my pen was made
to bleed the words of grief;

"there's something so beautiful
and profound in grief
when you start to see it
for what it truly is."

past the barriers
and stretching distance,
i caressed my aching soul;
this grief of mine grew out of love

for grief, in what it truly is,
is a love that endures
and suffers willingly.

IA

i know my grief was born
when i stood before a thousand deaths
of who the people i loved used to be;

i made a home to tuck myself in
within the depths of their souls,
i have memorized the corners of their being;
their stories, their scars, and their dreams.

now all that i have known and loved
lay peacefully under the caskets
in the graveyard of who we used to be,
almost like a shedded skin most prefer to forget.

i walked in this graveyard for months—
weeping in the flowers i leave before them,
until a slender hand laid on my shoulder,
"it's about time." she said softly.

"leave me flowers before you go." i replied.

IA