A home that never
learned my name,
I reached the shore just as the tide pulled away.
Loneliness disguised as freedom,
Your hands stained red with promises
you couldn’t keep.
Uncertainty spoken to the deaf,
A language lost on a foreigner.
Running from myself, but the mirror grabs me by the throat.
Hiding in the rearview.
I thought I saw an angel, but… never mind.
Burned the letters but held the ashes in my mouth,
An I love you stuck in my throat.
A poem abandoned mid-thought,
Praying to a wordless God.
I ran from love for as long as I could
Until it knocked on my doorstep
In the ghost of you.
And I knew
It was time to pay my dues.
But I grew tired.
Tired of believing
In the conspiracy theory
That you’d grow a backbone
out of my patience.
Tired of whispers echoing
Phrases we once spoke
In our secret language.
I am tired
of heartbreak,
And lovers
Who slammed the door so hard
all pictures were shaking.
Another thing I ruined.
A bridge leading nowhere,
A garden where nothing blooms,
A compass that only spins
Because I lost your North.
Some doors lock from the other side.
I whisper into the void,
Does he love me?
but the echo spits back
Do you?
The last petal always lands on no,
No matter how many flowers I pull.
You left me as you found me.
Writing long-lost love letters
To all who abandoned me.
Only now, my scars scream your name.
Sadly, you realized:
The bridge trembles because I step on it.
The ship sank in sight of land.
And everything I’ve ever loved
Ends up bleeding poetry.
A pseudonym for love.
I stepped on the deck as the ship sailed away,
Hands on a map to a place that no longer exists.
Saving my last breath for a conversation that already ended.
I’m always a day late and a dollar short,
For everything meant for me.
Loving you was a maze,
I didn’t come out the same.
Some things are best kept buried,
I learned that the hard way.
A language neither of us speaks anymore.
Love letters collecting dust in a drawer of regret.
Your ghost still knocking at the door,
In a house I don’t live in anymore.
I live by a calendar of eleven months,
A year only 334-days long.
No more Julys to come.
I reached the shore just as the tide pulled away.
Loneliness disguised as freedom,
Your hands stained red with promises
you couldn’t keep.
Uncertainty spoken to the deaf,
A language lost on a foreigner.
Running from myself, but the mirror grabs me by the throat.
Hiding in the rearview.
I thought I saw an angel, but… never mind.
Burned the letters but held the ashes in my mouth,
An I love you stuck in my throat.
A poem abandoned mid-thought,
Praying to a wordless God.
I ran from love for as long as I could
Until it knocked on my doorstep
In the ghost of you.
And I knew
It was time to pay my dues.
But I grew tired.
Tired of believing
In the conspiracy theory
That you’d grow a backbone
out of my patience.
Tired of whispers echoing
Phrases we once spoke
In our secret language.
I am tired
of heartbreak,
And lovers
Who slammed the door so hard
all pictures were shaking.
Another thing I ruined.
A bridge leading nowhere,
A garden where nothing blooms,
A compass that only spins
Because I lost your North.
Some doors lock from the other side.
I whisper into the void,
Does he love me?
but the echo spits back
Do you?
The last petal always lands on no,
No matter how many flowers I pull.
You left me as you found me.
Writing long-lost love letters
To all who abandoned me.
Only now, my scars scream your name.
Sadly, you realized:
The bridge trembles because I step on it.
The ship sank in sight of land.
And everything I’ve ever loved
Ends up bleeding poetry.
A pseudonym for love.
I stepped on the deck as the ship sailed away,
Hands on a map to a place that no longer exists.
Saving my last breath for a conversation that already ended.
I’m always a day late and a dollar short,
For everything meant for me.
Loving you was a maze,
I didn’t come out the same.
Some things are best kept buried,
I learned that the hard way.
A language neither of us speaks anymore.
Love letters collecting dust in a drawer of regret.
Your ghost still knocking at the door,
In a house I don’t live in anymore.
I live by a calendar of eleven months,
A year only 334-days long.
No more Julys to come.
And everything in our love’s field
Became landmine I don’t dare to cross.
February 14, 2025.
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