The day after you said goodbye
 to life,
 the sun rose, spreading across your open blinds,
 waiting to see the brightness
 that once came from you. But all it found
 was empty space,
 an unmade bed,
 all your little trinkets in their place,
 all the things that made you, you. Yet there was a looming sadness. Confused, the sun searched for you… throughout your house, only finding your mom, pale and blue,
 and your dad
 reading and rereading over and over again a letter
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her husband is wheeled in at midnight. stained in bright blood at his shredded wrists, the corner of his mouth, quaking, eyelids half-mast she is furious quietly, from her spot wrist-deep in another man's-- --no, boy's open abdomen, holding him together from the inside. she is a triage nurse promoted to surgeon by necessity, by overcrowding and underfunding, by war and violence, you said we'd go together, she seethes, pulling on the sutures, (made of what's left of her scrubs

They grow in houses too loud like a glass pressed against thunder, waiting to shatter but holding an eerie storm inside. They learn silence like it’s a secret, folding in on themselves, like paper cranes afraid of the slightest breath. Hands that should reach out, hold up walls instead— fragile, cracked, carrying weight no one notices. The glass child is not perfect, dim like a fading star, burning low but steady, casting light no one dares ask for. They carry storms stitched

They’d ask me to write a letter to my older self, Asking questions, giving reminders. I thought it was so stupid, I’d clearly be smarter. I folded the paper like a promise, Believing my dreams were a given, Why would I give advice? When I knew I’d be so much more wise. The day came to read it, I realized the change I barely recognized the handwriting. Who wrote those lines? The ink was now faded, The paper worn, Just like my confidence I destroyed the letter, its now all torn

My happiness with you is unbearable My anger for you is demented My sadness at the notion of you leaving shatters My serenity in your gaze is volcanic Your whispering breaths rustle the corners of lips Your bristling hairs comfort the quivers Your chatters stomps out the worries Your animal soul is more human than any other They call you wild I call you love. Please give a detailed explanation about the meaning and main idea of this poem. I was tired of people telling me how

All around the world There is Slavery Misogyny Racism Horrible conflicts that Kill Maim Wilt the living and draw bloody scars on blank canvases Long gashes into smooth marble. What can you do about it? They say, Their Confident Mocking Voice rippling through the auditorium, YOU CAN: Stand UP to the bully (Even if you don’t know who they are) YOU CAN: MAKE your voice heard (Even if it’s the leading cause of said bullying) YOU CAN: UNDERSTAND where they are coming from (Even if

On February 9th, at 5:56 PM, you died. I was not beside you when this happened. Though I’d been beside you the whole time, in those final moments, it was your parents that held your hand. My feet rest on the chair in front of me; my arms folded over me as a shield. I looked out the window at the gray slush scattered along the sidewalk, illuminated by the streetlight above. The sun set about twenty, fifteen minutes ago. You died in darkness. A darkness I would continue living

I want to live in a world where we can say “It’s okay to be who you are.” We spend so much time thinking, and overthinking every minuscule detail that we drive ourselves insane. When your mind swirls with memories from the past, goals for the future, and the laundry still in the basket that has yet to be put away— Take a breath I say. Take a breath. When your soul becomes consumed by a topic so utterly glorious, your eyes glue to it like a fly to sticky tape. You wonder where

I carry the weight of who I dreamed to become as a youth. Such a dream was the rose, and the journey cuts deep like a thorn. Held together like the silk in a web, clinging to the edge, I shall make it. I shall prevail despite tribulations. For I am the son who never speaks, the son who suffers, the son who shall win. Please give a detailed explanation about the meaning and main idea of this poem. The main meaning in this piece is to honor how far I have come as a person. To r

I have spent my life catching the rain, cupping my palms until the muscles ache, waiting for the weight of it to tell me that I am finally here, finally stable. The weight of achievements, grades, and completed to-do lists fills the wide vessel swallowing me whole. But only for a second… only for the weight to be porous once more. Trapped inside my own achievements, I drown in a cup that's empty, banging a hollow beat; each attempt is just another tissue triumph frantically t

A girl sits in a corner, as her parents scream at each other. They do this almost every night, so she runs to her room where it’s quieter. She loves how her parents act when there’s others around, but the second they get to their house. It’s the white picket fence dream, full of lies and secrets. Where she’s reminded she’s a little girl that has to act like an adult, in a house full of children. She learned at a young age, that to stay quiet was to stay safe. So she taped her

Silence the songbird and shutter the sky, Let no wind whisper, let no child cry. The room is too quiet, the windows too wide, He will not return to stand by my side. Stop every bell in the chapel and square, Let mourning live thick in the weight of the air. Turn the hourglass, nay, blacken the glass, Time has no business continuing to pass. He was the blue pause becoming the night, The fire that became my reason to fight, My step on the stair, our hands on the cup He was the

Write what scares you Place exile in-between that chair until it becomes a continent and your thighs are nations at war with stillness. Say: the sky isn’t blue it’s just a bruise on god’s lip or the mating of light when it tries to fold itself into another body. Say: silence is circular. It always comes back to the seat. You think you’re empty until something oozes out of the pores of your brain and you think-- A letter. A colour. An image. Not a memory but the circumsc

I thought love meant showing up, Soft “good mornings,” and messy care, Finding you in crowded halls, Believing you wanted me there. But every step I took toward you, You pushed back twice as far— “Leave me,” became your anthem, Like I was noise, not a beating heart. If longing makes me guilty, Then yes, I wore the crime— But love doesn’t beg at doorways Where someone changed the sign. You called it “clinging,” I called it “trying.” You called it “too much,” I called it us. Bu

some people are like stars. like the sun to a planet unexplored. tied to you inexplicably with something you can’t explain or deny. when someone looks at you as if a moment with them is a speck of moondust? that's not very fair. especially not if they're your star. especially not if a moment with them could stretch out into the eternity of a star's lifespan. a glance at them can keep the milky way swirling, swirling into a whirlpool of stars and specks of sun. the sun i see w

I don’t even know where to start All i can say is her smile has my heart Along this beautiful journey of life I met a girl i call my wife Our souls and mind are inseparable Our bond has become unbreakable I believe we each others guardian angel A sense of separation sounds painful When i met her i grew accustomed to more fear Accumulated from all the women i fell out of long along the years I wish to heal her trauma Make her at heart at peace from all the polytrauma I have a

Woe is me the last born never cradled,a child yet denied the right to feel. My emotions treated as too heavy for my age.My voice silenced and mislabeled as disrespect. My pain carried alone quitely like hidden scars. My mirror of mistakes held up to my face again in again as if the past where a chain I must drug to every tomorrow. Woe is me, the Unseen one told my sorrow is too young to exist as if age were a shield Dark keeps my heart from breaking and falling apart.But I s

With you, time is different— it’s fluid like silk ribbons, boundlessly rippling to the gold-stitched sea. It’s elastic, and edging on moldable. Your hands are hopeful, and strong— palms bronze and shining, fingers light. They pull and tear relentlessly, like a sculptor clawing at clay. But you are a different sort of sculptor, your hands a cradle of time: the loose, evasive artform of illusion. You chisel and clench it’s slippery movement, shaping it into something useable, s

Healing isn't loud It doesn't come dressed in gold and glitter It comes like rain on cracked earth soft, steady and patient I started peeling off the layers they wrapped me in the layers that whispered "You're too dark. Too coarse. Too loud" I started speaking to myself like a mother speaks to her newborn. Gently. I started touching my hair and not apologizing for its wildness. I started looking at my name and saying it like a prayer Agum. Lucky. Savior. You see, healing is n

Hold yourself together girl I’m not a girl Whatever girl Make yourself much smaller girl I’ll show you girl You better learn Hold your thoughts inside your head Don’t drag your body back to bed Be social girl Be friendly girl Be better than your friends dear girl Why can you not love him girl? He’s perfect girl He shows up, girl I know you don’t yet love yourself But he’s right there Love him instead. You know that I am not a girl? And I don’t love in the way you want Oh nons