Grief - Blog Posts
I made a poem
I was feeling some complicated emotions regarding grief, emotions around grief, and other stuff. My grandma died on May 17th last year and I was feeling some confusion around all these feelings so yeah. Okay here’s the poem:
Blanket of grief
Grief, it’s complicated It feels so heavy Like a heavy blanket wrapped around your body It cuts so deep Like a knife going right for the heart It stings so bad Like a bunch of needles pricking your very soul It hits so hard Like a freight train going at full speed And hitting your spirit, which is stuck on the tracks At full force, without mercy It hurts, it hurts so much
And yet, as I’m starting to move on As the grief becomes less and less fresh As I’m starting to get used to the new normal A weird part of me, a twisted part of me, even Kind of misses it
A part of me misses the blanket The heavy blanket of grief The heavy blanket of empty sadness The heavy pressure on my soul Part of me finds comfort in the empty hollowness The deep sorrow my soul experienced While having that heavy blanket wrapped around itself
Part of me misses the knife The knife that cut through my heart at every memory I remembered Every memory of her The knife I tried to avoid by distracting myself The knife of truth, a painful truth, I tried to dodge Even though that only made the cuts bigger, the pain worse
Part of me misses the needles The needles that would prick my soul The needles which poked and taunted me from within The needles that came with each guilty thought, each unanswered question The needles of guilt and confusion, which I didn’t know how to deal with back then The guilt and confusion plaguing my very self at random
Sometimes, the freight train hits me again That’s the only thing I can’t really miss Not yet, at least It’s less bad, it hits less hard Less noticeable than when it was still new and fresh But it is there It hits with anything that reminds me of her It hits as I imagine what it would be like if she was still here Only to remember that she isn’t Not anymore The freight train brings the missed feelings back It comes with the blanket of sadness, knife of truth and needles of guilt and confusion Even though they’re all less heavy Less hard to deal with Less hard to swallow pills
I don’t know why I miss the fresh days of grief I didn’t like those times at all And still, an odd part of me Feels drawn to them Like a nostalgic memory I miss the blanket, even though it’s better that I learn to sleep without it I miss the knife, even though it’s good my heart is healing I miss the needles, even though it’s good that I’m hurting less What’s going on with me?
Feel free to comment and give your opinion on it but please don’t be mean, as this is a vent poem.
IVE BEEN CRYING FOR LIKE 20 MINUTES HOW TF DID HITLER 2 WIN BRO
I just lost all my rights I guess! Hahahahahaaahahahahahahhahahahahahhahahhaahaahahahahahahahahahhaaaahhahhaahhshshshsahahahahhahahahahahaahahahaahhahahahhahahahahahahahhhahahaha I’m having a crisis
-Oscar wilde. //The Importance of Being Earnest//
12 January. I am traumatized by life.
-Mahmoud Darwish, from "In the Presence of Absence," originally published in 2006
They were wrong, love is never enough to keep someone with you.
-Vladimir Nabokov, from letter to Vera Nabokov dated July 1923, featured in Letters to Vera
"If you want to kill somebody, conquer his heart, Then leave slowly and leave them between death and madness."
~ Nizar Qabbani
― Fyodor Dostoevsky, White Nights
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a letter to Arthur Davison Ficke
So all of it will heal one day or I will just get used to it?
-Ocean Vuong, from “Eurydice”, Night Sky with Exit Wounds
IT'S SEPTEMBER already, how can i hold my own heart.
-Anne Carson, from The Glass Essay
"I used to love September, but now it just rhymes with remember."
-Dominic Riccitello
“And then the sun took a step back, the leaves lulled themselves to sleep, and autumn awakened."
-Raquel Franco
-Sylvia Plath, from a letter to Aurelia Plath written c. August 1951
Charles Bukowski, "legs, hips and behind," from What Matters Most is How Well You Walk through the Fire
-Charles Bukowski, "cancer," from Come On In!
— Sylvia Plath, "The Bell Jar"
—Haruki Murakami, 1Q84
-Marguerite Duras, from The Easy Life
Marguerite Duras, from The Easy Life
Brenna twohy from Swallowtell //Sanna Wani, “Who is the Sun, Asking for Sleep?”, My Grief, the Sun // Fortesa Latifi, from The Truth About Grief.