Light Filters In: Poems

by Caroline Kaufman

I’ve spent so much time trying to become who I should be that I lost myself along the way.

I don’t remember first encounters, only each goodbye.

overthink the details. I miss the big picture. I am a perfectionist. I am a procrastinator. I have strong opinions. I am indecisive. I am stubborn. I apologize too much.

I’ve begun to censor your name like a curse word.

I would burst out laughing in the middle of class. I was loud and outgoing, messy and funny and happy.

I am the antagonistic protagonist of my own story.

I am not the girl poets speak of. I am not made up of ocean tides and my heart is not a crystal drum; it will always be a weapon more than anything.

I am dying in order to keep everyone around me alive.

I want so badly to spill out my soul

some memories cling to the sides of my spirit no matter how much I try to scrape them out.

I have become trauma packed inside intrusive thought packed inside scar tissue packed inside brain tissue packed inside skull.

I have become an ever-growing ring of defenses so that no one can find what is at my core.

for once, I wish I could be the receiver, instead of handing out pieces of heart.

I never thought it was bad enough or serious enough or devastating enough for a diagnosis. I had myself convinced I was making it up.

and I know I shouldn’t rely on love from other people. but if someone else can love me, that means it’s possible

the only way to prevent a car crash is to never drive in the first place. and I guess that’s why I won’t let myself fall in love again.

I know you don’t think of me anymore. I’m sure your memories have gathered dust. and yet I still find myself here at night.

months have gone by, and sometimes I still find saccharine under my fingernails. and I hate myself for hoping that sometimes you do too.

a journal is not a friend or a hotline or a therapy session. but you can vent into it. poetry is not an intervention or a prescription or a therapy session. but you can heal with it.

fifteen things you should know about me one. I keep my ringer on when I sleep, just in case. two. I love the feeling of a hug (though I’ll never admit it). three. I’m a hopeless romantic. four. I pick around my nails when I get nervous. four. you make me nervous. four. you’re bad for my nail beds. five. I love figuring things out. seeing things. knowing things. six. I never understood why they called the romantics “hopeless.” seven. I’ve wanted to be a doctor since I was a kid. I’ve always been amazed by the sound of a live, beating heart. eight. words mean a lot to me. eight. I wish you’d use more of them. nine.

on the first day, we introduced ourselves, laughing and wondering how we had never met before. I’m still wondering. ten. I want to stop picking at my fingers in case you try to hold my hand. ten. I’ve thought about you holding my hand. ten. I want you to hold my hand. ten. I’m scared you’ll try to hold my hand. eleven. I’m not comfortable in my own skin. I’ve been told there’s far too much of it. twelve. you make me less hopeless. twelve. I don’t think you want romantic. thirteen. this is my favorite number. always has been. always will. fourteen. I’d be okay not being beautiful, as long as you thought I was. fifteen. I wrote this list instead of messaging you. fifteen. I wrote this list instead of picking at my nail beds. fifteen.

it’s okay if some things are always out of reach. if you could carry all the stars in the palm of your hand, they wouldn’t be half as breathtaking.

the stars are not aligned for us.