on writing poetry

I promise,

That boy you thought really loved you, he didn’t.

Someone else is going to come out of nowhere and he’s going to hug you and love you so much, until you’re so full of love and life and happiness that you couldn’t even think to ask for anything more

And he’ll never leave you, even if you’re far apart, even if he goes somewhere that he can never come back from, even if you don’t see him for a long time,

You’ll never be alone ever again

—  Because that’s what it means to really be in love

And if you leave in the night, I will not be surprised. I never expect to be anything but alone after sunrise.

And if you tell all your friends, please understand my frustration - fucking should not be the only time we have a private conversation.

And if you see me on the street, at least meet my eyes. You slurred out your words when you said “I’m not like other guys”. 

And if you never speak to me again, I will move on and let it go. I am more than you saw me for. I am so much more than you will ever know.


I’ve always said I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up, but I’ve figured it out.

I want to be the flower growing among the rocks of my back patio.

I want to be the beautiful thing that emerges from this dull, lifeless town.

I want to be so much more than what this town has to offer; what these people have to offer.

I want to do something for the world, not just waste my time rotting away with the other corpses in this town.

If I shut my eyes tight enough,
sifting through all the memories
that I have forgotten about,
I catch a glimpse of you.

I catch a glimpse of what you
may have looked like.
What you may have been like.
What you might have been, before.

I can no longer recall the
gentleness of your voice, or if
it was ever gentle at all.
I’m losing pieces of you.

But if I squeeze my eyes shut,
and reach, reach for you,
reach out to the darkest parts of me.
I catch a glimpse of us.

—  “You’re fading, and I’m not ready to let go”
I feel like all I talk about is you to my friends. But I can’t help it, people just like to talk about the things that make them happy. And you just so happen to make me extremely happy. So, of course, I love talking about you but I would love it more if you and I talked.
“she’s a little heartbreaker,”
my mom said on a careless sunday afternoon
and I puffed up with pride
because how pretty must I be
to break a gentle boy’s heart
everyone always said I led you around
on a golden string
with my sweet voice
and my face too comparable to a painting
for you to deserve
they said I broke your heart
your dream girl runaway
but the truth is,
I never broke your heart
you broke it yourself
and you broke mine
and sure, you never led me around like a lost dog
but I did follow you like one
with my face too pretty and voice too sweet pining
after a boy too gentle and far too destructful
I told them I was a heartbreaker
because maybe it would make me feel a little less pathetic
when I chased after you
with a big hopeful smile
all over again
—  Miriam K, heartbreaker