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A door left open
Might only be an invite...
I pressed the last red
flower you gave me, in a...
A beautiful girl
Doesn't mean that she will make...
by Megan Chapman
Sometimes the fog of numbness lifts for a minute
And I find myself hard up against the grief...
My catastrophe; my faith,
I'm a little lost in this world...
Holy Sin breaking every moment,
Love never tells a lie when it's only exile...
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.