Did you think I'd ever forget,
The way you meant the world to me...
Searching through memories
making them into stories...
Although you chose to leave my house
With your belongings too...
My Nadia was dead
I knew it like the the dreadful taste of birth in...
Did you think I'd ever forget,
The way you meant the world to me...
I’ve always been cold, calculated, and heartless...
Someone who plots and plans...
The saddest tears are the driest ones seen in the bravest smile. |
Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse. |
If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight. |