I wanted to write a poem about how I felt.
I sat there with a pen in my hand
And a blank piece of paper.

I then realized that was exactly how I felt.
And I was done.

I believe in the afterlife
But only to a certain extent
For me it all just seems like Hell.

It was October
He was inside me
I was crying.

You were never the kind
Of person
Who could
Get comfortable, who could settle down.
I felt the uprooting.
You set fire to this house
You let the smoke rise,
Before you warned me of danger.
Only when you were safe,
Could I be warned.
By then it was too late.
I had already suffocated.