In English, we say: “I miss you.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I trace the shape of your absence in the spaces where your laughter used to linger,

and let the echoes of you fill the hollow hours.”

In English, we say: “I don’t know how to let go.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I carry you in my chest like a stone—

heavy, unyielding, and carved with the sharp edges of what once was.”

In English, we say: “I feel lost.”

But in poetry, we say:

“The compass of my heart spins wildly now,

its needle drawn to places it can no longer call home.”

In English, we say: “I wish it were different.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I water the garden of could-have-beens with tears,

waiting for flowers that refuse to bloom.”

In English, we say: “You hurt me.”

But in poetry, we say:

“You planted thorns in my chest with hands I once trusted,

and now every breath feels like an apology I shouldn’t owe.”

In English, we say: “I wanted to stay.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I lingered at the edge of your world,

a star burning quietly, unnoticed in your vast, indifferent sky.”

In English, we say: “I’m trying to move on.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I untangle your name from my veins each morning,

only to find it woven into my dreams again at night.”

In English, we say: “I’ll be okay.”

But in poetry, we say:

“I gather the shattered pieces of myself like broken glass,

knowing someday, even scars can catch the light.”

— Larson Langston

#poetry #grownostr