AMpoems - Hello Poetry

I can draw a map of you from memory, tracing constellations of your spots and scars that only exist in my fingertips. I’ve traced the remains of your kisses on my skin so often that I can feel the outline of your lips on my body. Your taste returning to me in my lonely hours. I’ve memorised where your skin rises lightly from the ink of your tattoos, as if your body were written in braille and I’ve had to learn a new language just to read you I can draw a map of you from memory, the lines of your skin still imprinted in me, following the paths my hands have learned and the places my body begs for you to return.

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Nov 21, 2025

Nov 21, 2025 at 2:46 PM UTC

The map of you

I can draw a map of you from memory, tracing constellations of your spots and scars that only exist in my fingertips. I’ve traced the remains of your kisses on my skin so often that I can feel the outline of your lips on my body. Your taste returning to me in my lonely hours. I’ve memorised where your skin rises lightly from the ink of your tattoos, as if your body were written in braille and I’ve had to learn a new language just to read you I can draw a map of you from memory, the lines of your skin still imprinted in me, following the paths my hands have learned and the places my body begs for you to return.

27

It was our bodies that first knew, long before our mouths found words, that we were destined for each other. Our skin remembered the whispers we carried through generations, in countless versions of you, of me. In every reincarnation our souls would burn together, with every kiss, we transcended space, outlived time, rewrote the past, and defied the future. And in every lifetime I found you and you found me

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Oct 29, 2025

Oct 29, 2025 at 3:06 PM UTC

Reincarnation

It was our bodies that first knew, long before our mouths found words, that we were destined for each other. Our skin remembered the whispers we carried through generations, in countless versions of you, of me. In every reincarnation our souls would burn together, with every kiss, we transcended space, outlived time, rewrote the past, and defied the future. And in every lifetime I found you and you found me

23

It rarely arrives in a single moment, it gathers in corners,  in unsaid things,  in nights spent  turned the other way,  in coffee gone cold  while silence fills the room,  in laughter you no longer reach for,  in the twitch of a finger reaching for a wedding band  that isn’t there, just skin now,  and the echo of a promise. it settles in the pause  before your name is spoken, in the hollow of a drawer  still holding the note I wrote you in 2015 in the way light filters in, but doesn't quite warm the space they used to fill. grief is not the breaking,  it's the habit of touching absence.

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Aug 12, 2025

Aug 12, 2025 at 7:30 AM UTC

grief

It rarely arrives in a single moment, it gathers in corners,  in unsaid things,  in nights spent  turned the other way,  in coffee gone cold  while silence fills the room,  in laughter you no longer reach for,  in the twitch of a finger reaching for a wedding band  that isn’t there, just skin now,  and the echo of a promise. it settles in the pause  before your name is spoken, in the hollow of a drawer  still holding the note I wrote you in 2015 in the way light filters in, but doesn't quite warm the space they used to fill. grief is not the breaking,  it's the habit of touching absence.

23

If I stay, it’s not because I need saving I now know my own way out If I stay, it’s not to repay kindness with obedience, or love with sacrifice. It’s because your touch brings me back to myself. It’s because you see me, and not the echo of your needs But I won’t stay if I start shrinking, if I lose my fire keeping you warm. Love, if I stay, it will be as a whole person, not a woman folding herself to fit into you So if I stay, know this: It’s not to be yours. It’s to be mine.

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Aug 11, 2025

Aug 11, 2025 at 3:41 PM UTC

If I stay

If I stay, it’s not because I need saving I now know my own way out If I stay, it’s not to repay kindness with obedience, or love with sacrifice. It’s because your touch brings me back to myself. It’s because you see me, and not the echo of your needs But I won’t stay if I start shrinking, if I lose my fire keeping you warm. Love, if I stay, it will be as a whole person, not a woman folding herself to fit into you So if I stay, know this: It’s not to be yours. It’s to be mine.

23

She wrote, ‘Happy New Year’ I stared at the words long enough to feel their weight. So I wrote back, ‘You too’. But I really meant to say, ‘Happy for who?’ Not me. Not you.

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Jul 31, 2025

Jul 31, 2025 at 8:51 AM UTC

new year

She wrote, ‘Happy New Year’ I stared at the words long enough to feel their weight. So I wrote back, ‘You too’. But I really meant to say, ‘Happy for who?’ Not me. Not you.

11

Today I went looking through old messages for the moment it all began to break finger-tracing old words like scars on glass, hoping one might split open and finally confess I guess I am both the surgeon and the body on the table, steady hands - or are they shaking?- as I open myself just wide enough to bleed I keep searching for the cracks on our messages and our photos, as if spotting the moment we stopped smiling could stitch the wound shut, But the more I dissect, the more I bleed, into the margins of the autopsy report

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Jun 26, 2025

Jun 26, 2025 at 7:48 AM UTC

Autopsy

Today I went looking through old messages for the moment it all began to break finger-tracing old words like scars on glass, hoping one might split open and finally confess I guess I am both the surgeon and the body on the table, steady hands - or are they shaking?- as I open myself just wide enough to bleed I keep searching for the cracks on our messages and our photos, as if spotting the moment we stopped smiling could stitch the wound shut, But the more I dissect, the more I bleed, into the margins of the autopsy report

26

Her love was a voice on the weekends a phone call a promise a breath between meetings We were raised by routine hands Teachers Father Babysitters Borrowing time And taking turns As mother figures

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Jun 10, 2025

Jun 10, 2025 at 1:09 PM UTC

Routine hands

Her love was a voice on the weekends a phone call a promise a breath between meetings We were raised by routine hands Teachers Father Babysitters Borrowing time And taking turns As mother figures

13

The candlelight  flickered   the only witness  to the silence between us Menus in hand,  but nothing to choose  that we hadn't already tasted Your eyes  scanned the room like it might hold a better version of us. The waiter brought two glasses of wine,  and I drank both  as if the bottom held a reason to stay Two plates arrived,  and we picked at them,  like archaeologists  sifting through remains of glory days And when the bill came,  I asked to split it,  as if I'd been rehearsing how to leave for years.

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Jun 10, 2025

Jun 10, 2025 at 11:22 AM UTC

Candlelight

The candlelight  flickered   the only witness  to the silence between us Menus in hand,  but nothing to choose  that we hadn't already tasted Your eyes  scanned the room like it might hold a better version of us. The waiter brought two glasses of wine,  and I drank both  as if the bottom held a reason to stay Two plates arrived,  and we picked at them,  like archaeologists  sifting through remains of glory days And when the bill came,  I asked to split it,  as if I'd been rehearsing how to leave for years.

24

I kept moving  a blur between places,  names half-learned,  mornings that began  already running the wind at my back  felt like freedom, but I never asked  what I was chasing,  or what was chasing me I kept moving, avoiding the silence that carried the questions I’ve spent a lifetime outrunning

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Jun 2, 2025

Jun 2, 2025 at 1:09 PM UTC

Outrunning

I kept moving  a blur between places,  names half-learned,  mornings that began  already running the wind at my back  felt like freedom, but I never asked  what I was chasing,  or what was chasing me I kept moving, avoiding the silence that carried the questions I’ve spent a lifetime outrunning

15

If you saw me  unvarnished,  unscripted would you stay? You'd know the cost of loving someone who's learned to disappear before she's left. You might step back.  or worse,  what if you stay?  and see me crumble  in your kindness I don't know if I could survive  being loved like that.

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May 29, 2025

May 29, 2025 at 10:02 AM UTC

Would you stay?

If you saw me  unvarnished,  unscripted would you stay? You'd know the cost of loving someone who's learned to disappear before she's left. You might step back.  or worse,  what if you stay?  and see me crumble  in your kindness I don't know if I could survive  being loved like that.

16