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J Apr 2021
My life had got colder, seeping itself into numbness.
Coping wasn't possible or needed
because if I just slept or drank or took some sort of drug
I was okay
I thought we were both going to get stronger.
And a huge part of me bets I wasn't missed
when we pretended the other didn't exist.
I don't exist.
I wanted to feel something and at the same time
I was grateful that I couldn't.
  I couldn't stand to be here
wishing you'd make another account to talk to me
seeing if you'd just try a little harder
to keep me
or to get me back
but you told me that if we argued and I left the room
You'd just let me go.
I should have kept that in mind then
you said you loved me
And I wonder what love means
I always assumed it meant the will of risking all for one another
without the need to
I lost it and threw myself
to the ground
for the tears to pour
or at least trickle
and I couldn't even make the expression.
I left because of my own attitude mixing with yours
and I was too clingy.
Codependency is a ***** I think.
Not fair like Karma.
I left because I couldn't take the feeling of not being loved
I was so used to you loving me completely
I left because I didn't think you cared
and after Justin, I thought I knew better.
Even if I didn't show it
it killed me
and it's still killing me inside and out.
Istillloveyou.
Just know I'd still take you back
I just can't stop writing
without mentioning you.
but since it's poetry, I can do whatever I want
so I'm weaving you into every word
every space
every sound and meaning
Sydney Sydney Sydney
Pia V Apr 2021
In the end, it’s not the loss itself that unravels you
But the loss of self
Just a pile of thread pooled at your keeper’s feet
A gaping portal you wish they’d step into
So you could weave yourself back together
Molded around their form, taking their shape
A skein of two people as one
Where before you were wound tightly around some invisible core
Coiled and springy with anticipation
Dancing on nerves, LED and ringing
Now you’re tired and still, edges smoothed and smothered
Collapsed into some lower dimension
Flattened and undone in their eyes
A listless string, God only to ants
Jesse Haydn Jan 2021
I feel empty when you go.
Even cooking is lonely when you are not here. What’s the point?
How can I be an entire human being?

I blast music in my headphones-
When they scream-
I can still hear the silence
(I can’t drown it).

I miss you.
Please stay with me.
Please do not leave.

My anxiety hurts.
My hands are shaking as I write this, it’s almost unreadable, and the page is wet
And the words disappear a little.

I’m still cooking.
What do you do yourself when you’re done?


It hurts.
I want to cry.
I think I will.

-Jesse Haydn
stillhuman Dec 2020
My skin has melted
in the shape of your core
and I move
like a shadow
right beside you.
I've felt more like a shadow than anything else.
Brianna Duffin Dec 2020
I was bleeding out, a crimson stain on a cream carpet
With a hand under my sweater you kissed it better
And still, you looked at me like I was precious.
At that moment, all I could think was, "I'm done for."
Because to love someone is never a safe endeavor
And I don't do well with those risks that take all of me.
I thought I knew you well enough, I guess you never know,
I guess when you open your soul like a canvas waiting
For another person to paint in new colors- it shows.
If I believed in wishes coming true, I'd want one thing-
To stand hand in hand with you and stare at the stars.
Point out Mars and Venus to me, and show me again-
Remind me there can be more to this life than fighting
And don't forget sometimes you'll have to fight for me.
This is a sample of a poem I wrote recently. You can find the full version exclusively on Medium, here: https://medium.com/@briannarduffin/mars-and-venus-e295f1ceb017
i thought i wasn't over it
but i just needed to give you closure -
an explanation of my sickness
and why i had to say, "it's over".

you would think it was your own sickness
that drove me to rediscover mine -
not the ways you would block the door,
desperate for more time.

the way you gripped my wrists
as you threw me on the bed
misplacing the once comforting dominance,
and making a mess of my head..

someone who was once so safe
and so gentle with his touch
turned into a frightening, scary version
of someone i try not to think about much.

i know that wasn't you that day,
or maybe it was you all along;
i try not to remember much about that version of you,
but it was then that you taught me to be strong.
for jms
Sarah Flynn Oct 2020
I’m alright, I promise. You don’t have to worry.

I know that every note I give to you now sparks fear in the pit of your stomach, and you skim over my sentences looking for words like “suicide” and “I’m sorry.”

When I hand you a note, you examine every word. From my handwriting to the ink I use, you take in every detail. You read between the lines now even on a blank sheet of paper, where there aren’t any lines to read between.

Your eyes are trained to spot the differences now. My life has become a game of Clue where you are the only player.

When my voice cracks, even the slightest bit, your ears have been conditioned to tune in immediately. You are constantly scanning for hesitation when I talk. You watch me to see if my hands shake, or if I bite my lip. You are searching for the warning signs that you think you missed last time, even though I never showed any.

They say that when you lose one sense, your other senses grow stronger to compensate. We say that we’ve become so close, but what we mean is that we’ve always been codependent. We did not bond over shared trauma; we bonded over a mutual fear of being alone. Our anxieties have molded into one huge, chaotic mess. Our fears have become so tangled that neither of us know who is afraid of what anymore. The only fear I am certain of is the fear of losing you.

I lost my ability to feel anything, and you developed a sense of hypersensitivity to balance out my numbness. I stopped caring about myself, so you started caring about me even more. You feel too much when I feel nothing.

I know you won’t believe me, but this is not a suicide note. You don’t need to worry about me. I’d promise you, but I’ve broken so many promises that I know they have no meaning anymore.

I cause you pain. There’s no use in denying it; we both know it’s true. I’m not trying to push you away. Even if I did, I know you’d come back. I have been draining your happiness and health slowly. Now, I am trying to rip off this bandaid all at once.

I’d rather you hurt from this revelation of who I really am. I’d rather you hate me for being someone who takes the easy way out, than hurt you by letting you believe that I have the potential to be in love.

I am capable of loving, and maybe I don’t show it the way that I should, but I love you. God, you have no idea how much I love you.

What I am not capable of is trusting. I love you, but I can’t trust you. I have no trust left, not even for myself.

And what is there without trust? Love itself isn’t enough to build a relationship off of. We talk about love as if it is a miracle. In every fairytale, true love is what saves the princess. Love breaks the curse. Love can turn a frog into a prince, a beast into a man. We talk about love as if it cures all. But love isn’t as powerful as we make it sound. You can’t love someone back to life.

I don’t know if I even want to save myself anymore, and you can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved. I am so grateful for your love, but your love alone is not enough.

I’ve always said I’m a realist; you’ve always said I’m nothing more than a pessimist in disguise. Maybe that’s true, maybe I do see only the negative side of things. But those negatives have kept me safe. I prepare myself for the worst so that I can never be disappointed, only pleasantly surprised. I can never be let down. In a way, I guess we’re both right. Pessimism has been my reality. This numbness has been my reality.

When you’re done reading this note, please tear it up into a thousand tiny pieces. Rip it, crumble it, destroy it. Make it impossible to reread. Please throw it away and don’t dig it back up. Please walk away and don’t look back.

If you turn back around, and if I look into your eyes again, I know that I will not let you leave. I will pull you back to me and let this cycle of destruction begin all over again. I hurt myself, which hurts you, which hurts me. It will not end.

When you go through the photos of us on your phone, please go through them quickly. If you have to delete them, then delete them. Deleting a picture doesn’t delete the memory with it. I know that, but it’s a start. One less photograph is one less reminder of me. One day, when you’re strong enough, maybe you can go back and flip through our old albums. But by the time you are strong enough to live healthily without me, I doubt you’ll still have them saved. One day, you will leave me in the past. It’s hard for me to admit it, but I know that is where I belong.

When you climb into your bed at the end of the night, please do not remember me sleeping next to you. I know how wrong the bed will feel when you get up in the morning and notice that there is no warm spot left on the other side. I know how strange it will be to turn over and not roll into my arms. This loneliness will feel like a foreign language, but please, learn to understand it. The words will eventually feel natural on your tongue, even if it doesn’t happen until your tongue is in the mouth of someone new.

When what used to be our songs play on shuffle, please don’t ruin them with thoughts of me. I want you to be able to hear their lyrics without pain. You deserve to smile when songs begin to play. I don’t want you to have to turn the radio off. You deserve to blast your music loud, and to sing without embarrassment. You deserve someone who will dance with you around the kitchen the way that we did once. You deserve someone who makes you laugh, and who makes you feel loved. Despite what you have made yourself believe, you deserve better than this.

These songs deserve to mark happy occasions, not to bring up bad memories. They deserve to be sung to, not cried over. They deserve to be shared with someone who’d mention their titles to you in love letters, not someone who only writes you suicide notes.
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