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Kiernan515Poems
He once told me he wanted to die in a place that looked like a poem. I told him I wanted to live like I was one. We were doomed by aesthetics— too many soft glances, not enough spine. He held my wrist like a snow globe but shook me too hard. He said I was all feeling, no logic. As if logic ever begged anyone to stay. Once, he told me I reminded him of a girl in a painting. I should’ve asked what happened to her after the gallery closed. I used to count his heartbeats when he slept, just to know something inside him still worked. I wore my prettiest dress to the argument— just in case he needed reminding that I’m not easy to walk away from. He looked at me like a cliff he might leap from or photograph. I stopped saying his name and started writing in second person. It still felt like calling him home. Even now, I write you into metaphors so I can pretend you were never real— just a concept, a cautionary tale, a ghost that rhymed. You wanted tragedy. I wanted truth. We got whatever this was.
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Apr 4, 2025
Apr 4, 2025 at 10:29 AM UTC
Whatever This Was
He once told me he wanted to die in a place that looked like a poem. I told him I wanted to live like I was one. We were doomed by aesthetics— too many soft glances, not enough spine. He held my wrist like a snow globe but shook me too hard. He said I was all feeling, no logic. As if logic ever begged anyone to stay. Once, he told me I reminded him of a girl in a painting. I should’ve asked what happened to her after the gallery closed. I used to count his heartbeats when he slept, just to know something inside him still worked. I wore my prettiest dress to the argument— just in case he needed reminding that I’m not easy to walk away from. He looked at me like a cliff he might leap from or photograph. I stopped saying his name and started writing in second person. It still felt like calling him home. Even now, I write you into metaphors so I can pretend you were never real— just a concept, a cautionary tale, a ghost that rhymed. You wanted tragedy. I wanted truth. We got whatever this was.
For the heartbreaks that didn’t even get a title. For the ‘whatever this was’ that haunts like something more. This poem is about confusion, silence, and the ache of undefined endings. No label. Still devastating.
#almostlove#sadgirlenergy#griefwithoutlabels#emotionalgrayarea#poetryofloss#confusionpoem#softache#whatwasthat#vulnerablewriting#bittersweetgrief
Kiernan515
Written by
Kiernan515
American
Apr 4, 2025
Apr 4, 2025 at 10:29 AM UTC
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