adoringkittens - Hello Poetry

I got my first piercing with my father in the summer of 2003. it was from a fish hook my brother poorly cast. a stranger helped me pull it out. I remember the summer water, the hug from the sun. I remember the hug my father gave to my brother, his only son. I got my first piercing from a fish hook, and a stranger helped pull it out.

0

May 22

May 22, 2026 at 5:21 PM UTC

summer 03

I got my first piercing with my father in the summer of 2003. it was from a fish hook my brother poorly cast. a stranger helped me pull it out. I remember the summer water, the hug from the sun. I remember the hug my father gave to my brother, his only son. I got my first piercing from a fish hook, and a stranger helped pull it out.

1

group chat with mom and dad where I can tease them with memes memory of a soft embrace after reading a book together before bed watching dad wrestle with his ego to tell me he is proud in his own way family pictures where mom hates how she looks, and brings it up every time angry at my mom for putting my favorite childhood legos in storage thanksgiving dinner New Year’s Day nursing a hangover while dad annoys me embarrassingly explaining “my parents are just like that” after they drop me off watching my parents grow older and maybe get a little wiser “I love you”

0

May 13

May 13, 2026 at 6:38 PM UTC

things Ill never get

group chat with mom and dad where I can tease them with memes memory of a soft embrace after reading a book together before bed watching dad wrestle with his ego to tell me he is proud in his own way family pictures where mom hates how she looks, and brings it up every time angry at my mom for putting my favorite childhood legos in storage thanksgiving dinner New Year’s Day nursing a hangover while dad annoys me embarrassingly explaining “my parents are just like that” after they drop me off watching my parents grow older and maybe get a little wiser “I love you”

10

should it have been somewhere else? not horizontal on our friends couch or a dimly lit bedroom with fleas in the walls would I unpluck the strings? maybe a hug outside boylston was all it needed to be maybe it was the frigid Allston air and my flannel I see how it was all wrong to my dismay, I still see how it was alright I meant everything

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Apr 22

Apr 22, 2026 at 5:25 PM UTC

Untitled

should it have been somewhere else? not horizontal on our friends couch or a dimly lit bedroom with fleas in the walls would I unpluck the strings? maybe a hug outside boylston was all it needed to be maybe it was the frigid Allston air and my flannel I see how it was all wrong to my dismay, I still see how it was alright I meant everything

12

sometimes, on the drive home you almost believe you can be good again and your heart swells pushing aside your lungs that once carried the air that “it’s over” danced on giving less space for your stomach that eats alone now pumping blood like never before to the limbs that packed your boxes giving all of its oxygen to the brain that thought “I don’t think I can do this anymore” fueling the eyes that watched you beg and scream please. don’t do this. sometimes, on the drive home you almost believe you could deserve it then you slide your key into the front door and open it to the empty

0

Feb 6

Feb 6, 2026 at 5:44 AM UTC

the short after

sometimes, on the drive home you almost believe you can be good again and your heart swells pushing aside your lungs that once carried the air that “it’s over” danced on giving less space for your stomach that eats alone now pumping blood like never before to the limbs that packed your boxes giving all of its oxygen to the brain that thought “I don’t think I can do this anymore” fueling the eyes that watched you beg and scream please. don’t do this. sometimes, on the drive home you almost believe you could deserve it then you slide your key into the front door and open it to the empty

22

I think of you daily I think through your eyes the most what it was like for you to end what you would do what you thought of me the more you are with me, the more it feels like I lose you I remember your face and words so frequently I worry that my internal game of telephone replaces your creation with my own impression every time I think of your voice it sounds more like my own and every time I think of your hope, it sounds more like my grief.

0

Nov 27, 2025

Nov 27, 2025 at 12:04 AM UTC

you, after

I think of you daily I think through your eyes the most what it was like for you to end what you would do what you thought of me the more you are with me, the more it feels like I lose you I remember your face and words so frequently I worry that my internal game of telephone replaces your creation with my own impression every time I think of your voice it sounds more like my own and every time I think of your hope, it sounds more like my grief.

16

death is a sneaky person he can snake tendrils into the folds of your brain while you stare at a blank page hoping the slithering in your head is inspiration begging to be let into the empty space the time between was a constant crime perjury over and over to a jury of past selves the slithering I felt at 14 became a buzzing by 21 and at 23, could cause hearing damage I had to scream my inner monologue just to hear myself death and I walked together and soon, his grip on me transformed into my grip on him holding on tight to what he promised me "death," I spoke to my longest friend, "won't you take me soon?" those words became breakfast on hard days lunch on long days until it was dinner every night I finally had the courage to look him in the eyes so that I might see who I adored so dearly his grip loosened on me to take down his hood and I saw the life I hadn't led every promise I never kept every cut that ever bled I saw a quiet somber in death's eyes and I realized I had to let him go with a sad smile, I indulged my old confidante and promised to live until he was ready to walk together again.

0

Jul 29, 2025

Jul 29, 2025 at 2:04 AM UTC

reaper's mark

death is a sneaky person he can snake tendrils into the folds of your brain while you stare at a blank page hoping the slithering in your head is inspiration begging to be let into the empty space the time between was a constant crime perjury over and over to a jury of past selves the slithering I felt at 14 became a buzzing by 21 and at 23, could cause hearing damage I had to scream my inner monologue just to hear myself death and I walked together and soon, his grip on me transformed into my grip on him holding on tight to what he promised me "death," I spoke to my longest friend, "won't you take me soon?" those words became breakfast on hard days lunch on long days until it was dinner every night I finally had the courage to look him in the eyes so that I might see who I adored so dearly his grip loosened on me to take down his hood and I saw the life I hadn't led every promise I never kept every cut that ever bled I saw a quiet somber in death's eyes and I realized I had to let him go with a sad smile, I indulged my old confidante and promised to live until he was ready to walk together again.

32

in the quiet hours my tenant refused to leave, so I did time enough for me to meet strangers on a deck find my body everywhere it could stand see every dead end I escaped to a string light backyard where I heard words I’ve never heard murmured under songs I didn’t know they liked my scent and I liked their mind in the quiet hours

0

Jun 23, 2025

Jun 23, 2025 at 12:41 AM UTC

quiet hours

in the quiet hours my tenant refused to leave, so I did time enough for me to meet strangers on a deck find my body everywhere it could stand see every dead end I escaped to a string light backyard where I heard words I’ve never heard murmured under songs I didn’t know they liked my scent and I liked their mind in the quiet hours

14

I used to think I was a gardener sowing lifelong seeds pruning the leaves to ensure I had the pleasure to grow old with them I learned my precious plants can choose to leave I even learned they knew how to wilt themselves into the dirt I watched as nature took some before they even bore their fruit for me to see I used to think I was a gardener but I am just the sexton to their graves

0

Mar 26, 2025

Mar 26, 2025 at 3:28 AM UTC

the sexton

I used to think I was a gardener sowing lifelong seeds pruning the leaves to ensure I had the pleasure to grow old with them I learned my precious plants can choose to leave I even learned they knew how to wilt themselves into the dirt I watched as nature took some before they even bore their fruit for me to see I used to think I was a gardener but I am just the sexton to their graves

12

turqoise and bright spins on the ceiling while i pack the uncomfortable thoughts into the comforter we don’t share tucking another day into “waiting” i read more romance than ever fantasizing about being touched again my late intimacy lay in bed beside me i got you everything you wanted are you happy?

0

Feb 23, 2025

Feb 23, 2025 at 2:39 AM UTC

aqualight

turqoise and bright spins on the ceiling while i pack the uncomfortable thoughts into the comforter we don’t share tucking another day into “waiting” i read more romance than ever fantasizing about being touched again my late intimacy lay in bed beside me i got you everything you wanted are you happy?

9

Early on I knew we were not suitable But still I grasped for every moment with you Water for a thirsty desert traveler I followed you on a journey that went nowhere If only just to walk with you Parallel lines never touch But they never leave each other, either

0

Dec 25, 2024

Dec 25, 2024 at 6:52 AM UTC

equanimity

Early on I knew we were not suitable But still I grasped for every moment with you Water for a thirsty desert traveler I followed you on a journey that went nowhere If only just to walk with you Parallel lines never touch But they never leave each other, either

7