heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
Unsent Letter
I wrote you a letter I’ll never send, Folded with tears I didn’t intend. It sleeps in a drawer beside my bed, With words I meant, but never said. “Dear you,” it starts, with shaking hands, “I hope you’re safe in distant lands.” I speak of nights I dreamt too loud, Of memories hidden in a cloud. I wrote of smiles I still recall, The way you laughed, the way you’d fall Asleep while talking, eyes half-closed— Those little things I miss the most. I didn’t send it, couldn’t try, Too scared to hear no last goodbye. But still, it rests where no one sees, A paper hug, a heart’s release. If someday you feel a whisper near, It might be my words you hear— Carried by wind, soft as a feather, From the pages of my unsent letter.
By Solene Hartabout a year ago in Poets
Streets Taught Me What School Never Could
No bell rang No teacher stood But every corner Had a lesson The street Didn’t teach me math But I learned What hunger multiplies It didn’t test With paper It tested With pain I knew early That smiles can lie That footsteps behind you Aren’t always friendly School never told me How to bury a friend Or how to walk With no light at the end Streetlights Flickered like hope There, Then not Every block Had a story Every face Held a fight I saw kids Turn ghosts Before they could spell Their own names I saw kindness Die quietly In boys Who once shared bread And I learned That soft hearts Break faster When no one’s watching The street Was a teacher That didn’t care If you passed or survived You don’t graduate
By Hazrat Usman Usmanabout a year ago in Poets
They Asked Why I Don’t Talk Anymore
They asked Why I don’t talk anymore Why my mouth Feels like a locked room I smiled Like silence Was a choice Not a scream with no voice Words Used to live here Now they hide In places I don’t visit Some words bleed When spoken Some carry knives In their syllables Every “I’m fine” Is a quiet funeral Buried Without anyone watching I tried Tried to explain But pain Doesn’t translate easily They want answers But not the kind That crawl Out from broken memories They want “Better now” Not “It still hurts every morning” My silence Isn’t empty It’s overflowing With what I never said The truth? Talking Costs too much When no one really listens So I stitched My mouth shut With invisible thread Made of all the times I was ignored And now I sit with myself A little quieter A little stronger Because silence Isn’t weakness It’s what happens When strength runs out
By Hazrat Usman Usmanabout a year ago in Poets
