smile
laugh
nod
swallow
cry
make them believe it
make them see
only what i portray
make them happy
make them comfortable
make them breathe in the lie
•
before i leave
before i lock myself away
where i can
grieve
for you
i smile at nothing
and no one
i leave my falseness
in the dust
•
your fingerprints
left on a window
somewhere
your breath
a whisper
stale and distant
in the air
still there to catch
•
your voice
your smell
your laugh
everything was here
everything is gone
•
sometimes i want you back
so badly
i can hardly stand it
sometimes it scares me
how much i would give
for you
back here
with me
About the Creator
angela hepworth
Hello! I’m Angela and I enjoy writing fiction, poetry, reviews, and more. I delve into the dark, the sad, the silly, the sexy, and the stupid. Come check me out!
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Foot Bindings
I asked my grandmother how she knew she'd fallen in love. I am not sure I ever did love him, she said. This was before I met my husband. I was naive, a naked spring, a raw nerve of a thing. That cannot ever be me, I knew. Sadness swept in gently like a Moscow thaw. It is no simple thing, looking into a woman's vast soul and seeing its foot bindings. Now, in Italy divorced with my skin singed off, when I say I don't love him mean: I have succeeded at feeling nothing most days and it mostly works. Do you want the comfort of Nothing? Do you want Nothing, too? Be warned: you'll never be free, even when you are nothing. Here is what doesn't work: Accepting the stages of grief. Talking about it. Sitting with the feeling. Missing him—no, the person you were when you believed in death do us part. Writing poetry. That, too. When I say I don't love him I mean: I feel capsized in an endless, starved tide. What sometimes works: selective memory. You must forget ripe tomatoes and his beard and feeling perfectly sheltered in a big blue world. Forget coffee in bed, laughter watching TV, blowing out the candles on the birthday cake and the quiet all-encompassing knowledge that you are chosen. Remember only how love turned to a banal everyday survival act, a trapeze act unsure whether he will catch you, how the warmth stagnated and became sour, remember the foot bindings and remember the resentment boiling in your veins as you stick it out for the kids. Six-hour Netflix binges help, too. A man's fingers tracing your spine. Frozen pizza at 2 a.m. Random trips to the museum just to stand near things that last a while. The realization that crying won’t change anything. Seeing that life is just a dream, and refusing to participate in your own suffering. Bite your fist. Walk on eggshells around joy. When I say I don't love him, I mean he didn’t break my heart, he just stopped touching it and it forgot how to beat right.
By Ella Bogdanovaabout 11 hours ago in Poets
Comments (10)
This is so heartbreaking, and we all become like this after losing someone close to us.
That’s love speaking. It’s beautiful.
Heartbreaking and very well written!
Oh this was sharp, the pain tangible. So well done :)
❤️❤️
I love the brevity and the way each word carries so much emotional weght! exceptional, Angela!
Devastating
Deeply evocative and layered with emotion. Incredibly done, strong entry! 💌
I've been at the point where I would have given anything for them to be in my life again. I'm so glad I've mixed past that. Your poem was soooo emotional and I loved it!
I think my heart just broke ... beautiful, sad, full of love and grief (gosh, how often those things go together!) and just an incredible poem, Angela! 🩷 Genuinely felt like a small insight into your consciousness ... Just hope if it's representative of how you are currently feeling, that you're going okay, or feel better soon! 🩷🩷🩷