Prompts 1

A series of poems I wrote from prompts one day while I was sick in bed.

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What I Let Drown

I knew

if I didn’t let you go

I would drown too.

So I loosened my grip,

finger by finger,

watched you drift deeper

beneath the trembling water.

Your hair spread out

like ink in the calm,

your lips parted

as if they had

one last thing

to say.

I almost followed.

Almost dove in with you.

Almost let the dark

close over my head

like a lid.

But life kept calling me

in ugly human ways—

heart racing,

limbs shaking,

the animal panic

of survival.

So I stayed in the light

while you sank.

Said my goodbyes and,

achingly,

moved forward.

I still see you

in mirrors,

old photographs,

in the parts of me

that mistake suffering

for devotion.

But the truth is:

you never loved me.

I tried to love you.

You were the version of me

that didn’t know

how to live

without drowning.

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“A picture of a dark-haired woman lovingly bent over a half-submerged face in the water.”

I drew inspiration from a time in my life when I had two choices: continue being the traumatized version of myself, or become the strong mother my children deserved.

So I chose growth over the version of me that insisted on drowning. As in the poem, I still see that version of me from time to time— I will never not have a piece of her with me— but now I can realize and change when I see her again.

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The Arsonist

Again and again

the symphony screams

in grotesquely beautiful chaos.

The world burns around them

while they play on

through frowning faces

and forced applause.

Forced by who?

The arsonist

who sat outside,

for he loved to watch

the world burn.

—————————

“A picture of an audience watching a symphony play in a burning theatre.”

I drew inspiration from the state of the world today. The symphony and its audience represent ordinary people carrying on through chaos, while the arsonist represents those in power who ignite destruction only to sit back and watch it spread.

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Forevermore

I walked past the same path

every day,

a path once worn,

now thick with green.

I could have walked it many times.

Again.

Again.

But I never did.

And tomorrow,

when I see it again,

I will walk past it

again.

And next week,

next month,

next year—

I will walk on

forevermore

——————

“Say ‘I lied’ without saying ‘I lied.’”

I drew inspiration from a time when I could have told the truth over and over again, but never did. Eventually, the lie grew over with green, and I could no longer bring myself to rewalk the path that once came so naturally to me.

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More

He loved me

like a mother

who loved

her husband more.

She loved me

like a man

who knew

he could make more.

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A poem I wrote for a prompt:

"Write a poem with the words 'He loved me' based around the theme of complex love."

I drew inspiration from growing up with adopted parents who could not have children, while still feeling emotionally replaceable.