I have so many half-written poems and things I somehow can’t put into words.
I miss you more than I would ever have imagined possible,
but, sometimes, I miss myself just as much.
Yet another plea for help with a poem, pretty pretty please?!
(Basically, I have no idea how to start and how to finish or what I’m saying!!)
All day I’ve been unable to decide between two lines for a poem. Doing. My. Head. In.
If there’s anyone who wouldn’t mind reading over my freshly written poems, and giving some feedback, I would be very grateful!
Anyone I could talk to
about anything else, without fear of judgement
would never understand this.
Because all they can see is the “you”
that has somehow saved them,
and are blind to the “you” that is destroying me.
I used to be sad.
Openly, publicly, sad.
I wore my sadness like a badge of honour.
Like a battle scar.
It defined me - my cuts and my pills and my tears became all that I was.
I wallowed in it, and somewhere along the way I became so obsessed with what I had lost that I wasted what I had.
I took for granted everything and everyone that could still make me happy, and I focused on how sad I felt.
I missed out on so much,
because I was so focused on what I was missing.
I am still sad. Even more so than before.
(Although “sad” seems far too small to describe how I feel.)
I think I always will be, at least a little, but what I know now is I can’t let sadness be all that I am.
I can’t let mourning what I no longer have stop me from appreciating what I have still got.
Because one day I will lose that too, and it hurts more to regret what could have been than to miss what was.
I want to write to you
Although you will never read
What I want to say.
I want to tell you that I miss you
I want to tell you that I love you
But somehow I can’t put pen to paper
Without the page blurring
And my heart aching.
You can never read what I will never say.
You kissed me for the first time
And the last time
…It felt like it.)
We started the year how we ended the last,
And ended it the same way we started -
With a kiss.
Maybe all I ever meant to you was a kiss.
I think the only way that I am coping; the only way that I am, in the eyes of so many, doing okay in the face of such devastating, heartbreaking loss is that I have felt this way for years.
For years, I have felt the pain of a loss so profound that it hurts to dwell on.
I have ached, and cried, and even now this fresh wound feels familiar because the old trauma never properly healed and now only scar tissue covers my heart.
The fact I have hurt for so long is the only thing that now keeps me going.
It was never supposed to be like this.
Even in my darkest dreams I never thought this could happen.
I always knew how fragile my own mortality was - I toyed with the notion that one day I might simply be gone and nothing would hurt, or matter, any more.
But you were always the solid one.
The strong one.
You were the one who was meant to rule the world one day.
I could picture your lives without me,
But I don’t know how to live mine now that you’re gone.