The audacity of “well anyways”
as if grief were a typo,
as if it could be backspaced
mid-sentence
and replaced with something lighter, easier...
more convenient to carry.
The audacity of “it’s okay”
a bandage pasted so loosely
it falls apart moment you touch it
a lie dressed in soft syllables
meant to quiet storms
that never learn how to weather.
When it wasn’t okay.
Not in the silence that followed,
not in the way you learned
the language of collapse,
not in the quiet rearranging
of everything you thought was certain.
It was never ever okay...
not in the nights stretched too long,
not in the echoes refused to fade,
not in the way your name
felt different in your own mouth
After everything .
And it will never be okay
not in the shrug of dismissal,
not in the casual cruelty of moving on
as if nothing was dropped
and left to shatter behind them.
There is an audacity
in wrapping ruins with ribbons of indifference,
in pretending that pain
can be negotiated into something smaller.
But you...
remember the weight of it,
remember how it cracked,
how it echoed,
how it stayed.
And no “anyways”
will ever be big enough
to hold
what it broke .
as if grief were a typo,
as if it could be backspaced
mid-sentence
and replaced with something lighter, easier...
more convenient to carry.
The audacity of “it’s okay”
a bandage pasted so loosely
it falls apart moment you touch it
a lie dressed in soft syllables
meant to quiet storms
that never learn how to weather.
When it wasn’t okay.
Not in the silence that followed,
not in the way you learned
the language of collapse,
not in the quiet rearranging
of everything you thought was certain.
It was never ever okay...
not in the nights stretched too long,
not in the echoes refused to fade,
not in the way your name
felt different in your own mouth
After everything .
And it will never be okay
not in the shrug of dismissal,
not in the casual cruelty of moving on
as if nothing was dropped
and left to shatter behind them.
There is an audacity
in wrapping ruins with ribbons of indifference,
in pretending that pain
can be negotiated into something smaller.
But you...
remember the weight of it,
remember how it cracked,
how it echoed,
how it stayed.
And no “anyways”
will ever be big enough
to hold
what it broke .
