& still—
she gets the happy ending.
& i get
the trauma.

but i know now:

love doesn’t
ask you to bleed
& call it
home.

(2/2)

backseat.
backdoor.
back then.
i bled
& said nothing.
but now—
i speak.
i am not what he did to me.
i am what i chose after.
(2/2)

Yesterday marked five years,
but grief doesn’t care about time.
It lingers in the cracks of my life,
the spaces I thought would heal by now.
People tell me it shouldn’t hurt—
how can you mourn a stranger?

But blood remembers,
even when the heart tries to forget.

(2/2)

I don’t know what’s scarier—
the ghosts, or the fact
that I let myself become one

(4/4)

It’s funny how we used to love the fall,
how we swore we’d never be like them,
the people who left when things got hard,
the people who stopped saying goodnight.
And now, I walk past strangers
wearing your face in their shadows,
and you, somewhere,
are learning how to love without me.

(3/?)

You left your sweater in my closet,
a ghost I never learned to bury.
I wear it when the air gets cold,
pretending it still smells like you,
pretending I don’t feel like the house we built
has been condemned.

(2/?)

I thought I'd be ready.
I thought leaving would feel like freedom.
But all I have now is the echo—
and nowhere to run.

(2/2)

what you commented is the exact same thing I posted, there is no difference. i didnt mean to include "relief" that is the title, but besides that I feel its important to note that death is not the goal. i want that to be shown. lastly, i dont have an editor lmao im just trying to write how i feel :)

because if it’s not desperate,
if it’s not all-encompassing,
then how do i know
it’s real?

they call it "too intense,"
but all i hear
is "not enough."

#poetry #poetrysky #poet #sadpoetry #writing #bpd