untitled

quieter ones

a breath

a song

the last one for you

post-it love poems

have mercy

everything i say to you that means i love you

naming love

artpop

midnight blue isn’t just one color

pleading

thank you

musings about everything

trust

naive

on living forever

subtler ways to say i love you

my work is beautiful

the one she read

a poem about boys on a new york subway

will cutting my hair make the hurt go away?

heart talk in an art museum

poet meets girl

a quiet kind of lovely

worst type of rainy day

three days

makeout

da poetry lounge

JUNIOR YEAR:

what i imagine when i think about falling asleep next to you

time zones again

love stories

distance

i don’t know anymore

home is too far

communication

queer

missing your long distance girlfriend in the least poetic way

on the phone with my girlfriend as she writes a poem

here again

shipwreck

dessert and void filler

forgive me

nightmares of missing you

you’re the only one i can write about

first night all over again

speaking of dreams and sleeping

holding your hand

nightmares of missing you: resolved

am i alive?

my real-life romance novel

the speed of light

holding you through the thunderstorm, love

my everything

the way your rings talk about me

it’s almost raining and i adore you

flower garden

daydream number one

two months

how to fall in love

where do i begin and how do i learn it

time capsule

something like a heartbreak poem

saturday morning

brand new city

SENIOR YEAR:

cameron boyce

be patient with me

power full

grand canyon poem

nowhere i will not go

plane ride love poem

charming

chai tea kind of heartache

card tricks and how i feel about you

so very much

something is burning

my love

newsletter

hey headass i guess i need you

whiplash

a letter to the notebook i have used for the past six months

small space

beautiful time capsule

a poem

to the lighthouse

foggy windows

1.1.20

first girl

For the girl who won’t laugh in front of me,

you cover your face with curtains made of your fingertips

you hide your bursting smile with veins and skin

you find something to be ashamed of in your burst of happiness

you don’t realize that loud happiness is the best kind

your loud happiness

it reminds me of home

it reminds me of hope

it reminds me of security

it reminds me of feeling everything

For the girl who distracts me from my homework,

i don’t think you distract me

i think i distract me

i think i captivate myself with your words

i think i spend too much time looking at your album on my phone

i may have done significantly less work since i met you

i may have felt a significant amount more

For the girl who doesn’t check the weather in the mornings,

don’t worry

i’m always cold

i’ll always have a spare sweater

For the girl who pours her heart into forcing playlists together,

be patient

i’ll have all the songs memorized soon

i swear i’m +trying to learn them all to sing to you

For the girl who walks me in circles,

hold on

we’ve got a long road to walk together

that doesn’t revolve around the engineering building

For the girl who loves numbers,

stop counting the days

they’re going to be infinity

and you can’t count that high

For the girl who’s sweater smells like hope,

i’ve called you my friend

so many times in front of my parents

that maybe they believe it

For the girl who’s made my sweater smell like her,

the truth is that you’re not my friend

maybe you were for about three days

maybe you should be

maybe you shouldn’t ever be

For the girl who brought me hot chocolate once,

i can’t describe how much that hot chocolate warmed up my morning

but it was nowhere near as much as you did

For the girl who forces me to touch bugs,

if that isn’t proof i’d do anything to be your date

i don’t know what is

For the girl who fist bumps me whenever we’re together,

fist bump me as many times as you want

somehow it makes me feel more than a million kisses from someone else

For the girl who makes me majorly gay all the time,

yeah

thanks for liking girls,