sad poetry

The cathartic nature of poetry makes it one of the best outlets to channel feelings of sadness, emotional turmoil, grief and despair.

I’m Not Healing to Be Better for You—I’m Healing to Come Home to Me. Content Warning.
I’m not healing to be better for you. I’m healing to come home to me. There was a version of me who waited at the window. She waited for the text that never came. For the apology that was owed but never spoken. For someone—anyone—to look her in the eyes and say, “I see you. All of you. And I’m not leaving.”
By Bridget Ametepeabout a year ago in Poets
Routine
-*- Just passing by, not looking up, and you still direct my daily routine. Neither a word, nor waving a hand, and I still expect yourself to be keen.
By Alex Torresabout a year ago in Poets
Perroon
Red bricks layered with damp grey cement, the edges of the steps for years have been spent. The cracked glass front on a bulletin board,
By Cristal S.about a year ago in Poets
Thirty-Three Years
I tattooed your very name on my neck. Wrapped in a bleak blanket, feeling like a wreck. Oh, the havoc you’ve caused me so many nights…
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
The Empty Chair
Loneliness isn´t poetry. It´s an ampaty chair no one moves, a cup of coffe that goes cold every morning because there´s one to pour a second for.
By Javier about a year ago in Poets
Ignore Me
I’m going to talk anyways You can ignore me But can’t keep me quiet Hope I'm annoying Leave me on read Or don’t read it at all
By L.I.Eabout a year ago in Poets
The millipedes who killed the spider.
The millipedes who killed the spider. The millipedes who stole a web Spun on branches high and spread Quiet steps through threads they broke
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The Rich Grew Rich Robbing the Pauper
The Rich Grew Rich Robbing the Pauper They took his coin with quiet smiles, Cloaked in silk and clever wiles. He begged for mercy, none was shown,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The Late Night Ride to Hell
The Late Night Ride to Hell The road was slick with diesel spit, The moon a busted headlamp’s glint. No stars, no signs—just static hiss
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Nothing.
The iron grip is the inescapable past, Though I once ran to it, willingly, with my own feet, smile on my face because you were all I had,
By April about a year ago in Poets
Strength Through Struggle
''Iron'' will be strong.. must pass through ''Fire'' ''Heart'' of people will be strong.. must pass through ''Obstacles'' ... Sometimes
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Poets
The Fire That Stays
You have to understand: I never meant to linger in your veins. I meant to pass through— a storm, not a season. But I tasted something in you,
By SophiaSosoabout a year ago in Poets