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Literature Text
Old classics,
lilac air-fresheners,
the half cup of
peppermint ice cream
that’s been
sitting in your freezer
for weeks, and cat litter.
He won’t eat anymore,
but there are
piles and piles
of dirty dishes
sitting in the sink.
He’s slowly
disintegrating
before your eyes.
You can wrap
your whole self
around his tiny bones
now.
You can hold him
like he used to hold you
all those years ago.
And you are angry.
You try to find
someone,
or something
to blame.
You hate doctors,
and you hate
November now.
November means
birthdays, diagnoses,
chemo treatments,
and realization.
You have to force yourself
to stop crying,
every day.
This is the one person
who’s always had faith
in you.
He’s read every poem
and hoarded every award
you ever won.
You ignore statistics,
because roses
they always
smell nicer.
lilac air-fresheners,
the half cup of
peppermint ice cream
that’s been
sitting in your freezer
for weeks, and cat litter.
He won’t eat anymore,
but there are
piles and piles
of dirty dishes
sitting in the sink.
He’s slowly
disintegrating
before your eyes.
You can wrap
your whole self
around his tiny bones
now.
You can hold him
like he used to hold you
all those years ago.
And you are angry.
You try to find
someone,
or something
to blame.
You hate doctors,
and you hate
November now.
November means
birthdays, diagnoses,
chemo treatments,
and realization.
You have to force yourself
to stop crying,
every day.
This is the one person
who’s always had faith
in you.
He’s read every poem
and hoarded every award
you ever won.
You ignore statistics,
because roses
they always
smell nicer.
Literature
Two Years Later
She asked him gently, “Do you love me?”
In his long silence, she found closure,
And left her love under a willow tree.
Literature
I can't write poetry for dead girls.
there are too
many pills in this
world and too
much misery in
the human heart
but that didn't mean
that you could just
up and leave when
we both know it
could have gotten better
and i miss you like
a wolf misses her pack
or a goddamn dragon misses
her fire and i'm sorry
that i can't give you
a bouquet of jasmines
(they were your
favorite, after all,
because that was
the only princess
with a pet tiger)
because poppies are
too cliche and i'm
sorry i wasn't there
when all you needed
was a hug and for someone
to whisper "it's okay,
you're perfect enough
for me, don't listen
to that junkie bitch
who just happened to
give birth to you" and did
Literature
or maybe it actually is.
this
is not
a love poem:
this is not about
me and how i hate
the way realism tastes.
this is about you.
this is about how you
are one too many shades arrogant,
how nearly every night you
try to forget that time has
left you behind. this is
about your laugh and the way it
whispers "i can't remember
what i was like before i
became this." and,
if i'm being honest, this is about
how i will never see your too
cocky for your own damn good grin that
makes me go weak in the knees.
this is about you
and how you're not real and how i wish
to god that i wasn't either.
Suggested Collections
This is the worst poem I've ever written, I think.
I'm too emotional. I can't think.
But I recorded a reading:
soundcloud.com/dearpoetry/canc…
( Sorry my voice is all shaky and I'm trying not to cry. )
I'm too emotional. I can't think.
But I recorded a reading:
soundcloud.com/dearpoetry/canc…
( Sorry my voice is all shaky and I'm trying not to cry. )
Comments48
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I am very sorry for your loss. Was this written for someone you knew?