I helped you out of the grave you’d dug for yourself. I cleaned the dirt from between your fingers. I taught them how to wrap around hope, instead of self-hate.
I handed you sunlight, pulling it from the sky even when it scorched my hands, waiting for it to cool enough to warm you instead of burn you. I placed safety nets above the ground every time you looked like you might jump from a high place.
I wove you healing. I built you a shelter. I collected every piece of hail that fell from the sky, so it wouldn’t cut you when you insisted on sitting out under the storm. I leapt in front each lightning strike, blocking your body with my own.
But most importantly, I stayed. Even when you handed me blame in the form of a chain around my ankle. Even when you discarded your problems at my front door, in a ripped envelope with no return address, disappearing at their arrival. Even when you handed me apathy in an empty glass vial labelled goodbye.
How could you deliberately drag down the person who always chose to pull you up? How could you take a knife to a helping hand?
You gave me cruel carelessness for every time I begged for closure. My only regret is believing this would have a different ending.
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About the Creator
Poppy
poetry in progress
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Heartfelt and relatable
The story invoked strong personal emotions
the magic of kindness
Homelessness is hard But one act of kindness can Thaw even concrete —————— The older I get, the more I become very well aware of the privilege that I grew up with. There is no greater privilege than to have a roof over your head and food on the table every night when you come home from school or work. It might seem as though it’s a given or something everyone has when you’re young and naive, sheltered from some of the more harsh realities. But the older I’ve become, the more I realize just how singularly lucky I am. I might not have the means to eradicate homelessness, but I certainly recognize how lucky I am to occasionally have “extra,” and I will do as much as I can for as long as I can to give to those who may be in need, as encouraged by my kind and ever generous parents.
By Mikayla Rose7 days ago in Poets
The Ritual of Winter Challenge Winners
Welcome to the Winners Announcement for The Ritual of Winter challenge. This prompt focused on winter rituals and the meaning that settles into them over time. The top pieces stay grounded in ordinary acts and repeated routines, letting winter shape the work through pace, attention, and restraint.
By Vocal Curation Team6 days ago in Resources
Comments (9)
Gorgeous, this felt so beautiful to read. It's so immersive!
Brilliant as always Poppy! You have this magical ability to peak into my heart and write out exactly how I sometimes feel but lack the skill to express. Fabulous!
I wanna frame this and hang it in my room! Every single line resonated so deeply with me!
Poppy, your poems speak to my broken heart 😘
Brilliant work, Poppy! I felt this one.
Awesome poem, Poppy. Really feel the emotion
Why is it that broken hearts provide such fertile soil for poetry? Because fertilizer is what's been laid upon us.
Relatable poem! Great work!!!
You are so amazing at creating an atmosphere, at surprising me in your diction, your phrases, your devices. Little, interesting details that catch me off guard and make me want to keep reading. It's so unique to your style, Poppy, because you write in such a familiar way, yet you imbue each line with such a signature, that it becomes completely new and different. "I cleaned the dirt from between your fingers. I taught them how to wrap around hope, instead of self-hate." I love this line so much, I cannot express exactly why. It's the metaphor, I think, of what the fingers represent, what they really are, and what they do. Also. I bought your book!!!! I've been meaning to, I dunno what made me not until now. SOOO excited to read it!!