#renewed - Hello Poetry

if you died today, the world would still grow oranges in pairs, but the second one would always go to waste. there would be a sudden, sharp lack of citrus in the air, a bright weight missing from every palm that ever reached for yours. the gold would stay locked behind the skin because no one wants to break open something beautiful if you aren’t there to share the first slice. if you died today, your dad wouldn’t cry. he would stand in the hallway, holding the silence like a heavy, rusted tool he doesn’t know how to use. and he would hear you. he would hear you in every song you used to sing but never would again, the high notes haunting the radio until he has to turn it off. he would hear you in the sharp, sudden slam of the front door when the wind catches it, and he would hear you in the clatter of the kitchen. if you died today, your mother would taste you. she would stand in the kitchen, paralyzed by the flour on her apron, remembering how you used to steal frosting and talk about your day until the sun dipped below the counter. she would taste the salt of a recipe you’ll never finish, the bitterness of a kitchen that has suddenly grown too large, a house that is no longer a home because your laughter was the only thing keeping the walls from leaning in. if you died today, your best friend would simply come apart. she would break like a fever, looking at her hands and realizing they are empty of the scissors she gave you for safekeeping. she would remember how you were always the strong one, the one who carried her struggles, while you were secretly bruising under the weight of your own. she’d look at an orange and see a tragedy— a sphere of gold that no one is brave enough to break open anymore. if you died today, the girl with the heart like an open door would finally find a room she couldn’t fill. she, would realize that even her massive spirit can’t patch the hole where your laughter used to be. she’d still be there, trying to be the fun in the room, but her jokes would taste like pith— dry and white and missing the juice. and if you died today, the boy with sticky fingers would still wake up and swing his feet onto the cold floor, reaching for his phone in the dark out of a habit that could never again be a routine. he’d swallow the salt in his throat and pack his lunch pail, snapping the latches shut with a sound like a period. he’d move through the world with his head down, getting the job done with a ghost in his pocket, holding an orange he no longer has the heart to peel. no one wants to know a world without you in it. not the man who hears the songs, not the woman covered in flour, not the girl with no scissors, not the girl with the big heart, not the boy with the dark screen, not the teachers with the empty seat, not even your worst enemy, who needs your light to know where the shadows are. no one wants to reach out to hand you an orange, the juice already sticky on their palms, only to realize there is no one there to take the sweetness from them. no one wants to read the letters you’ve addressed to them while you’re six feet under the dirt, ink screaming your voice into a room where you can’t hear them scream back. no one wants to remember the girl who cared so much that she checked on everyone else’s heart while her own was breaking, only to find her chair empty at the table. they don't want the "good grades" or the "exceptions"-they want the mess. they want the smudge on your cheek and the trail of citrus oil on the books. so give a chance to the world, and to yourself, and to the people who already save a seat for you by habit. don't make them learn the rhythm of a Tuesday without the sound of your breathing. Stay. because the gold is still running down your wrists, and we are all still waiting for you to take the next bite.

0

Apr 8

Apr 8, 2026 at 9:57 PM UTC

sd_nerd27

the sour parts of Sticky Fingers: a seat saved by habit (4 & 11)

if you died today, the world would still grow oranges in pairs, but the second one would always go to waste. there would be a sudden, sharp lack of citrus in the air, a bright weight missing from every palm that ever reached for yours. the gold would stay locked behind the skin because no one wants to break open something beautiful if you aren’t there to share the first slice. if you died today, your dad wouldn’t cry. he would stand in the hallway, holding the silence like a heavy, rusted tool he doesn’t know how to use. and he would hear you. he would hear you in every song you used to sing but never would again, the high notes haunting the radio until he has to turn it off. he would hear you in the sharp, sudden slam of the front door when the wind catches it, and he would hear you in the clatter of the kitchen. if you died today, your mother would taste you. she would stand in the kitchen, paralyzed by the flour on her apron, remembering how you used to steal frosting and talk about your day until the sun dipped below the counter. she would taste the salt of a recipe you’ll never finish, the bitterness of a kitchen that has suddenly grown too large, a house that is no longer a home because your laughter was the only thing keeping the walls from leaning in. if you died today, your best friend would simply come apart. she would break like a fever, looking at her hands and realizing they are empty of the scissors she gave you for safekeeping. she would remember how you were always the strong one, the one who carried her struggles, while you were secretly bruising under the weight of your own. she’d look at an orange and see a tragedy— a sphere of gold that no one is brave enough to break open anymore. if you died today, the girl with the heart like an open door would finally find a room she couldn’t fill. she, would realize that even her massive spirit can’t patch the hole where your laughter used to be. she’d still be there, trying to be the fun in the room, but her jokes would taste like pith— dry and white and missing the juice. and if you died today, the boy with sticky fingers would still wake up and swing his feet onto the cold floor, reaching for his phone in the dark out of a habit that could never again be a routine. he’d swallow the salt in his throat and pack his lunch pail, snapping the latches shut with a sound like a period. he’d move through the world with his head down, getting the job done with a ghost in his pocket, holding an orange he no longer has the heart to peel. no one wants to know a world without you in it. not the man who hears the songs, not the woman covered in flour, not the girl with no scissors, not the girl with the big heart, not the boy with the dark screen, not the teachers with the empty seat, not even your worst enemy, who needs your light to know where the shadows are. no one wants to reach out to hand you an orange, the juice already sticky on their palms, only to realize there is no one there to take the sweetness from them. no one wants to read the letters you’ve addressed to them while you’re six feet under the dirt, ink screaming your voice into a room where you can’t hear them scream back. no one wants to remember the girl who cared so much that she checked on everyone else’s heart while her own was breaking, only to find her chair empty at the table. they don't want the "good grades" or the "exceptions"-they want the mess. they want the smudge on your cheek and the trail of citrus oil on the books. so give a chance to the world, and to yourself, and to the people who already save a seat for you by habit. don't make them learn the rhythm of a Tuesday without the sound of your breathing. Stay. because the gold is still running down your wrists, and we are all still waiting for you to take the next bite.