for the tarnished hearts

𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒇 𝒊'𝒗𝒆 𝒌𝒆𝒑𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏

i've been so crazy busy lately, but i finally was able to write something last night!! it's a piece that's been wanting to spill onto the page for some time now, and i'm glad i could get it out. yk when you write that one piece that makes you feel so relieved, like a weight has been lifted off your chest? it's one of those.

someone i loved passed away recently. i had shut myself in my room, and bore most of the pain alone. in this poem, i wrote about the loneliness, the feeling as if a whole ocean is bearing down on me. i wrote about how i used to know very little about grief, thought of it as a feeling i wouldn't need to know until much later in life. but mostly, i wrote about the particular aches and sharps of grief i don't know how to express (except in lines of poetry). 

edit: for a sidewalk poetry thing in my city, i used a few lines of this poem :) just a note for myself later

ANYWAYS- here's my bookstagram if u wanna check it out-- @ libraryofmari 

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bare feet

wading through crushed glass

oh, these crystal paths

winding down cheeks

iridescence

in the splinters of jewels

that sing out

rivers of  anguish

when brought to the

hollow

of an ear

—of an innocent, unmarred heart,

with hungry veins spiraling out

in curiosity—

straining to catch

a drop of grief's echo—

how far can your soul dip

into the depths of grief,

all the dark, love-burning shades of it,

without knowing it truly?

you will only splash in the shallows

your lips stinging from

the frothing white

of a single wave's kiss

to the shore

where you dig your hands

into its bleached coarseness

and come up empty.

it is only when

life has been carved

out of you,

when a heart stops

and yours staggers on—

that is when

you have touched ocean floor.

crystal paths are not walked on,

they are carved, they are felt,

they are chisels

chipping at stone cheeks.

and you bleed,

though all anyone can see

is the pain—it's tangible in the air,

visibly weaving through thick tangles

of silence and polite sympathies—

yet the tearing of will,

the stretching and aching

of a heart trying to draw taut

its loose corners, its caving-in chambers—

that's kept hidden,

buried beneath the piles of

sickly-sweet roses and pastel cards

that say the right things,

things that supposedly

won't crack my eggshell resolve.

i'm here, laughing, trying to love

while hanging back, reaching for a ghost,

because in actuality—

i'm there, off on an island of my own,

trying to keep to the shallows

where the sea wind can still

twine with my breath,

and the stars are all gathered

just above me,

as if they were painted there

and i was the one

who held the silver paintbrush

and willed it to be so.

but though i clung to the shoreline,

i was pulled,

dragged to the deep, moonlit waves

nonetheless,

because the depths don't need to be sought for—

they will find you in the shallows,

or else drown you on dry land, darling.

iron currents

looped around my ankles,

guided me to where

only loneliness dwelled,

crushingly quiet and raw.

there,

i faced grief

in solitude.

there,

i became a girl of crumbling stone.

lonely statue,

wailing waters eating away

at its features,

until it's smooth,

worn,

blank as a wordless page.

i wait for

my next inhale,

and the next,

gasping

for

the final breath

of destruction.

let my howling heart

meet the stone-cold sands

of the sea floor,

where the bones gather

and hopes shatter upon them

like golden plates.

love,

mari