notquitejane - Hello Poetry

She doesn't live here anymore, the one who waited for you. But sometimes, she visits barefoot in the dark. Just to ask if you remembered.

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Jul 11, 2025

Jul 11, 2025 at 8:48 PM UTC

notquitejane

Afterwards

She doesn't live here anymore, the one who waited for you. But sometimes, she visits barefoot in the dark. Just to ask if you remembered.

5

Organic silk, not polished, not loud Soft like the hush before a vow A square-cut neckline, sleeves to the wrist A corset tucked beneath the seams The skirt, ballooned and gathered low Hangs just above where ankles show

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Jul 4, 2025

Jul 4, 2025 at 11:21 PM UTC

notquitejane

The dress

Organic silk, not polished, not loud Soft like the hush before a vow A square-cut neckline, sleeves to the wrist A corset tucked beneath the seams The skirt, ballooned and gathered low Hangs just above where ankles show

6

One day, you will return  to the moment you left yourself behind.  To touch the outline of your absence  like a photograph you forgot to frame. You’ll gather the scattered Saturdays, the drawings no one kept, the questions you were too afraid to ask, the stories no one stayed long enough to hear. And you’ll remember the slammed doors,  the silence between two people who once made you,  the friend who stopped texting back,  the laughter that vanished from the room. You’ll walk through those rooms again,  dust in the corners, and sit beside the stranger, your hand on his own shoulder. Only this time, you won’t hush his laugh.  You won’t close the door.  It will be as natural as breath,  as quiet as light through the curtains  of a house no longer haunted. This time, you’ll tell him you’re here now. Every door will open.  And the only thing heard through the hallways  will be the laughter of a child  and the stars in the night sky,  laughing along. This time, you’ll stay.

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Jun 9, 2025

Jun 9, 2025 at 12:26 PM UTC

notquitejane

Homecoming

One day, you will return  to the moment you left yourself behind.  To touch the outline of your absence  like a photograph you forgot to frame. You’ll gather the scattered Saturdays, the drawings no one kept, the questions you were too afraid to ask, the stories no one stayed long enough to hear. And you’ll remember the slammed doors,  the silence between two people who once made you,  the friend who stopped texting back,  the laughter that vanished from the room. You’ll walk through those rooms again,  dust in the corners, and sit beside the stranger, your hand on his own shoulder. Only this time, you won’t hush his laugh.  You won’t close the door.  It will be as natural as breath,  as quiet as light through the curtains  of a house no longer haunted. This time, you’ll tell him you’re here now. Every door will open.  And the only thing heard through the hallways  will be the laughter of a child  and the stars in the night sky,  laughing along. This time, you’ll stay.

28

This woman by my side I see her sadness deep Her eyes filled with longing secrets she softly keep Her torment well hidden masked by a fleeting smile Yet within, a fragile child weeps all the while. In her presence, I feel her pain, so achingly clear Like raindrops on the soul, her fears draw near Her sorrow touches me a single tear is shed And I open my heart to the anguish in which she's tread This woman, so near yet somehow far away A glimmer of hope like a star in the night's array Though a stranger to the person I used to be, This reflection is a reminder that I am still she

0

Jun 13, 2023

Jun 13, 2023 at 8:26 PM UTC

notquitejane

The woman by my side

This woman by my side I see her sadness deep Her eyes filled with longing secrets she softly keep Her torment well hidden masked by a fleeting smile Yet within, a fragile child weeps all the while. In her presence, I feel her pain, so achingly clear Like raindrops on the soul, her fears draw near Her sorrow touches me a single tear is shed And I open my heart to the anguish in which she's tread This woman, so near yet somehow far away A glimmer of hope like a star in the night's array Though a stranger to the person I used to be, This reflection is a reminder that I am still she

20