sad poetry
The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.
She Was a Poem, But No One Wanted to Read Her
She Was a Poem, But No One Wanted to Read Her By (Mushtaq Ahmad ) --- She was the kind of girl who walked through life like a whisper in a thunderstorm. Delicate, unnoticed, drifting between shadows, yet full of stories—if only someone had taken the time to listen. Her name was Mira. She wasn’t loud. She didn’t sparkle in crowds. People often forgot she was in the room until she left, and even then, her absence was just as quiet as her presence. She wasn’t invisible. She was ignored. --- The Lonely Library Mira spent most of her time in the old library at the end of her street. She sat between shelves full of forgotten books—dusty, untouched, and filled with words waiting to be seen. She related to them. She often thought, “Maybe I’m like one of these books—something someone once loved, then shelved away, forever waiting to be opened again.” People called her boring. Too quiet. Too deep. Too much... and yet not enough. No one asked her what her favorite song was. No one knew she wrote poems in her journal every night before bed. No one cared that she was breaking piece by piece beneath her calm smile. She was a poem. But no one wanted to read her. --- Enter Jamie Then came Jamie. Not a hero. Not a lover. Just a classmate who needed help with literature assignments. He sat next to her in the library one rainy afternoon and asked, “Do you understand metaphors?” She looked up from her notebook, surprised anyone noticed her at all. “Yes,” she whispered, almost unsure if her voice would still work. He smiled. That was the first time someone saw her—not through her, but into her. --- Someone Turned a Page Jamie kept coming back. Not just for help—but for her silence, her calm, her thoughts. He once said, “You speak like the rain—soft, but it reaches deep.” Mira almost cried. For the first time, she let someone peek into her pages. She shared her poems. The one about her mother’s silence. The one about her fear of vanishing. The one that ended with: > “I exist in the margins of the world, Where people don’t highlight— But skip.” Jamie read them all. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t laugh. He simply said, “You write pain beautifully.” --- But Poems Don’t Always Get Happy Endings One day, he stopped coming. No messages. No reason. No goodbye. Just... silence. Mira waited for days. Then weeks. Then stopped hoping altogether. She went back to being the closed book on a dusty shelf. But this time, one page inside her was permanently bent—creased by the weight of false hope.
By Mushtaq Ahmad about a year ago in Poets
