asurnium - Hello Poetry

i have seen god in soup kitchens and tents along the side of the road. you say he lives within you you say he tells you to hate. i have seen what you call mistakes. i have seen what you are afraid of. i have seen who you pretend not to see. and i have seen god there too. i have seen god in hands that shake from hunger from withdrawal from holding a body too long. i have seen god in people who change their names and finally breathe for the first time. i have seen god in men you would not sit beside, in women you do not listen to, in children who learn early that the world is unkind. he does not look the way you say he should. he does not sound the way you preach he does. i have never seen god holding a sign or a gun or a flag. i have only seen him in the soft breaking open of human beings who were told they did not deserve love. so when you tell me god lives inside you, i believe you. i just wonder how you learned to shut the door on everyone else he lives in too.

0

Nov 25, 2025

Nov 25, 2025 at 6:17 AM UTC

within

i have seen god in soup kitchens and tents along the side of the road. you say he lives within you you say he tells you to hate. i have seen what you call mistakes. i have seen what you are afraid of. i have seen who you pretend not to see. and i have seen god there too. i have seen god in hands that shake from hunger from withdrawal from holding a body too long. i have seen god in people who change their names and finally breathe for the first time. i have seen god in men you would not sit beside, in women you do not listen to, in children who learn early that the world is unkind. he does not look the way you say he should. he does not sound the way you preach he does. i have never seen god holding a sign or a gun or a flag. i have only seen him in the soft breaking open of human beings who were told they did not deserve love. so when you tell me god lives inside you, i believe you. i just wonder how you learned to shut the door on everyone else he lives in too.

44

I. The Last Hours your heart beats irregularly. eyes stare at the wall, fixed, gone somewhere. what do you see? where did you go? the machines hum softly, and I try to memorize the sound of your breath before the room forgets it. II. What Follows Death i wonder if i will see you when it’s over. will heaven be real? will you be waiting for me at the gates? i’ve never believed, but something in me wants the sky to open, just once, so i can know you didn’t disappear. III. The Living Hours i don’t know how to process loss. grief. yearning. i am holding myself together with chains of pocket watches, counting the ticks of their clocks, as if time could build a bridge strong enough to reach you.

0

Nov 10, 2025

Nov 10, 2025 at 11:50 PM UTC

the hours that held you

I. The Last Hours your heart beats irregularly. eyes stare at the wall, fixed, gone somewhere. what do you see? where did you go? the machines hum softly, and I try to memorize the sound of your breath before the room forgets it. II. What Follows Death i wonder if i will see you when it’s over. will heaven be real? will you be waiting for me at the gates? i’ve never believed, but something in me wants the sky to open, just once, so i can know you didn’t disappear. III. The Living Hours i don’t know how to process loss. grief. yearning. i am holding myself together with chains of pocket watches, counting the ticks of their clocks, as if time could build a bridge strong enough to reach you.

32

i try to write about you, but the words do not flow. maybe i have forgotten exactly how you hurt me. so much has happened. my pen slips off the page. i think of you. i see us laughing. another universe. sometimes it calls to me. little me, and you. (before.) i see its remnants in the headlights of passing cars. your shadow waits under streetlights. i see you in the reflection of a pond. catfish swim beneath. the water ripples, and you are gone again. perhaps for the better. your car rolls into the driveway of a home we do not share. you are not here for me. we exchange glances. my sister climbs into the truck, i recoil back into the house, an injured animal. you are gone. i lock the door behind me.

0

Aug 18, 2025

Aug 18, 2025 at 2:54 AM UTC

1.48am

i try to write about you, but the words do not flow. maybe i have forgotten exactly how you hurt me. so much has happened. my pen slips off the page. i think of you. i see us laughing. another universe. sometimes it calls to me. little me, and you. (before.) i see its remnants in the headlights of passing cars. your shadow waits under streetlights. i see you in the reflection of a pond. catfish swim beneath. the water ripples, and you are gone again. perhaps for the better. your car rolls into the driveway of a home we do not share. you are not here for me. we exchange glances. my sister climbs into the truck, i recoil back into the house, an injured animal. you are gone. i lock the door behind me.

25

try to grow up. fail on repeat. the weight of wasted years pushing down "i will have it figured out by then." fall back asleep. friends move out. i am behind. laying in my room, no boxes to pack. dreams collect dust. money flies away over an unmade bed. another job slips through my hands, the walls close in and time moves on.

0

Aug 18, 2025

Aug 18, 2025 at 2:46 AM UTC

college

try to grow up. fail on repeat. the weight of wasted years pushing down "i will have it figured out by then." fall back asleep. friends move out. i am behind. laying in my room, no boxes to pack. dreams collect dust. money flies away over an unmade bed. another job slips through my hands, the walls close in and time moves on.

16

i try to count calories. i am no good at math. fail on purpose. the taste of guilt envelops my tongue. i binge a meal that does not end. seasoned with salty tears and chilled regret.

0

Aug 18, 2025

Aug 18, 2025 at 2:43 AM UTC

eating

i try to count calories. i am no good at math. fail on purpose. the taste of guilt envelops my tongue. i binge a meal that does not end. seasoned with salty tears and chilled regret.

7

crimson is the body of the fawn, lifeless on the shoulder. her mouth hangs open, gashes trace her ribs. her disfigurement forcing her to curl in on herself. tonight, the earth will envelop her with its caress, returning her most of her to the dirt she was before. only her bones will remain unnaturally positioned from impact.

0

Aug 18, 2025

Aug 18, 2025 at 2:41 AM UTC

roadkill

crimson is the body of the fawn, lifeless on the shoulder. her mouth hangs open, gashes trace her ribs. her disfigurement forcing her to curl in on herself. tonight, the earth will envelop her with its caress, returning her most of her to the dirt she was before. only her bones will remain unnaturally positioned from impact.

10

i dont hate you. i dont think i could hate a person less. your name is like a papercut, and each reminder nicks it just a little deeper digging just a little farther into the pit of my stomach, unearthing memories that were buried for a reason. i dont hate you. i wish i could.

0

Aug 18, 2025

Aug 18, 2025 at 2:36 AM UTC

1.36am

i dont hate you. i dont think i could hate a person less. your name is like a papercut, and each reminder nicks it just a little deeper digging just a little farther into the pit of my stomach, unearthing memories that were buried for a reason. i dont hate you. i wish i could.

11

i know i was just a chapter in your book, but you are the title of mine.

0

Feb 8, 2022

Feb 8, 2022 at 2:40 PM UTC

wilting

i know i was just a chapter in your book, but you are the title of mine.

1

the hardest part was probably when i had to return your toothbrush. you had bought it months ago, it was probably time to replace it anyways, but bagging it up and placing in that ****** little box felt so different. it was everything i dreaded. quick, swift, clean. your boxes made it look like someone was moving, and you were. your drawer was emptied, my doors were closed. in that moment I sobbed. I was breaking myself down over something so very small, something so seemingly insignificant. I pitied myself until you had the heart enough to pretend to. but instead, you broke me down into shards sharper than glass, and watched my bleed on the hardwood floor, desperately trying to piece myself back together while you watched. my hands bled, my knees shadowed, bruising deep purples and blacks. you snickered. you loved the way I'd run back, my heart on my sleeve. and you loved to crush me again. without you I am lost, and you know it, too.

0

Feb 7, 2022

Feb 7, 2022 at 8:33 AM UTC

what

the hardest part was probably when i had to return your toothbrush. you had bought it months ago, it was probably time to replace it anyways, but bagging it up and placing in that ****** little box felt so different. it was everything i dreaded. quick, swift, clean. your boxes made it look like someone was moving, and you were. your drawer was emptied, my doors were closed. in that moment I sobbed. I was breaking myself down over something so very small, something so seemingly insignificant. I pitied myself until you had the heart enough to pretend to. but instead, you broke me down into shards sharper than glass, and watched my bleed on the hardwood floor, desperately trying to piece myself back together while you watched. my hands bled, my knees shadowed, bruising deep purples and blacks. you snickered. you loved the way I'd run back, my heart on my sleeve. and you loved to crush me again. without you I am lost, and you know it, too.

6

It feels impossible to escape these relentless feelings of worthlessness. I feel as I am already 6 feet under everyone else, and I have been trampled, and suffocated to nothing, beneath my own doubt and judgment.

0

Dec 13, 2021

Dec 13, 2021 at 10:37 AM UTC

its recent feeling

It feels impossible to escape these relentless feelings of worthlessness. I feel as I am already 6 feet under everyone else, and I have been trampled, and suffocated to nothing, beneath my own doubt and judgment.

9