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Kiernan515Poems
I wasn’t crying. I was hydrating my grief from the inside out. He said, “You’re not dramatic. Just detailed.” I said, “You’re not cruel. Just consistent.” We called that a compromise. (or else a hostage negotiation.) There’s glitter in my carpet from a party I threw to prove I wasn’t waiting on him. I wore white. Not bridal, but still white enough to make someone feel guilty. I lit sparklers like sirens, toasted survival. Nobody clapped. I collect apologies I don’t want, write scripts for confrontations that end in standing ovations, then lose the footage in a hardware crash I secretly caused. I take the stairs two at a time, just to feel something chase me. I text “I’m fine :)” like it’s a safe word— to keep the spiral polite. I rehearse the voicemail he never left like it’s Chekhov. Like if I say it right, the gun goes off and I disappear beautifully. At the end of the dream, he’s always wearing my hoodie— saying something tender, just slightly too late. And I wake up with eyelashes on my wrists, thinking— Maybe I am the problem. But God— you should’ve seen the poems.
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Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 9:45 AM UTC
You Should’ve Seen the Poems
I wasn’t crying. I was hydrating my grief from the inside out. He said, “You’re not dramatic. Just detailed.” I said, “You’re not cruel. Just consistent.” We called that a compromise. (or else a hostage negotiation.) There’s glitter in my carpet from a party I threw to prove I wasn’t waiting on him. I wore white. Not bridal, but still white enough to make someone feel guilty. I lit sparklers like sirens, toasted survival. Nobody clapped. I collect apologies I don’t want, write scripts for confrontations that end in standing ovations, then lose the footage in a hardware crash I secretly caused. I take the stairs two at a time, just to feel something chase me. I text “I’m fine :)” like it’s a safe word— to keep the spiral polite. I rehearse the voicemail he never left like it’s Chekhov. Like if I say it right, the gun goes off and I disappear beautifully. At the end of the dream, he’s always wearing my hoodie— saying something tender, just slightly too late. And I wake up with eyelashes on my wrists, thinking— Maybe I am the problem. But God— you should’ve seen the poems.
#confessional#grief#feminine#rage#emotional#intelligence#breakup#cinematic#metaphor
Kiernan515
Written by
Kiernan515
American
Apr 23, 2025
Apr 23, 2025 at 9:45 AM UTC
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