#griefpoetry - Hello Poetry

you don’t notice at first. It settles into everything— hands, rooms, days. You try to clean it. Try to make it quiet. But something always stirs it back up. A sound. A place. A memory you didn’t ask for. And there it is again— softer now, but still there. I’ve learned it doesn’t leave. It just changes how it moves through me. Some days it hurts. Some days it just passes through.

0

May 13

May 13, 2026 at 9:47 PM UTC

NoctraWrites

Grief is dust

you don’t notice at first. It settles into everything— hands, rooms, days. You try to clean it. Try to make it quiet. But something always stirs it back up. A sound. A place. A memory you didn’t ask for. And there it is again— softer now, but still there. I’ve learned it doesn’t leave. It just changes how it moves through me. Some days it hurts. Some days it just passes through.

16

It starts with doing things without them. Memory still eats away at the room. New faces who barely know my name don’t erase anything. The body keeps score. I still feel it— that sunken drop in my stomach when I see your friends. A car that looks like yours still pulls my mind somewhere else. But it doesn’t take me all the way anymore. I notice it… and I keep moving. Memories still show up, but they don’t stay like they used to. I’m learning... how to live in the after without falling back into the before.

0

May 12

May 12, 2026 at 12:17 AM UTC

NoctraWrites

I still feel it

It starts with doing things without them. Memory still eats away at the room. New faces who barely know my name don’t erase anything. The body keeps score. I still feel it— that sunken drop in my stomach when I see your friends. A car that looks like yours still pulls my mind somewhere else. But it doesn’t take me all the way anymore. I notice it… and I keep moving. Memories still show up, but they don’t stay like they used to. I’m learning... how to live in the after without falling back into the before.

18

Still Here: I don’t owe anyone an explanation Not for my fake smile, not for my silence, not for the nights I can’t find sleep People look at me and think they know But they don’t feel the noise in here The looping thoughts, the heaviness that drags me under The ache I’ve carried longer than I can remember Being alive hurts It’s not about surviving, it’s about feeling everything too much The grief that clings, the joy that slips away too fast Sometimes I wonder if I’m stitched together by all the things I’ve lost If that’s all healing really is Learning to walk with holes where pieces used to be I get tired of pretending Tired of acting like I’m not cracked, like I’ve figured it out Because I haven’t Some days just getting out of bed feels like a war no one sees And I want to scream that existing shouldn’t be this hard But then the quiet comes and I remember if it hurts this much, it means I’m still here It means I still care Healing isn’t clean It’s bleeding into my own hands and still choosing to keep going It’s sitting in the dark and waiting for a reason And maybe that reason is that the sun always comes up Whether I want it to or not I don’t need anyone to name me I don’t need them to understand This is my life, messy, scarred, and unfinished But it’s mine And if that’s what it means to be alive Then I will take it and embrace it Even with the grief Even with the ache Even with all of it -Jacob Malone

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May 12

May 12, 2026 at 12:12 AM UTC

NoctraWrites

Still Here

Still Here: I don’t owe anyone an explanation Not for my fake smile, not for my silence, not for the nights I can’t find sleep People look at me and think they know But they don’t feel the noise in here The looping thoughts, the heaviness that drags me under The ache I’ve carried longer than I can remember Being alive hurts It’s not about surviving, it’s about feeling everything too much The grief that clings, the joy that slips away too fast Sometimes I wonder if I’m stitched together by all the things I’ve lost If that’s all healing really is Learning to walk with holes where pieces used to be I get tired of pretending Tired of acting like I’m not cracked, like I’ve figured it out Because I haven’t Some days just getting out of bed feels like a war no one sees And I want to scream that existing shouldn’t be this hard But then the quiet comes and I remember if it hurts this much, it means I’m still here It means I still care Healing isn’t clean It’s bleeding into my own hands and still choosing to keep going It’s sitting in the dark and waiting for a reason And maybe that reason is that the sun always comes up Whether I want it to or not I don’t need anyone to name me I don’t need them to understand This is my life, messy, scarred, and unfinished But it’s mine And if that’s what it means to be alive Then I will take it and embrace it Even with the grief Even with the ache Even with all of it -Jacob Malone

35

I'd feel like a stranger at my own funeral- who's that in the box, dressed better in death than I ever managed in life? Better than my quiet attempts-those empty rehearsals at suicide. Was this the last chance I had left? Even in death, my voice isn't heard- nor the screaming ones trapped inside my skull. Even my ghost wouldn't believe it's dead, still hoping the lives I tried to save might pay my way past the gates, buy out my debts. But what if there's no heaven waiting? What if another kind of hell greets me instead? What if I never see my old friends again- never laugh without fear, never smile without pretending? What if I never stop being so ******* afraid so strangely ashamed to feel nothing, to be numb to even shame itself? All I wanted was to be born again- not into some perfect life, but one that wouldn't lead me back to searching for another end. And isn't it strange- how only in death do we see our regrets with such clarity? Because there's nowhere left to run from them once we get to the end.

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Jun 8, 2025

Jun 8, 2025 at 2:52 AM UTC

OddOdysseyPoet

Stranger in the box

I'd feel like a stranger at my own funeral- who's that in the box, dressed better in death than I ever managed in life? Better than my quiet attempts-those empty rehearsals at suicide. Was this the last chance I had left? Even in death, my voice isn't heard- nor the screaming ones trapped inside my skull. Even my ghost wouldn't believe it's dead, still hoping the lives I tried to save might pay my way past the gates, buy out my debts. But what if there's no heaven waiting? What if another kind of hell greets me instead? What if I never see my old friends again- never laugh without fear, never smile without pretending? What if I never stop being so ******* afraid so strangely ashamed to feel nothing, to be numb to even shame itself? All I wanted was to be born again- not into some perfect life, but one that wouldn't lead me back to searching for another end. And isn't it strange- how only in death do we see our regrets with such clarity? Because there's nowhere left to run from them once we get to the end.

33

i've used pain to combat grief perhaps i'll forever be a broken radio, humming the same old tune on the same old default settings. no one to repair, not one soul to listen. but i promise to play that random night when u need the same old comforting, the same old recurring.

0

May 24, 2025

May 24, 2025 at 2:26 PM UTC

poeticaofisshues

just a feeling

i've used pain to combat grief perhaps i'll forever be a broken radio, humming the same old tune on the same old default settings. no one to repair, not one soul to listen. but i promise to play that random night when u need the same old comforting, the same old recurring.

8

I cut my hair today and you'll never know, I held it together in that salon, but I cried the whole way home, they told me life would go on, but I wasn't prepared for what that meant, crying at every change whether it's your hair or losing friends you cry because it hits you, you're still growing up, and you have to do it now without someone you really loved, little things will happen, and big things will too, and every time I will look to the sky, and hope you saw them too, I go over the list in my head every single day, all of the things you'll never know, things I'll never get to say, like I cut my hair today, and when I looked in the mirror, I loved the girl I'm becoming and hated that you'll never meet her.

0

May 3, 2025

May 3, 2025 at 7:08 AM UTC

Kuch_baatein_khud_se

Things You'll Never Know

I cut my hair today and you'll never know, I held it together in that salon, but I cried the whole way home, they told me life would go on, but I wasn't prepared for what that meant, crying at every change whether it's your hair or losing friends you cry because it hits you, you're still growing up, and you have to do it now without someone you really loved, little things will happen, and big things will too, and every time I will look to the sky, and hope you saw them too, I go over the list in my head every single day, all of the things you'll never know, things I'll never get to say, like I cut my hair today, and when I looked in the mirror, I loved the girl I'm becoming and hated that you'll never meet her.

17