Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
After death,
I will not be gone—
I will be wind, touching your skin,
I will be silence, deep within.

The body fades, the name dissolves,
But the soul—
The soul returns to the rhythm of stars,
To the breath before beginnings,
To the light that dreams all forms.

There is no end,
Only a door swinging inward.
I become the question and the answer,
The seed, the flame, the sky undone.

I will not speak,
But you will feel me in stillness—
When time pauses,
And your heart remembers
That it too is part of the infinite.

Death is not loss,
But a returning to source.
A merging with the song
That sings through all.

So do not mourn—
I have not vanished.
I have returned to everything.
❝Isn’t the ending of a lovely story supposed to have all the bad guys die? For example, you, or me…❞
there won’t be anyone left to tell the story.
Maybe we’re all villains in someone’s chapter, heroes in our own, and just background noise in most. Maybe a lovely story isn’t one without bad guys, but one where even they learn to hold a flower without crushing it.
Writing's worse,
Music doesn't work,
Talking to you helped,

I guess I didn't want to hear,


What I knew you'd say



Eventually
i don’t write about you
as often as i used to.
i feel sorry about that.
you still make everything
feel like a love story.
even when my hands shake,
even when the days are heavy,
you hold me like the ending
could still be happy.

i love you in quieter ways now,
in glances, in waiting,
in letting myself stay.
and that matters more
than any poem ever could.
but still, i’ll try to write you one
anyway.
i love you baby
What does success even mean
If we all die in the end?
always the child
who never got appreciated
just an unwanted child
trying her hardest
to be the perfect one—
just once.
trying her hardest
to be appreciated,
dying to hear:
“you did a great job,”
“the dish you cooked was very nice,”
“i’m proud of you,”
“you scored 98% in maths,”
“i’m proud of my daughter.”
she just wanted
to be loved.
to be seen.
to be appreciated.
My heart was unoccupied
My soul long since died
I thought I would always feel bare
Until you were there

Your hand in mine
The feeling is simply sublime
Your touch covers my face
As all of my problems erase

Your eyes are the most beautiful things I have seen
This love I had not foreseen
My dear, you are all that I crave
I will love you until we are in the grave
The person I wrote this poem for is no longer my partner. However, I still like this poem, so I am publishing it.
i wish you'd write back to me 7.19.25 5:39 pm /17:39
oh, -------,
sometimes i wish you would write a letter back to me.

sometimes i wish you would log onto your old macbook
instinctively go to hellopoetry.com
type in my ariana grande username
find me and my words
find it, these lost sentences,
these trembling letters
i've been trying to send you.

i see why you don't-
the fear that maybe,
one day,
we will wake up and realize we don't love each other
that we don't know each other like we think
we do.

i haven't sent you a letter
because i don't want you to know but i want you to know
that i love you
but what if, what if, what if
one day i don't?

the uncertainty of being not torn apart
but drifting
finding someone new and
figuring out ourselves, finally,
finding that we don't need each other anymore.

of course that's not why you love me
or why i love you

i get that
i get that fear.

but you are not afraid
because you don't even know
that this whole time

i have been screaming
your name.
i drain him.
i know it.
and still,
i stay.

i say i’m trying,
but really,
i’m cracking.
i’m drowning
with his lungs
in my chest.

next i’ll bleed
through his arms,
sob
through his eyes,
wreck
what’s left
of his heart.

i was never
meant
to be held.
Next page