Caroline Kaufman - When the World Didnt End: Poems

Contents A young poet dips into the ink of her experience and writes her own light into existence. Laurie Halse Anderson, author of Speak Carolines words are an honest, lyrical kick in the teeth. Amanda Lovelace, bestselling author of the princess saves herself in this one Kaufmans willingness to share and artfully articulate her vulnerability has already proved vitally important for the legions of followers shes garnered as an Instapoet, and will now prove similarly validating and empowering for those teens who discover her work through print. A top addition to YA poetry collections. SLJ (starred review) Debut author Kaufmans voice is authentic, and her experiences, feelings, and journey toward healing are convincing. Kirkus Reviews Her warmly conversational tone suggests assurance and solidarity with readers that she sees as allies in brave combat against overwhelming darkness. BCCB Light Filters In: Poems When the World Didnt End: Poems WHEN THE WORLD DIDNT END: POEMS . BCCB Light Filters In: Poems When the World Didnt End: Poems WHEN THE WORLD DIDNT END: POEMS .

Copyright 2019 by Caroline Kaufman. Illustrations 2019 by Yelena Bryksenkova. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. www.epicreads.com Cover art 2019 by Yelena BryksenkovaCover design by Jenna Stempel-Lobell Digital Edition AUGUST 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-291039-4 Print ISBN: 978-0-06-291038-7 19 20 21 22 23 PC/LSCH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 FIRST EDITION to the little girl who never caredwhat anyone else thought.Ive missed you.welcome home.Contents a lot of my life has focused on surviving.

I told myself I needed to push through my worst days so that I could make it out alive. and I did. but that was when I realized I wanted more out of life than just survival. I wanted to laugh and love and breathe and kiss and sing. I wanted to live. it required facing a lot of difficult experiences, particularly in relation to mental illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, disordered eating, and sexual assault. so if its too hard for you to read about these topics, I get it. please take care of yourself, reach out for help, and do whatever you need to do to stay safe. these are not easy things to talk about, hear about, or read about. but I include all of it. because sometimes talking and hearing and reading can help you heal. because sometimes talking and hearing and reading can help you heal.

I include all of it because writing about the past is what finally allowed me to move forward. go write the poem. what poem? the poem youre incapable of writing. we prepared for the worst. for disaster. stockpiling canned soup and batteries and gallons of water and first-aid kits as if there was some chance at survival. we marked our calendars. and no one would admit it, but we were calm. nothing prepared us for the calm. for the comfort. for the relief that we would never have to clean up the mess we created. but then, we opened up a window and saw that the world was still there. and to be honest, none of us knew what to do. survival was the only outcome we werent prepared for. arithmetic I still count on my fingers. you laugh as I lay my hands out on the table like a small child, trying to add the tip to the total. you tell me you have never seen someone fly through calculus but still get stuck on elementary school mathematics. but thats how its always been the complicated easy. the simple more difficult. and its okay, for a while, until you wake up and youre an adult and you dont know how to take care of yourself. until you wake up and youre an adult and you dont know how to ask for help. until you wake up and youre an adult and you dont know how to ask for help.

I was so distracted by getting to the finish line that I forgot to pace myself. I was so distracted by growing up that I forgot the basics along the way. sometimes I try to keep my pain close to the surface. because I am scared that people will no longer want me once my memory of the hurt runs out. once there is no more sadness to fill these pages. the only thing I know about what sits underneath my skin is that it is full of lack of matter. and I am trying to regurgitate the nothingness but it is getting caught in my throat. maybe nothing was poetic the first few times but it has now lost its meaning and turned back into nothing. maybe I was poetic the first few times I dug out all of this hollow but my emptiness does not resemble a poem anymore. maybe it never did in the first place. maybe it never did in the first place.

I am a book with the pages all worn. the cover is tearing, the ink is fading, but I swear Im worth the read. little girl wears pigtails. little girl is not afraid of anything, even monsters in the closet. little girl splatter-paints the walls and is proud of it. little girl does not have much hair for a while. little girl is brave. little girl is kind. little girl cries when she holds a hamster for the first time. little girl teaches herself how to roll her rs and make a taco tongue all by herself. little girl loves to dance and sing and run around during recess. little girl wears big pink goggles when she goes swimming. little girl is strong. little girl is determined. tomorrow morning I will promise to see this nothing as everything. and tomorrow night I will forgive myself for not being able to. and the next morning I will promise again. and the next night I will forgive again. and none of it will mean anything at all. picardy third youre getting good at tying things up in a neat little bow, at molding wrapping paper around your misshapen ideas. youll tape it all together. maybe stick a ribbon on top. hope no one will notice the pain and the hurt if it all comes in a presentable little package. youre getting good at remembering to say just kidding at the end of every self-deprecating joke. at tagging on an lol when the text seems too angry. queen of backtracking, champion of invalidating your own feelings, a professional at wanting them to understand, but also wanting them to stay comfortable. youre getting good at ending on a positive note. on a high note, just a half step above what theyre all expecting. because maybe if you write an entire poem on self-loathing, just to say something nice in the very last line, that will balance out everything else. (we both know that will not balance out everything else.) but sometimes its nice to pretend. to hope a bit of good will outweigh the bad. to believe changing one note in the final chord will make them forget they were ever in a minor key at all.