Tag Archives: life

Relearning how to Breathe

The act of writing
has always calmed me:
I spit out poetry like wildfire
and sometimes
it’s all I need to douse the flames.
The art of curving letters,
manipulating the alphabet
to create new worlds
has always been
my favourite bandage.

So for me, being speechless
equates with numbness,
a reality where the words in my mind
and on my tongue
don’t reach my fingertips
and never grace pages;
it is my own personal ninth circle,
where the demons
are the dark, twisted stories
trying to snake their way
into poisoning my parchment.

I can’t breathe
without the right words
to describe how the sweet mountain air tastes
when paired with the bitterness of a fresh betrayal.
And I can’t speak
because for once
I have no words
to fix this.

being silent 


Stage 2: Anger

I can’t stop writing about you
because it’s the only way I know how
to come to terms with
the anger
the grief
the ache
the absence
the confusion
the misery
the regret.
None of this feels real
and you don’t really feel gone –
it’s a cliché that happens in novels and on sitcoms
but young men don’t die
in the real world
or at least they never used to,
not to me.
It wasn’t real
when the news shook my core
and broke the ground I used to walk on;
it wasn’t real
when people told me they were sorry for my loss
because I didn’t feel like I had lost you yet;
it wasn’t real
when I said goodbye to your ashes
and I kept reminding myself it wasn’t you;

it was real at 1 a.m.
when I screamed at you in my head,
when the anger broke over me
like a tidal wave
and I wanted to slap and hug you
and demand to know
why you did it
and how you could have been so

Anger is understandable
they tell me

but they don’t mention the guilt.

– the five stages of grief