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baby’s breath
in the blink of an eye,
one bite of baby’s breath,
or a step too soon across the street,
and a heartbeat becomes a memory,
an empty seat that screams:
remember me.
death, grief, heartbreak, life, loss, love, love poem, love poems, love poetry, melancholygalaxies, poem, poems, poetry, quote, relationships, sad, sad poetry, writing
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sunken pangs
sadness slams against my organs
like ocean waves smashing against sea cliffs.
saltwater teardrops gush past my waterline,
landing on my lips;
it’s a killer whale encircling me
as i exhale deep breaths between them.
it sounds like sirens singing,
surrounding a sobbing vessel,
beckoning me to succumb
to death’s beautiful promise
of “no more sunken pangs,”
so convincing in its refrain.
“abandon ship” like sadness knows best,
but it’s a rusted anchor
chained around my neck,
and i’m an anguished castaway.anxiety, depression, grief, life, melancholygalaxies, mental illness, poem, poems, poetry, quote, sad, sad poetry, trauma, writing
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one more dead girl
unfurl my past devotions
like clues on a table,
scrutinize the corpse’s life,
ask about her type
and hear the larvae gossip
“light-eyed arsonists”
interrogate the dry-eyed suspects
and ask them why they spoke in bullets,
why they cannonballed into her chest,
and how they raised a warzone
from a blooming garden.
detective, if i had known it’d end like this,
with me facedown in a shabby bed
and my ghost wailing from the roof
for justice (or revenge),
while watching the world continue to spin
despite how violently i departed from it,
i’d like to think
i would’ve ignored the text messages,
i would’ve kept walking past
—the wraith of my heartbreak
haunting me each time
i dare considered a third
or fourth chance.
detective, can’t you understand?
they strike me like matches
against sandpaper
and wonder why the city burns
and my inner child seethes.
i was just a spark they toyed with,
but i love men who point
their guilty fingers,
and it’s always at me.
they could never be blamed
for the forest fire,
for the body in a coffin
or the ashes in an urn,
an overdose in a junkyard
or one more dead girl.abuse, anxiety, death, depression, grief, heartbreak, life, love, love poem, love poems, love poetry, melancholygalaxies, poem, poems, poetry, quote, relationships, sad, sad poetry, trauma, writing
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boulders
back when a timid kiss in a high school hallway was an act of bravery, back when a summer walk to the local mall was an exhilarating escapade, back when it felt as natural as a rolling thunder to rest my shoulder against yours, back when you and i met, like two hard-headed boulders colliding during an avalanche, after the quaking universe thrust us together, hoping to be an intrusive Cupid, only to create a disaster.
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skipping
you infiltrate my thoughts like a song
i listened to excessively.
my mind’s a radio station and you’re a top-ten hit,
so your tragic chorus plays on repeat;
i’m a sucker for nostalgia, so i hum along to it.
life’s a vinyl record skip-skip-skipping like a kid
playing hopscotch in my haywire headspace.
because i can forgive like a saint,
but damn it i can’t forget,
and like a dachshund yearning
under the dinner table, i beg.
the future wants to welcome me in its embrace,
but i keep pausing for the past
like it’s worth the hesitation.
if i linger long enough, you could catch up
while i catch my breath
because it wears your face like a mask;
it gazes in glimmering green.
i glimpse its glint in crowded corners
and vacant city streets.
the song imbues the room like your laugh;
i can see your front row teeth
as you applaud me with a smile,
and i’m entranced, but the world scolds me,
“the past is in the past.”
my loved ones wag their fingers
when they see me glancing back,
but i would live there if i could,
but yeah, yeah. i know that i can’t.
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take me past
take me past the strands of hair
coiling down your neck,
past the freckles spattering your cheeks
like spilled paint on the childhood pavement
you rode your oversized skateboard on,
the same sidewalk i would stumble on,
falling for your dimpled smiles
and your cloudless gaze.
take me past your middle name,
past your favorite shade
and around the corner
to your deepest fears and the softest secrets
that cast black shadows on the rosy things you love,
like the pine trees we practiced kissing under
when we were much too young
to go anywhere past hand-holding
and 21 questions.
take me past your contemporary clothes
and warm skin;
let me into your charming heart
and your vibrant mind,
past your well-built skeleton.
take me past the moments
that flash before your mind
when someone asks you to picture
what an imperfect mother
and an angry father looks like,
take me past the nights
when you wake up wide-eyed,
itching to talk about your dreams,
and tell every part, every massive fantasy
and tiny hope squirming to break free
to me
and i will stow it all inside
like i’m a treasure box made
for you.
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oblivion
oblivion became someday baby names and far off wedding dates. “i can’t do this anymore,” turned into “i can’t wait to see you tomorrow” and “i can’t live like this” turned into “you’re worth living for.” chasms changed into anniversaries to celebrate; the black abyss became a place to decorate. i could suddenly spot the smallest stars in vivid space; i finally saw the future, when once there was no such thing.
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at world’s end
16 was the end of the world, a razor-sharp cliff with a bottomless drop. college applications and career goals scorching before your torched mind and blank gaze like a feast fit for fire. your mind sought accolades and gold medals, and your heart became the punching bag, but you were not a prizefighter—you were a poet with paper bones and a soul that bleeds in rhyming ink. 18 was the unimaginable, the flailing descent to a place you couldn’t fathom, because you never thought you’d live past 16. purpose glides by you, smiling like an old friend, but she’s a stranger now with a name that nips the tip of your gnawed tongue. you want to ask her what she is, but like bliss, like hope, like the words, like everything else, she vanishes. 27 is returning to the earth. you swear you should be a corpse, but your pulse protests in rhythmic reprimand for suggesting such a concept. she booms behind your chest, “we’re still alive, you idiot! all this time, you’ve been running from what you didn’t expect instead of seizing control of it!” my legs and arms are busted and my spine is bent in half. my brain has become mulch and my body sobs red; how on earth do you think we can survive this? my heart answers back, “how dare you think we can’t!”
anxiety, depression, grief, hope, life, loss, melancholygalaxies, mental illness, poem, poems, poetry, quote, sad, sad poetry, trauma, writing
