poets in love don’t fall gently,
they crash like waves,
leave bruises in the softest places,
and call it poetry.

poets in love write instead of speak.
they send verses like lifelines,
hoping the other will read between
the heartbreak and the hope.

poets in love leave and return,
like seasons, like storms.
you still make it feel like a love story,
even when the ending feels close.

poets in love know too much, feel too much,
and somehow, still stay.
maybe it’s foolish. maybe it’s fate.
maybe it’s just us.

Confessions never seem to come
They hover bluntly in the throat
I think they're afraid
Of the rot
That grows in words unspoken
A quiet mold
Blooming behind the teeth
Between the maybe
And the nevermind

You think silence is mercy
But it has claws
And they dig in when the lights go out
I've waited for softness
That doesn't arrive
For a sentence with a full stop
Not just breathless withdrawal

The resentment simmers and curdles
Every memory turns to vinegar
In the gut
The sharpness turns inward
Every word a shiv I swallow
Like a storm in the mouth
Lethal even without the screaming
My pain delivered in whispers
Through a voice trained to stay quiet Until it splinters

And when it finally breaks
It won't sound like rage
It will sound like a crack in the drywall
Like something old slowly giving way
Obedience trained to carry grief
It seeps into the environment
Taught to flinch
To fold
To stay

I’m so tired of loving you.
Of holding a space
you can never fill.

Your absence
is all-consuming,
constant.
It presses.
It stings in stillness.

I close my eyes,
and your face
is still waiting for me there.

I don’t want to forget you.
I just want the remembering
to stop tearing me apart.

If there’s a way
to stop loving you
without falling apart,
please-
show me how.
I’m too tired to keep trying,
and too full of you
to stop.