the heartbreak will be fleeting. the loss will be masked by the promise of a better future and the neverending eulogies.

comfort will be created from thin air heavenly signs interpreted from butterflies reassurance from a camera glitch no, an orb.

like a moth to a flame, one with a hole in their heart will sniff out a psychic and search for love in tarot cards. wherever there is light, the flowers will find it.

because why should death be so devastating if everything holy is true?

if we’re all to meet again, what’s a little time apart?

we can’t comprehend a concept being a necessary part of life and simultaneously its antithesis.

are we manic? or are we just too simple to truly know our gods?

morning wouldn’t exist in a world without night. morning is a manifestation of darkness and silence

when we mourned you at your funeral, we all wore black.

were you there?

grief is horrifying and i’ve seen it everywhere. my father used to cry himself to sleep the strongest man i know broken down by another’s heart not beating

i work with widows they weep to each other about their spouses and the friends they’ve lost in senseless wars

i’ve studied works of the lamentation Mary’s gruesome sobs over her son her grip on his tortured body

i’ve seen tombs and graveyards and ashes feeling a burden for each soul buried

could this have happened had we stayed in perpetual light? with no contrast, there is no room to ponder of something different.

perhaps that’s why we sleep through the night; to delude ourselves out of destiny through a dream of the morning and not a whisper of the mourning.

a rose budded from its mother can only morph into so many forms. at its core, its root, a rose is still a rose its destiny predetermined and by any other name, it smells just as sweet.

a rose is a symbol of love placed gently in a vase on a first date picked apart and strewn on the floor by the honeymoon.

a rose is an ephemeral beauty worshipped in its prime forgotten once it’s wilted.

a rose may be alive and well, but once it’s abandoned for a new bud it will crumble dying as proof that its life was never in its own hands.

a rose is a flower merely an object to observe when it’s bloomed and to cast away when it’s old leaving only the thorns behind as a reminder of how unworthy it truly was.

love is the lie that keeps us alive. to be born a sacrifice your blood on the hands of your ancestors soon that crimson is your home. your feelings are metallic your family rushes through your veins

and hope is a dream that keeps us afloat no amount of loss can set you free because you’ll always hold onto an empty faith that everything will change that your heart will one day truly beat for the first time.

the dirt i sleep on is my own there is only water running underneath it and it’s foolish to think no one knows me here but i’ll breathe again breathe as though i know myself as though it’s all real after all

love taunts us with what we want and we’ll leave it behind.

memory breathes. i’m driving down the old street i know that house like the back of my hand.

memory breathes and you’re looking at me with all that pity and god it’s so embarrassing and i wish i could forget

i wasn’t supposed to be here this long listen to me i have no reason to consider the future listen to me

i don’t care if you love me or are worried about me i just want to live in the woods

that old rope swing doesn’t leave my mind and the punching bag stays too i will live in that backyard it’s all i need

i don’t want your concern i just want to be free

if your hand could reach inside my heart, what would you do with it? would you search for yourself for all the things i wish you knew?

or maybe you’d look for answers to the questions you never asked maybe you’d find a fire and never speak of it again

or possibly, you’d fix the wires make me easier to love let me express a little sentiment so you wouldn’t have to dream it up

i really like the way my hair looks when the sunbeams hit it through the window. i cut it in my room last night. then i tried to pick up my unicorn (her name is magica) but she had a roach on her horn so i dropped her back onto the hardwood.

daddy says we’re a team. he says he can take me to get a haircut and he can dust the bugs off of magica but i don’t want him to.

i wanna sit in the kitchen while mama trims my split ends i want her to hold magica because boys aren’t allowed (duh.)

but she doesn’t know how. the scissors would shake in her hand and she’d never remember my unicorn’s name.

my friend’s mom is really nice to me and she can cut my hair but i just want mama to do it because it’s the same with no one else.

but all mama does is sleep and i all i do is wait

i feel my own hands grab the scissors and i watch them hold my dolls and daddy’s still at work and mama’s on the couch and i’m still in my room stuck alone.

my stomach hurts. i think it always will.

i used to be okay. i used to live among flowers and maybe they were wilted, but i loved their petals nonetheless.

you saw my dying roses and you offered to give them some water. while you were bringing them back to life, i noticed that your water smelled. it smelled sort of like weed killer. but then again, i don’t really know what weed killer smells like so i let you carry on.

but when you were done, i saw what was left of my little garden. i didn’t know i could mourn something that was dead to begin with but these flowers were not just wilted. they were gone.

you took what was left of us and i didn’t notice until it was too late.

but sometimes i look at those lilacs and violets and i think, maybe water is supposed to do this. i mean, you told me it was water and you told me you only wanted to help i must be crazy to think you would lie.

and then i feel so guilty for even thinking this way and i start to miss that fatal scent

so thank you for killing my flowers. it was so kind of you to think of me.

every day seems the same. i scrub the stress off my skin i wave to the cameras above me and i sit in the shower thinking about how if you dug through my brain it would just be a collage of everyone else’s.

but today, i looked in your journal.

i said i would never do it. because what if you had looked through mine? how devastated would i be if i knew? but once again, my morals are stabbed by the blade of my selfishness because that’s the kind of daughter i am.

you had to-do lists in there, and you wrote about me and about work and about how you don’t have enough money you then wrote, what’s money anyway? why must i live chasing it?

but what really struck me was when you wrote about her. you wrote that certain days are just empty and you wrote about your memories the good and the end and you wrote about how you’d never get better.

you wrote about your habits which have turned into mine, by the way and you even wrote about writing maybe you passed that to me too.

i am so sorry. i promise, whatever you feel about me now i feel one hundred times over. i am destined for nothing except to be the daughter the niece the sister the cousin the student the friend nobody wanted.

and i want you to feel okay but i want that for myself too.

——

this is kinda different from how i usually write lol i just read a book with a similar style especially to the first stanza. anyway sorry to the subject of this poem for lowkey airing out all your issues on this app hopefully you don’t find my account:) also i know i always tend to deviate from the prompt but i technically followed it soooo

i don’t know how long i’ve been walking. my home was screaming in agony whenever i was around and the hills in the heavens were shouting my name and it’s not like it all matters so i’ve been walking.

and oh lord, i think i’ve been here before these walls are tiled with my life these whispers come from ghosts of people i haven’t seen in a long long time

sweet satan, i think i feel whole because i smell the old, dirty house and i hear the springs in my mattress because i taste our classic, velvety flan and i’m looking into faces long forgotten

honey, you wouldn’t believe this place or maybe it’s all you can fathom but i’ve found all that’s left behind and i’ve found our past rhythm.