Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Louise Jun 1
They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet you fill me up, overflowing with feelings,
feelings that I have yet to feel,
let alone even believe.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet I find myself being able to give you more,
right when I thought
I could no longer give.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
so we throw away our old fragile mugs,
take out the fine, gold-rimmed glasses
and we began to clink.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
so we took out a bottle,
carefully tasting by drips,
and into the night we drink.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
So we threw a feast,
with only us two as guests,
until it's the dawn
and even then we still celebrate.

They said you cannot pour
from an empty cup,
yet we clink, drink and celebrate together,
finish one bottle after the other
because you know we have
a fair surplus of wine
down in our cellar
Our love is a testament that you can still love and give while you heal and grieve.
N May 4
A dream of you is capable of
unleashing so many hidden desires,
I dare not speak of

I have tired to bury every
tender feeling I held for you,
only for it bloom again

You, who sickens me
with immense tenderness
I cannot defy by myself

Your voice alone turns me
into a weakened thing,
and I am forever unwell before you

I wish to plague your thoughts,
and to consume your frigid heart

I wish to escape you entirely,
and to always be near you
Oh, you.
N Feb 1
In the dark
I write you a letter
hoping it would reach you

It starts like this:
My beloved,
I love you still

From afar,
but I still love you
as tenderly
as ardently
as ever

I hunger for you
as violently
as madly  
as ever

And I wait
N Dec 2021
As I stood by a window  
smoking a mint cigarette
at my miserable job

I saw two butterflies
flying together

One was orange, and
the other was white  

Two lovesome creatures
existing at the same time as us

The orange one made
me picture you peeling a
clementine to share with me

The white one reminded me
that there is still beauty in life,
and it is greater than my pain

There are more butterflies
that I have not seen yet, and
I wish I could see them with you
Tenderness

Tenderness has never been my forte
But I am a spring flower for you
Fifteenth part....
Taylor St Onge Aug 2021
I am soft and mandible:  
          fresh clay,         the inside of an oyster,        the belly of an armadillo.  
          vulnerable.                      tender.  ­                             the anti-sharp.

everything is blurred.  dulled.  hidden
behind a gossamer haze and ambient noise.  
a photo out of focus.            one eye closed and ten feet back.  

dizzy.            so dizzy.            disoriented.  
there is no logic here.             no rules.             no laws.  
and that’s what makes it horrible and incomprehensible.  

the transplant recipient still dies.  the man in perfect health
                                                                ­suddenly has cancer.
the proned patient flipped back to supine for intubation
                                                codes and dies immediately.  

nonsense.  it’s all nonsense.  
it's easier to take a breath and
                                                        compartmentalize.
write your grief, prompt #11: How has this loss made things feel sharp?
1923 Jul 2021
If everything is fleeting
I hope to have made better whatever
I am leaving

that I don't add damage

we are all already grieving
LC Apr 2021
the bittersweet word left my lips
but it kept the other words at bay -
the ones I could never, ever say.
I dragged those deeply rooted words,
pulling them until they wouldn't budge.
I wrapped them in my voice and let them go
until thorny feelings seized my legs
and dug into my soft, tender flesh.
my fingers bled as I separated the thorns.
they shrank, withering into the soil.
and once they did, I whispered, "goodbye"
for the second time, and I was finally free.
#escapril day 29!
Next page