MerKel - Hello Poetry

There you go again, back to the life that was always going to win. I used to ask myself what I was missing, what I lacked, what I could have been to make you stay. I don’t ask anymore. I see you now. Not as I wanted you to be, but as you are. The light I saw in you was never yours. It was mine. Bending itself into something you could stand in. You didn’t choose me. You didn’t lose me. You took what was given, held it just long enough to feel like something real, and let it fall the moment it required anything back. And I let you once, twice, three times… until I couldn’t recognize the version of me that kept calling it love. That’s over now. No anger left to hand you. No softness left to borrow. Just the quiet understanding of who you are when no one is mistaking you for something better. You can go. Not temporarily, Not halfway, Not the way you always do. Completely. Because I already have. And this version of me the one you don’t know, the one you don’t get. she doesn’t wait, she doesn’t wonder, and she doesn’t look back.

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Apr 29

Apr 29, 2026 at 6:46 PM UTC

What Remains

There you go again, back to the life that was always going to win. I used to ask myself what I was missing, what I lacked, what I could have been to make you stay. I don’t ask anymore. I see you now. Not as I wanted you to be, but as you are. The light I saw in you was never yours. It was mine. Bending itself into something you could stand in. You didn’t choose me. You didn’t lose me. You took what was given, held it just long enough to feel like something real, and let it fall the moment it required anything back. And I let you once, twice, three times… until I couldn’t recognize the version of me that kept calling it love. That’s over now. No anger left to hand you. No softness left to borrow. Just the quiet understanding of who you are when no one is mistaking you for something better. You can go. Not temporarily, Not halfway, Not the way you always do. Completely. Because I already have. And this version of me the one you don’t know, the one you don’t get. she doesn’t wait, she doesn’t wonder, and she doesn’t look back.

49

I knew a man once. A salesman. A traveler. A soldier. At war with himself, in battles he refused to name. Demons disguised as almost-could-have-beens, missions chasing ghosts of what used to be. That’s the thing about war, I guess, by the time you realize the weight you’re carrying is a weapon, it’s already been fired. There was fire all around him broken promises, white lies, and me. Not the reason. Not the cause. Just there. Within range. Something absorbable. Something expendable. Collateral.

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Mar 24

Mar 24, 2026 at 6:28 AM UTC

Collateral Damage

I knew a man once. A salesman. A traveler. A soldier. At war with himself, in battles he refused to name. Demons disguised as almost-could-have-beens, missions chasing ghosts of what used to be. That’s the thing about war, I guess, by the time you realize the weight you’re carrying is a weapon, it’s already been fired. There was fire all around him broken promises, white lies, and me. Not the reason. Not the cause. Just there. Within range. Something absorbable. Something expendable. Collateral.

23

I breathe in, then out again, trying to steady the tears. I pick at the skin around my nails. I look at the messy house, the messy life evidence of three small lives unfolding inside it. I am stretched so thin I’m not sure where I end and responsibility begins. This is everything I ever wanted. The picket fence dream. But loving them means seeing the world they will have to walk into. And suddenly this dream feels smaller than the fear outside it. I can’t put enough good into the world, teach enough kindness, practice enough grace to counteract what waits beyond these four walls. I fear for their future. I cry because those two sets of pigtails have fewer protections, fewer freedoms, fewer chances than I did at their very same age. I fret because those three sets of footsteps will walk into a world loud with war and thick with hate. I can’t teach enough love. I can’t practice enough kindness. Sometimes that fear explodes out of me as anger and those three little sets of eyes look up at me. So I breathe in, then out again, hoping those three small lungs never learn this kind of breath.

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Mar 12

Mar 12, 2026 at 10:00 AM UTC

Inheritance

I breathe in, then out again, trying to steady the tears. I pick at the skin around my nails. I look at the messy house, the messy life evidence of three small lives unfolding inside it. I am stretched so thin I’m not sure where I end and responsibility begins. This is everything I ever wanted. The picket fence dream. But loving them means seeing the world they will have to walk into. And suddenly this dream feels smaller than the fear outside it. I can’t put enough good into the world, teach enough kindness, practice enough grace to counteract what waits beyond these four walls. I fear for their future. I cry because those two sets of pigtails have fewer protections, fewer freedoms, fewer chances than I did at their very same age. I fret because those three sets of footsteps will walk into a world loud with war and thick with hate. I can’t teach enough love. I can’t practice enough kindness. Sometimes that fear explodes out of me as anger and those three little sets of eyes look up at me. So I breathe in, then out again, hoping those three small lungs never learn this kind of breath.

53

Your name lights up my phone on a random Tuesday night. You must have left home again. The life you chose must be heavy tonight if it sent you looking for me. But you’re not choosing me. You’re escaping here. And I remind myself I am no more important now than I was the day you walked away. That’s the truth of us. I would have made you the first choice. The only choice. But for you I’m the last call. The girl who will always answer. The girl who still hopes every time your name appears. The girl who one day might love herself enough to let it ring. One day. But not tonight. Tonight I answer. Soft voice. Open arms. How have you been? I’ve missed you. And for a moment you settle into me like you never left. Like I was always meant to be home. But this time I keep a little distance. Not because the love is gone. God, it isn’t. It’s still sharp. Still hungry. Still capable of ruining me. But I’ve survived your leaving too many times to pretend I don’t know how this ends. You show up. You remind me that I love you. And then you leave again. Swearing it’s different. Swearing you’ll try. Swearing you want the life you spent seventeen years building. And then you disappear back into it. Leaving me behind in the quiet that follows. A little more broken than before you came. A little more in love. And somehow a little harder to put back together. But tonight— Welcome back, babe. I’ve missed you. Stay as long as you need. You always do just long enough to break me again.

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Mar 11

Mar 11, 2026 at 4:32 PM UTC

LasT Call

Your name lights up my phone on a random Tuesday night. You must have left home again. The life you chose must be heavy tonight if it sent you looking for me. But you’re not choosing me. You’re escaping here. And I remind myself I am no more important now than I was the day you walked away. That’s the truth of us. I would have made you the first choice. The only choice. But for you I’m the last call. The girl who will always answer. The girl who still hopes every time your name appears. The girl who one day might love herself enough to let it ring. One day. But not tonight. Tonight I answer. Soft voice. Open arms. How have you been? I’ve missed you. And for a moment you settle into me like you never left. Like I was always meant to be home. But this time I keep a little distance. Not because the love is gone. God, it isn’t. It’s still sharp. Still hungry. Still capable of ruining me. But I’ve survived your leaving too many times to pretend I don’t know how this ends. You show up. You remind me that I love you. And then you leave again. Swearing it’s different. Swearing you’ll try. Swearing you want the life you spent seventeen years building. And then you disappear back into it. Leaving me behind in the quiet that follows. A little more broken than before you came. A little more in love. And somehow a little harder to put back together. But tonight— Welcome back, babe. I’ve missed you. Stay as long as you need. You always do just long enough to break me again.

72

Sigh. I see my breath in the winter air as the ache leaves my lungs. Snow falls softly as your taillights fade, heading south. It makes sense, you were never meant for the cold. I have used all my grand gestures. Said every plea. I’ve never been the kind of girl to chase. And still, I chased you. Your warmth, your love, the dream of a life beside you. What we had was raw. It was real. The kind of love people write poems about. The kind only the lucky few ever get to feel. Thank you for letting me feel it with you. But sometimes love is not enough to carry a life all the way home. Love alone does not build a future. You chose your children. I respect that. I always would have. The kind of man who chooses his children is the kind of man I loved. I don’t regret you. Given the chance, I would live every beautiful, electric moment again. Now you exist as memory, beautiful, unfinished, sacred in its time. I release you with gratitude, my love. For what was. I will carry the tenderness of us forward, but I will keep walking. With the ache. With the softness. With peace. Goodbye.

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Mar 8

Mar 8, 2026 at 8:26 PM UTC

The End.

Sigh. I see my breath in the winter air as the ache leaves my lungs. Snow falls softly as your taillights fade, heading south. It makes sense, you were never meant for the cold. I have used all my grand gestures. Said every plea. I’ve never been the kind of girl to chase. And still, I chased you. Your warmth, your love, the dream of a life beside you. What we had was raw. It was real. The kind of love people write poems about. The kind only the lucky few ever get to feel. Thank you for letting me feel it with you. But sometimes love is not enough to carry a life all the way home. Love alone does not build a future. You chose your children. I respect that. I always would have. The kind of man who chooses his children is the kind of man I loved. I don’t regret you. Given the chance, I would live every beautiful, electric moment again. Now you exist as memory, beautiful, unfinished, sacred in its time. I release you with gratitude, my love. For what was. I will carry the tenderness of us forward, but I will keep walking. With the ache. With the softness. With peace. Goodbye.

32

How did we get here? I ask myself as I sit alone in the rubble of the mess we’ve made, surrounded by pieces of regret, shards of broken promises, and whispers of the beautiful, precious life we spent years building. I’m standing in the ashes of what almost was the life that existed before I felt the sway of unsteady ground beneath my feet and lit a match to the rest. I’ve never been much of a fixer. When things get scary, I run. There’s a strange safety in running. Staying requires discomfort, fear, work — things I haven’t always been brave enough to face. So I fled. And I found myself in a fantasy, one so far removed from reality I almost lost myself inside it. But in the quiet moments, when the winds picked up and the smoke of what I burned stung my lungs there was you. There was us. The love. The life we built. The hard seasons that broke me open. The good ones melted into memory. We were something, weren’t we? Happy. Wild. Free. Until the weight of life and time pressed in and we let hurt settle where tenderness used to live. We were something. I’ve never been much of a builder either. But I’m here now, hammer and nail in hand. There’s no rulebook for this. No guide for how to rebuild something we almost let slip away. But somewhere beneath the ash the earth is still warm. There are embers buried deep not loud, not wild, but steady. If you’re willing, I would like to kneel here with you, brush away the soot, cup what’s left in careful hands and see if it will glow again. Not the fire that burns everything down, but the kind that stays. The kind that warms a home. I am here. And this time, I am staying.

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Mar 8

Mar 8, 2026 at 8:20 PM UTC

HouseFire

How did we get here? I ask myself as I sit alone in the rubble of the mess we’ve made, surrounded by pieces of regret, shards of broken promises, and whispers of the beautiful, precious life we spent years building. I’m standing in the ashes of what almost was the life that existed before I felt the sway of unsteady ground beneath my feet and lit a match to the rest. I’ve never been much of a fixer. When things get scary, I run. There’s a strange safety in running. Staying requires discomfort, fear, work — things I haven’t always been brave enough to face. So I fled. And I found myself in a fantasy, one so far removed from reality I almost lost myself inside it. But in the quiet moments, when the winds picked up and the smoke of what I burned stung my lungs there was you. There was us. The love. The life we built. The hard seasons that broke me open. The good ones melted into memory. We were something, weren’t we? Happy. Wild. Free. Until the weight of life and time pressed in and we let hurt settle where tenderness used to live. We were something. I’ve never been much of a builder either. But I’m here now, hammer and nail in hand. There’s no rulebook for this. No guide for how to rebuild something we almost let slip away. But somewhere beneath the ash the earth is still warm. There are embers buried deep not loud, not wild, but steady. If you’re willing, I would like to kneel here with you, brush away the soot, cup what’s left in careful hands and see if it will glow again. Not the fire that burns everything down, but the kind that stays. The kind that warms a home. I am here. And this time, I am staying.

48

Bold, sharp, bitter maybe a little like me. I never liked dark chocolate until it tasted like you. I told myself the bitterness meant depth, something beneath the surface worth loving if I stayed long enough. So I stayed. Again and again, waiting for sweetness that never came. Turns out bitterness lingers. Now everything tastes a little like you. And somehow I convinced myself I preferred dark chocolate.

0

Mar 8

Mar 8, 2026 at 8:15 PM UTC

Acquired Taste

Bold, sharp, bitter maybe a little like me. I never liked dark chocolate until it tasted like you. I told myself the bitterness meant depth, something beneath the surface worth loving if I stayed long enough. So I stayed. Again and again, waiting for sweetness that never came. Turns out bitterness lingers. Now everything tastes a little like you. And somehow I convinced myself I preferred dark chocolate.

19

So I guess we’re strangers again only this time with memories. Beautiful, electric ones that don’t disappear just because we do. Ford trucks and Florida plates still stop me sometimes. They pull me into quiet almosts and could-have-beens. I didn’t stop loving you when you left. I still find you in songs, in quiet mornings, in cold nights when the mountain air cuts sharp and I half-smile because I know you hate the cold. And I know this much: what we had was real. It was raw. It mattered. I’ll carry it with me, not as a wound, but as proof.

0

Feb 21

Feb 21, 2026 at 10:40 PM UTC

Hello Stranger

So I guess we’re strangers again only this time with memories. Beautiful, electric ones that don’t disappear just because we do. Ford trucks and Florida plates still stop me sometimes. They pull me into quiet almosts and could-have-beens. I didn’t stop loving you when you left. I still find you in songs, in quiet mornings, in cold nights when the mountain air cuts sharp and I half-smile because I know you hate the cold. And I know this much: what we had was real. It was raw. It mattered. I’ll carry it with me, not as a wound, but as proof.

11

“So what are you looking for?” The inevitable question that brings me pause. I know the answer. 5’9. Brown hair. Green eyes. Strong hands. A warm heart— heart of gold, don’t forget that part. Hates the cold. Loves the sand. Makes me walk on the inside while he holds my hand. He’s somewhere in Florida now, living the life he chose— the one without me. Sorry, what was that? What are you looking for? Oh. I don’t know. Nothing too serious.

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Feb 4

Feb 4, 2026 at 9:17 PM UTC

Match

“So what are you looking for?” The inevitable question that brings me pause. I know the answer. 5’9. Brown hair. Green eyes. Strong hands. A warm heart— heart of gold, don’t forget that part. Hates the cold. Loves the sand. Makes me walk on the inside while he holds my hand. He’s somewhere in Florida now, living the life he chose— the one without me. Sorry, what was that? What are you looking for? Oh. I don’t know. Nothing too serious.

20

I’ve become well acquainted with grief. I’ve kissed anger on the mouth and shaken acceptance’s hand. I wasn’t prepared for wonder or self-doubt to be in attendance arriving late, staying long past their welcome. Hand in hand, asking the questions that break my heart again: Was it real? Was I ever enough? Was I just something to do, something to hang up when you were finished? Did it ever matter to you at all? Love shifted quietly into tears long drives, lonely nights. Wondering. Searching. Searching for a place that feels like home again.

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Jan 30

Jan 30, 2026 at 7:20 AM UTC

GriEf

I’ve become well acquainted with grief. I’ve kissed anger on the mouth and shaken acceptance’s hand. I wasn’t prepared for wonder or self-doubt to be in attendance arriving late, staying long past their welcome. Hand in hand, asking the questions that break my heart again: Was it real? Was I ever enough? Was I just something to do, something to hang up when you were finished? Did it ever matter to you at all? Love shifted quietly into tears long drives, lonely nights. Wondering. Searching. Searching for a place that feels like home again.

21