"Sometimes the point is to be sad, August. Sometimes you just have to feel it because it deserves to be felt." -Casey McQuiston, One Last Stop
---
there are stars
crackling in my blood,
thin constellations
spreading over my veins,
golden whispers
of what i am to become.
but there's always
that wounded hand
tugging me backwards,
and i tumble
into the cackling,
crusted velvet
of the dark
i've refused to let go
because it's the one thing
that i know
wouldn't leave,
and its cold, wilted presence
was familiar, took up space,
saw the void within me
and balled it up in its metal hand.
now it seeps into me,
and i feel all that it is made out of:
the heaviness of death and loss and fear
and at its heart—
pure, unadulterated sadness,
stained blue,
the light blue of cornflowers
alone in a field.
i hold it in my hands,
and instead of pushing it away,
i slowly take it apart,
allowing myself to feel
because some things deserve
to be felt
before they can be
let go;
old blood
washed with tears,
scars kissed,
final goodbyes i had to claw
out of my throat;
and i watch as
darkness gravitates towards
a greater darkness,
finally melting into the night
like a wave returning to the solemn sea.
love,
mari
YOU ARE READING
for the tarnished hearts
Poetrypoetry for the hearts tarnished by love or the sudden death of it. for the hearts that find a soft lullaby in the pages when raw hope is not enough to put the worries to sleep. for the hearts that bleed ink to paint the chalky roses of life red with...
