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okay but saying “i wish i had known you sooner” — like the love in my heart is growing so big and fast for you that i wish i had the opportunity to have you way earlier by my side, because i want to love you longer than i can do now. my love for you reaches my past and makes a place for you.

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I have cried 'til I turned blind (I can see sorrow no more, so now I'll laugh)

the tragedy

of a heart that

is poisoned by

the blood it harbours;

of a tree, akin to a child

torn apart from its mother (earth)

by the very man it scorched

in the blazing sun for;

of a woman -

she's achilles, unstoppable

now shot down by her lover,

who she unveiled

her heels to;

of Cain, with

poison ivy in his lungs

and jaundice greed for eyes

sells Abel to death, a brother,

another half of him gone,

washed away in slimy, algae guilt.

oh, this fated tragedy

that sticks to humankind

like stubborn scales in a boiler

is it your morbid joke, destiny?

'cause if it is, I'll laugh.

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Violet, velvet, some dark blossom

To bleed on, I'll be your devoted

Honeybee if you'll hold me

In the hollyhocks

I am tender in this garden

Words whispered softly

To encourage— oh, love

You're growing perfectly

Fingertips in damp soil

If it doesn't rain I'll be

The water, I would

Never let you starve

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For The Chinese New Year & For Bill Berkson, Frank O'Hara

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You can’t deserve a person’s love. You’ll drive yourself crazy thinking like that. They either love you, or they don’t. That doesn’t mean you weren’t good enough for them to love you, because love isn’t something you earn by being good enough. It isn’t something that can be quantified or doled out. Don’t blame yourself for not being loved how you need to, just teach yourself how to look for love where love lives.

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Sophia Joan Short  

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let me go // RR

#poetry #my stuff #heartbreak #sad poetry #spilled ink #spilled poetry

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I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.

Movies and books also don't tell you that friendships don't just end after one fight or incident, it's like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn't thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend' and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?

It's been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

Edit: here's the visualizer for this piece

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A body made of pain // RR

#poetry #my stuff #myself #sad poetry #spilled ink #spilled poetry #ex catholic #religious imagery #religious trauma

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Anne Carson

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“Sometimes the long way is the only way home.”

— Unknown

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a love that burned like fire // RR

#poetry #heartbreak #my stuff #unrequited love #wlw poetry #past love #spilled ink #sapphic #sad poetry #myself

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on sunday mornings we read Ovidio

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Macy's

I worked with a gay guy

selling shoes at Macy's,

and I always felt bad

because I cared so little about shoes,

and he cared so much. He would

frequently tell me how bad mine were,

and how they told the world

I was lost,

and in need of a better father;

and even though he was right,

it didn't make me want

to shine my shoes

or do a better job,

because I simply didn't

care,

and nothing he said

could make up

for my drunken father

who never showed up

to my ball games,

and always passed out

in his chair

with his shiny shoes on.

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the silence is somewhat convincing but I wonder can’t you hear the loud chatters of the things, their mouth won’t say?