#femalepain - Hello Poetry

You said, “You’re better now,” and I said, “Not quite.” I’m just quieter when I lose the fight. I’ve learned how to spiral without making a mess— I flinch like a debutante in danger— I cry in the dress I bought for my funeral. Healing looks holy if you’re far enough back; from across the room, I look redeemed. Up close, it’s mascara and panic attacks. I am so well-behaved now— I answer in lowercase, I apologize in advance. You’d never guess I once threw a chair so hard it split the act in half. If I miss you, I don’t text. I answer fake calls from you-shaped phantoms. We fight. I win. I stand in the doorway for dramatic effect. I practice my exits more than my lines. I stage a comeback with no audience. I watch the part of the movie where it all goes wrong, then rewind it. Then rewind it again. I am healing like a fraud. Like a martyr with stage fright. Like a saint who missed her cue. Like someone who knows I’m still your favorite bedtime story— but only when I end. I turn my breakdowns into brunch plans, my grief into good posture. I answer questions with questions. I wear rings so I have something to twist. I smile like it’s stage direction. I rehearse sanity like some girls practice wedding vows. I light candles for each version of myself you forgot. I document. I archive the damage— like it might get reviewed later by God. Or worse, by you. If you’re reading this: I didn’t mean it. (I meant every word.) If you’re avoiding this: good. I wanted you to squint at the poem’s edges and wonder if the blood was real. (You always liked your violence subtle.) (You always liked your girls learning your language— just to beg in it.) I pray more now. Not to be saved. Just to stay interesting. Do you know how hard it is to look healed when your rage is wearing a rosary and smiling in group photos? Every time I wanted to scream, I posted nothing instead. Silence is the loudest performance I’ve ever given. I don’t raise my voice. I sharpen it. I sweeten it. I lace it with facts you’ll misinterpret on purpose. My therapist says I intellectualize emotion. I say, “Thank you.” My boss says, “You need to sleep and eat like you’re real.” but she loves the **** I write. I tell them both I’m fine. I look fantastic when I’m about to snap. I know what I sound like. I know how this poem reads. That’s the worst part— it’s always intentional. That’s the best part— I’ll pretend I didn’t mean it, and I planned that too.

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Apr 8, 2025

Apr 8, 2025 at 2:44 PM UTC

Kiernan515

I Cry in Dresses I’d Die In

You said, “You’re better now,” and I said, “Not quite.” I’m just quieter when I lose the fight. I’ve learned how to spiral without making a mess— I flinch like a debutante in danger— I cry in the dress I bought for my funeral. Healing looks holy if you’re far enough back; from across the room, I look redeemed. Up close, it’s mascara and panic attacks. I am so well-behaved now— I answer in lowercase, I apologize in advance. You’d never guess I once threw a chair so hard it split the act in half. If I miss you, I don’t text. I answer fake calls from you-shaped phantoms. We fight. I win. I stand in the doorway for dramatic effect. I practice my exits more than my lines. I stage a comeback with no audience. I watch the part of the movie where it all goes wrong, then rewind it. Then rewind it again. I am healing like a fraud. Like a martyr with stage fright. Like a saint who missed her cue. Like someone who knows I’m still your favorite bedtime story— but only when I end. I turn my breakdowns into brunch plans, my grief into good posture. I answer questions with questions. I wear rings so I have something to twist. I smile like it’s stage direction. I rehearse sanity like some girls practice wedding vows. I light candles for each version of myself you forgot. I document. I archive the damage— like it might get reviewed later by God. Or worse, by you. If you’re reading this: I didn’t mean it. (I meant every word.) If you’re avoiding this: good. I wanted you to squint at the poem’s edges and wonder if the blood was real. (You always liked your violence subtle.) (You always liked your girls learning your language— just to beg in it.) I pray more now. Not to be saved. Just to stay interesting. Do you know how hard it is to look healed when your rage is wearing a rosary and smiling in group photos? Every time I wanted to scream, I posted nothing instead. Silence is the loudest performance I’ve ever given. I don’t raise my voice. I sharpen it. I sweeten it. I lace it with facts you’ll misinterpret on purpose. My therapist says I intellectualize emotion. I say, “Thank you.” My boss says, “You need to sleep and eat like you’re real.” but she loves the **** I write. I tell them both I’m fine. I look fantastic when I’m about to snap. I know what I sound like. I know how this poem reads. That’s the worst part— it’s always intentional. That’s the best part— I’ll pretend I didn’t mean it, and I planned that too.

103

You look like the life I wanted when I was pretending I wasn’t dying. She’s beautiful, obviously, and it’s not like I’m still trying— I don’t miss you. I miss the girl I thought I’d get to be if you loved me right. Do you ever ache so privately it feels impolite? Because I do— in airports where I don’t arrive, in checkout lines I barely survive, on Wednesdays, laced with something sour, in stairwells meant for girls to cower, in dresses hung with rosary thread, worn to forgive what wasn’t said. I am so well-behaved now. I nod. I smile. I bite down. I curtsy in crisis. I don’t make a scene. I bleach my longing till it gleams. I’m not still hurt, I’m just rewired. I’m not that mad, I’m just so tired. I’ve kissed the quiet on both cheeks— but I riot in my lucid weeks. I’ve made peace with playing dead, but some nights I come back red— in dreams that loop, in memory's choir, where the girl kept smiling while walking through fire. You look like the life I lied about when I swore I didn’t mind. You should hear what I don’t say about you. It rhymes sometimes.

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Apr 8, 2025

Apr 8, 2025 at 11:27 AM UTC

Kiernan515

It Rhymes Sometimes

You look like the life I wanted when I was pretending I wasn’t dying. She’s beautiful, obviously, and it’s not like I’m still trying— I don’t miss you. I miss the girl I thought I’d get to be if you loved me right. Do you ever ache so privately it feels impolite? Because I do— in airports where I don’t arrive, in checkout lines I barely survive, on Wednesdays, laced with something sour, in stairwells meant for girls to cower, in dresses hung with rosary thread, worn to forgive what wasn’t said. I am so well-behaved now. I nod. I smile. I bite down. I curtsy in crisis. I don’t make a scene. I bleach my longing till it gleams. I’m not still hurt, I’m just rewired. I’m not that mad, I’m just so tired. I’ve kissed the quiet on both cheeks— but I riot in my lucid weeks. I’ve made peace with playing dead, but some nights I come back red— in dreams that loop, in memory's choir, where the girl kept smiling while walking through fire. You look like the life I lied about when I swore I didn’t mind. You should hear what I don’t say about you. It rhymes sometimes.

35

Verse1 I did a juice cleanse the week you went cold Felt holy, felt haunted, felt thirty-three years old Kept waiting for hunger but all I felt was rage Posted poems about birds while I rotted offstage Lit sage in the kitchen, wore pearls in the bath Pretended that healing could change what we had Went dancing on rooftops, then puked in the sink, then stared in the mirror and tried not to think. Pre-chorus1 They’ll say I was crazy, dramatic, obsessed But they didn’t see what you did in that text Chorus1: I would’ve stayed through the plot twists and power cuts Learned your silence, memorized your worst months Now I sleep like a crime scene, replaying the call Where you almost said “love you,” then said nothing at all You said, “Don’t write about me”—I already did In lipstick and blood and the back of my ribs You were never safe, but you felt like home And I’d still pick the lock if I thought you were alone Verse2 He said, “Don’t cry,” as he pulled off my shirt And I laughed like that wasn’t the worst part He said, “You like it when I ruin things” I said, “Only because you started with me.” I knew it was bad when I liked how you lie How your mouth made disasters sound holy and high You said I romanticize pain till it purrs I said, “You keep calling it love like it’s yours” Prechorus2 You said I’m intense—like it wasn’t projection Like I didn’t watch you detonate every connection Bridge You said you were broken, so I stayed and I sewed You said you were scared, so I softened my glow We were talking about movies, then death, then dreams Then you said, “I think love just isn’t for me” You told me I’m bright, then dimmed all the lights Called me your mirror, then shattered the rights Said I was heaven, then sent me to hell And I still wrote it sweet just so you’d wish me well Carved out your echo in bathroom tile Kept praying you’d miss me, then smiled for a while Still set all the clocks to your birthday at three, Then swallowed a wish I forgot was for me. CHORUS (FINAL) I would’ve stayed through the fallout and frostbite Sat through your silence like that made it right Now I sleep like a witness, replaying the call Where you almost said “love you,” then said nothing at all You said, “Don’t write about me”—but look what you did You live in the margins, the bloodstream, the script You were never safe, but you felt like home And I’d still pick the lock Even knowing you're gone Outro I did a juice cleanse And you never came back. I never got better, but I glow like I have.

0

Apr 6, 2025

Apr 6, 2025 at 8:06 AM UTC

Kiernan515

I Did a Juice Cleanse (and Rotted Offstage)

Verse1 I did a juice cleanse the week you went cold Felt holy, felt haunted, felt thirty-three years old Kept waiting for hunger but all I felt was rage Posted poems about birds while I rotted offstage Lit sage in the kitchen, wore pearls in the bath Pretended that healing could change what we had Went dancing on rooftops, then puked in the sink, then stared in the mirror and tried not to think. Pre-chorus1 They’ll say I was crazy, dramatic, obsessed But they didn’t see what you did in that text Chorus1: I would’ve stayed through the plot twists and power cuts Learned your silence, memorized your worst months Now I sleep like a crime scene, replaying the call Where you almost said “love you,” then said nothing at all You said, “Don’t write about me”—I already did In lipstick and blood and the back of my ribs You were never safe, but you felt like home And I’d still pick the lock if I thought you were alone Verse2 He said, “Don’t cry,” as he pulled off my shirt And I laughed like that wasn’t the worst part He said, “You like it when I ruin things” I said, “Only because you started with me.” I knew it was bad when I liked how you lie How your mouth made disasters sound holy and high You said I romanticize pain till it purrs I said, “You keep calling it love like it’s yours” Prechorus2 You said I’m intense—like it wasn’t projection Like I didn’t watch you detonate every connection Bridge You said you were broken, so I stayed and I sewed You said you were scared, so I softened my glow We were talking about movies, then death, then dreams Then you said, “I think love just isn’t for me” You told me I’m bright, then dimmed all the lights Called me your mirror, then shattered the rights Said I was heaven, then sent me to hell And I still wrote it sweet just so you’d wish me well Carved out your echo in bathroom tile Kept praying you’d miss me, then smiled for a while Still set all the clocks to your birthday at three, Then swallowed a wish I forgot was for me. CHORUS (FINAL) I would’ve stayed through the fallout and frostbite Sat through your silence like that made it right Now I sleep like a witness, replaying the call Where you almost said “love you,” then said nothing at all You said, “Don’t write about me”—but look what you did You live in the margins, the bloodstream, the script You were never safe, but you felt like home And I’d still pick the lock Even knowing you're gone Outro I did a juice cleanse And you never came back. I never got better, but I glow like I have.

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