Warning: This work has been rated 16+.
I romanticize my pain, for what else can I feel in this dark?
The sanctity of the sun was a soulful illusion I drafted in my loneliness,
crafted from salty tears and the ashes of my burning skin.
-
I linger between the prison bars I built for safety
and the ones that rose for my punishment,
knitting a blanket of despair from the golden hair I shed,
shaping a hard pillow from the teeth I pull,
remnants I cannot release, crafting comfort from my own depletion.
-
I am refuge, and I am wound—
just as much as my love is wrong, so is my self-hatred,
yet I cannot seem to part from either.
I never let anything go;
I will not bury my pieces while I still breathe,
but I will leave roses for the idea.
-
From a desperate age, I learned of absence through yearning,
and the hands that were meant to cradle
taught me the language of ruin instead.
I breathe because the body exists,
building a mausoleum from the rubble,
a cathedral to praise my ruin, sacred even in despair,
a place to beg sanctuary and reside while I break, if I must,
every piece that falls guided into the walls.
-
And in the hollow nave of my becoming,
I will shape what should have held me.
I will let the echoes gather—
harsh-footed memories drifting like dust in stained air,
resonant with every tremor I tried to silence.
Light fractures through the broken spaces,
splintered beams painting my sorrow in muted colors,
as if even the cracks knew how to mock me.
-
I kneel beneath the architecture of what remains,
my unglorified pieces that parted from my weakening body,
timid fingers playfully tracing the cracks I built,
my ruin in preservation,
placing a scarred hand upon each hardened stone and whispering:
Why?
You held, even when I didn’t.
Even when I couldn’t.
Why?
Points:
Time spent:
IP address:
Canary word: Present
Possible AI signals:
Original Text:
Are you sure you want to delete this comment? This cannot be undone.
Mark this comment as a review? Points will be awarded to the poster.
Your comment was posted, but it wasn’t long enough to count as a review. Reviews need about four complete sentences (at least 250 characters). Try writing another review that explains your thoughts in more detail — the author will appreciate it, and you’ll earn points for it.
137,429 Literary Works • 672,015 Reviews
Hello there, human! I'm reviewing using the YWS S'more Method today!
Shalt we commence with the scary S’more?
Top Graham Cracker - This is a poem that can feel both comforting and torturous, soft and sharp, but it holds a somewhat familiar note in its words.
Slightly Burnt Marshmallow - I have no recommendations to make as of right now, but if you would like to edit this, then you may.
Chocolate Bar - I love that this poem seems to be about the author finding joy and terror in who they are, as if love is so great that it’s suffocating. My favorite lines were “I breathe because the body exists” and “You held, even when I didn’t” because that this person is only just moving throughout life, with fleeting feelings of purpose.
Closing Graham Cracker - Overall, a very interesting poem about the pains of love. (That’s what I feel like this is about.) I enjoyed reading this and I hope that you have…
An amazing day/night! ^v^
Must say I already love the imagery in your summary. Stitching sanctuaray out of what hurt you and using pain as a way to structure life/the stitch work? That’s really cool and creative!
Especially because this alone already feels as if a broken person is accepting that the fractured life isn’t going to be repaired, cannot become how it once was but that doesn’t mean life ends like this. Instead, you have to stitch together what’s left behind and make your life out of this. That’s what the summary makes me think of anyway. Onto the actual poem xd
Oh I like the lines abt the prison bars, built for safety by the narrator and also as punishment. It could mean two different prisons but it also works if it’s the same thing. The prison meant to keep you safe is also what shut other ppl/your own healthy emotions out. Punishment? Punishment for what, I wonder.
Immediately thought of fairytales with Rapunzel and the toothfairy at these lines. Which is probably not intended but my mind goes to places sometimes^^°
I like the stanza that starts with refuge and wound a lot. The contradictions mirror the complex cognitive bias humans can develop so well! I find it especially sad that in order to reject the self-hatred you also have to let go of actually truly loving someone ☹
Oh this makes me think this might also be abt child abuse? “and the hands that were meant to cradle” Oh heavy stuff ☹
Also the “I breathe because the body exists” really shows how empty the life of the narrator here is, there is nothing really to do but breathe, nothing to look forward to , nothing really to live for but also nothing really to die for, just this… void existence.
And I keep coming back to the line of the broken pieces being guided back into walls. As if… this is the prison the narrator is building, out of the broken pieces of themselves, guided into this fortress that shuts the world out?
Usually this here would mean something good right? “Light fractures through the broken spaces,” that the imprisonment is not complete, that something is still coming through. But then you have this: “as if even the cracks knew how to mock me.” Which might mean that even the light is just an illusion, that just that is not enough and more pain than cure ☹
Hmm that ending really is thought-provoking. Are we talking about the strong walls around the might, that even after the person inside has been broken down, this wall still held strong, not letting anyone see what’s going on inside?
Hello Tikaya,
I love how deeply you read my work, and I love seeing the paths your mind treads. When I write, I pull words out of the smoke I breathe, I hear language in the pictures I gaze upon, I feel intent in the soul that resides in me, and in the sadness I see in wandering eyes. Because of that, the questions woven into the poem are not meant to be answered definitively by me.
They are meant to be heard inside of you.
My poems are shaped so each reader can feel their own echoes in the imagery. Without a fixed meaning, it is whatever emotions rise from your depths, whatever emotions stir, whatever lines awaken when you sit with them for long enough.