I keep saying
no one ever loved me,
as though I have counted
every pair of hands
that ever reached for mine.
But sometimes
I find her again—
buried between old photographs,
beneath faded sunlight
and the dust of years.
A little girl
with trusting eyes
and a smile that believed
every door would open
if she knocked gently enough.
She trusted every hand
like it was meant to hold hers,
every smile meant to stay,
every familiar face
meant home.
She was afraid of the dark then,
afraid of empty rooms,
afraid of the silence
after everyone had gone to sleep.
Now I sit beside the same darkness
as if it has always known my name,
letting it settle around me
like something familiar.
I look at those photographs
and something inside me aches
for a girl who never knew
she was already being left behind.
She gave everyone
the softest pieces of herself—
held out her hands
without asking what they would return with,
as though she had an endless sky inside her
and could never run out of warmth.
And somehow,
even when the whole world
was busy choosing,
she was always the name
written in the corner
and crossed out first.
The least loved.
The second choice.
Maybe that is why
I cry when I see her.
I keep wondering
who she was waiting for,
in every picture,
standing so patiently
inside her own childhood.
Perhaps she wasn't waiting for anyone.
Perhaps, all those years,
she was waiting for me.
And I spent so long
waiting for someone to love her
that I forgot
I could have been the first.
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139,755 Literary Works • 672,703 Reviews
Wow. Usually I avoid poems because they always seem a tiny bit dry and boring to me, but... Dang you have successfully proved me wrong! I love your prose here, how it's professional, and yet also oh so personal at the same time.
Unfortunately I could relate with much of it. I fear there's something universal about seeing your younger self and aching for her in one way or another.
I really adore this line "And I spent so long waiting for someone to love her that I forgot I could have been the first."
That really hit home for me. I've not yet reached that point in my story, but I do so admire that you have! This was an inspiration to me, and I'm sure the other people who read this feel the same!
Great job
Fortunately* not unfortunately.. unfortunately is negative, example:
"I unfortunately couldn't come to my best friend's birthday party."
Fortunately is usually positive (unless used sarcastically) example:
"Fortunately my mom allowed me to go to the birthday party."
"Fortunately
Wow, that was a punch in the gut of a poem. This is something I can strongly connect to. I, too, feel sad when I look at old pictures of myself and remember what I felt like then. That feeling of being left out, unloved by those around you, so aware of these things yet so young; it's so painfully portrayed throughout your poem. I like the reclamation of the use of the em-dash (ChatGPT can prise the em-dash out of my dead, cold hands with the reputation it has given it), as it makes it feel like you are physically reaching out in those moments, trying to grab the past again. The last stanza is definitely the strongest message, realising you could have been kinder to that little girl in the photograph, that you could have loved her; it was ultimately heartbreaking yet, hopeful. You can love her from afar, because she is within you always!
I have no recommendations; a truly beautiful piece of poetry <3
This is an amazing poem about what it feels like to grow up (at least the way that I interpret it) I am somewhat new to poetry so I'm not really qualified to give a constructive review but I think that the word choices and the tone are fantastic. Great job!!
Thankyou!!!
Ahhh this is so good, much love <3
Thankyouuu Alex!