Breathe Again Poem About Toxic Relationship
Since there have been love poems, there accept been poems nigh breaking up, grief, and heartbreak. Seriously, just have a look at Homer or Virgil. Or how nigh like 60% of what Shakespeare wrote nigh? Valentine'due south Day can be a super fun vacation whether you are in a relationship or not. But if you aren't peculiarly feeling Cupid this year, go ahead and wallow in these sad love (and anti-love) poems.
1. "Later Dearest" by Sara Teasdale
There is no magic any more,
Nosotros meet as other people do,
You work no phenomenon for me
Nor I for you.
Yous were the wind and I the bounding main –
There is no splendor whatever more,
I have grown listless as the puddle
Beside the shore.
But though the puddle is safe from storm
And from the tide has found surcease,
Information technology grows more bitter than the body of water,
For all its peace.
2. "The Intermission Up Verse form" by Rage Almighty
iii. "Oxymoronic Dear" by Jennifer Militello
Hatred is the new love. Rage is right. Impact
is touch. The collars of the glaze, turned downward,
point up. The corners of our hearts are smoothed
with crude. Our glass breaks slick, our teeth
rip soft. The mollusk of me, shell-less.
If the futurity in one case was, the by predicted
us. The street gives off rhythm. The sun
gives off dusk. When we walk, nosotros
pour backward. When we accept nix,
it'due south enough. The hunger leaves us satisfied,
the fullness leaves us wrung. The sum of all
its parts is whole, the reap of it has roots, not
took or plucked. Far autonomously, we movement inside
our clothes: open is old, young is closed. The fangs
we used to bare are milk teeth grown from gums.
The fire we used to be scathed by numbs. We
run on the track of our consumption, done.
Nosotros've been ice when liquid is our natural state.
We've worn our husks, we've clenched our fists.
We scold and punish, scrape, pay a price.
We dole out in slanders what has no weight.
Nosotros pay in cringing for the moments. We open up
injuries in one another. Nosotros lacerate places
that flex similar knuckles, fissure and grow. We are
sipping from the water's thirst. We were lost
at first. From the finish, begun. Nosotros undergo
the hurting the other knows. We are cartoon yards
where dogs dig for lost basic. Esoteric,
we are full of holes. That need to be filled.
That need to exist dug. We are under-loved.
We are under-known. Give to us and nosotros are
downcast and uplifted and sift like water
and sand like rock. We are greedy, we are
gone. We are helpless, nosotros are decumbent. Drain us
or fill us and we'll ache a vast installment.
Allow united states of america empty. Let us alone. Madness
is our happiness. Sadness is our home.
iv. "The Fist" past Derek Walcott
This fist clenched circular my centre
loosens a picayune, and I gasp
brightness; but it tightens
again. When have I ever not loved
the pain of love? Only this has moved
past dearest to mania. This has the potent
clench of the madman, this is
gripping the ledge of unreason, before
plunging howling into the completeness.
Hold hard and so, eye. This way at least you live.
v. "104" fromThe Sun and Her Flowersby Rupi Kaur
6. "Stay With Me" by Bianca Phipps
7. "Heavy" past Mary Oliver
That fourth dimension
I idea I could not
go any closer to grief
without dying
I went closer,
and I did not die.
Surely God
had his mitt in this,
besides as friends.
However, I was aptitude,
and my laughter,
equally the poet said,
was nowhere to exist found.
Then said my friend Daniel,
(brave even among lions),
"It'southward not the weight you lot carry
but how you carry information technology –
books, bricks, grief –
information technology'south all in the fashion
you embrace it, remainder it, carry it
when you lot cannot, and would non,
put it down."
And then I went practicing.
Have y'all noticed?
Have you heard
the laughter
that comes, now and once again,
out of my startled rima oris?
How I linger
to admire, adore, admire
the things of this world
that are kind, and maybe
also troubled –
roses in the wind,
the ocean geese on the steep waves,
a love
to which at that place is no reply?
8. A poem fromThe Princess Saves Herself in This One by Amanda Lovelace
https://www.instagram.com/p/BlYUE4RgzU5/
ix. "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed, and Where, and Why" by Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms accept lain
Under my head till morning; but the pelting
Is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the drinking glass and listen for reply,
And in my heart there stirs a serenity hurting
For unremembered lads that not once again
Volition turn to me at midnight with a cry.
Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,
Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,
Yet knows its boughs more than silent than before:
I cannot say what loves accept come and gone,
I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more.
10. "My Honest Poem" by Rudy Francisco
11. "Sonnet 139" past William Shakespeare
O, phone call not me to justify the wrong
That thy unkindness lays upon my heart;
Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue;
Utilize power with power, and slay me not by art.
Tell me thousand lov'st elsewhere; but in my sight,
Love center, forbear to glance thine eye aside;
What demand'st k wound with cunning when thy might
Is more than than my o'erpressed defense can abide?
Let me excuse thee: ah, my love well knows
Her pretty looks accept been mine enemies;
And therefore from my face she turns my foes,
That they elsewhere might dart their injuries—
Nonetheless do not so; but since I am nearly slain,
Kill me outright with looks and rid my pain.
12. "Prism" by Andrea Gibson
13. "Never Give ALl the Centre" by W.B. Yeats
Never give all the center, for honey
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if information technology seem
Sure, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to buss;
For everything that's lovely is
Only a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the eye outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Take given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and bullheaded with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his middle and lost.
fourteen. "Movement Song" by Audre Lorde
I take studied the tight curls on the back of your neck
moving away from me
beyond anger or failure
your face in the evening schools of longing
through mornings of wish and ripen
we were always saying goodbye
in the blood in the bone over java
before dashing for elevators going
in opposite directions
without goodbyes.
Do not remember me as a span nor a roof
as the maker of legends
nor as a trap
door to that earth
where blackness and white clericals
hang on the edge of beauty in five oclock elevators
twitching their shoulders to avoid other mankind
and at present
there is someone to speak for them
moving away from me into tomorrows
morning time of wish and ripen
your goodbye is a promise of lightning
in the last angels hand
unwelcome and alarm
the sands take run out against us
we were rewarded past journeys
abroad from each other
into desire
into mornings alone
where excuse and endurance mingle
conceiving decision.
Exercise not remember me
as disaster
nor as the keeper of secrets
I am a fellow rider in the cattle cars
watching
y'all move slowly out of my bed
saying we cannot waste time
only ourselves.
xv. "For Women Who Are Difficult to Dearest" by Warsan Shire
16. "Mad Girl's Honey Song" by Sylvia Plath
I shut my eyes and all the world drops expressionless;
I elevator my lids and all is built-in again.
(I remember I made y'all up inside my head.)
The stars go waltzing out in bluish and red,
And capricious blackness gallops in:
I close my eyes and all the world drops dead.
I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I fabricated you upwardly inside my caput.)
God topples from the sky, hell'southward fires fade:
Get out seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my optics and all the world drops dead.
I fancied y'all'd return the fashion you said,
But I grow old and I forget your proper name.
(I retrieve I made you lot up inside my head.)
I should accept loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back over again.
I close my eyes and all the earth drops expressionless.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)
17. "Local News: Adult female Dies in Chimney" by Kristin Tracy
They broke upward and she, either fed up or drunk or undone,
ached to go back within. Officials surmise
she climbed a ladder to his roof, removed
the chimney cap and entered anxiety first. Long story short,
she died there. Stuck. Like a tragic Santa. Struggling
for days, the news explains. Information technology was a smell that led
to the discovery of her body. I neighbor
speaks direct into the microphone, asks how a person
could condone and then much: the damper, the flue,
the smoke shelf. He can't imagine what it was she faced.
The empty garage. The locked back door. And is that
a calorie-free on in the den? They show usa the grass
where they found her purse. And it's non impossible to pic
her standing on the patio — abandoned — the mind
turning obscene, all hopes pinned on refastening the snap.
And then spotting the bricks ascent in a higher place the roof
and at commencement believing and and so knowing, sun flashing its
god-blinding calorie-free backside it, that the chimney was the way.
eighteen. "The Breakup" by Kyla Jenee Lacey
nineteen. "This Was Once a Honey Poem" by Jane Hirshfield
This was one time a dear verse form,
before its haunches thickened, its breath grew short,
before information technology found itself sitting,
perplexed and a niggling embarrassed,
on the fender of a parked auto,
while many people passed by without turning their heads.
It remembers itself dressing equally if for a great engagement.
It remembers choosing these shoes,
this scarf or tie.
One time, it drank beer for breakfast,
drifted its anxiety
in a river side by side with the feet of another.
Once it pretended shyness, so grew truly shy,
dropping its head so the hair would fall forrad,
then the eyes would non exist seen.
It spoke with passion of history, of art.
It was lovely and then, this verse form.
20. "Are All the Breakups in Your Poems Existent?" past Aimee Nezhukumatathil
If by real you mean as real as a shark tooth stuck
in your heel, the wetness of a finished lollipop stick,
the surprise of a thumbtack in your purse—
then Yes, every last folio is true, every nuance,
bit, and bite. Wait. I have made them up—all of them—
and when I say I am married, it means I married
all of them, a whole neighborhood of by loves.
Can you imagine the number of bouquets, how many
slices of block? Even now, my husbands plan a great meal
for us—ane chops up some parsley, one stirs a bubbles pot
on the stove. One changes the babe, and one sleeps
in a fatty chair. 1 flips through the newspaper, some other
whistles while he shaves in the shower, and every unmarried
one of them wonders what time I am coming abode.
21. "You Fit Into Me" past Margaret Atwood
You fit into me
like a hook into an eye
a fish hook
an open eye
22. Verse form fromPillow Thoughtsby Courtney Peppernell
23. "A Winter'southward Tale" by D.H. Lawrence
Yesterday the fields were only greyness with scattered snow,
And now the longest grass-leaves inappreciably emerge;
All the same her deep footsteps mark the snowfall, and go
On towards the pines at the hills' white verge.
I cannot see her, since the mist'south white scarf
Obscures the dark wood and the dull orange heaven;
Just she's waiting, I know, impatient and cold, half
Sobs struggling into her frosty sigh.
Why does she come up then promptly, when she must know
That she'due south only the nearer to the inevitable farewell;
The hill is steep, on the snow my steps are slow –
Why does she come, when she knows what I have to tell?
24. "Dearest Elegy in the Chinese Garden, with Koi" by Nathan McClain
Near the entrance, a patch of tall grass.
Near the tall grass, long-stemmed plants;
each bending an ear-shaped cone
to the pond's surface. If y'all looked closely,
you could make out silverish koi
swishing toward the clouded pond's edge
where a boy tugs at his mother'south shirt for a quarter.
To buy fish feed. And watching that male child,
as he knelt downwards to let the koi osculation his palms,
I missed what it was to be so dumb
as those koi. I like to remember they're pure,
that that's why even after the boy'due south palms were empty,
after he had nothing else to requite, they still kissed
his easily. Considering who hasn't done that—
loved and so intently even after everything
has gone? Loved something that has washed
its hands of you lot? I similar to think I'm different now,
that I'm enlightened somehow,
only who am I kidding? I know I'm like those koi,
yet, with their popping mouths, that would kiss
those hands over again if given the chance. So impaired.
25. "I Wanted to Make Myself Like the Ravine" by Hannah Gamble
I wanted to make myself like the ravine
and so that all good things
would menstruation into me.
Because the ravine is lowly,
it receives an abundance.
This sounds wonderful
to everyone
who suffers from lacking,
but consider, too, that a ravine
keeps zero out:
in flows a peach
with simply one seize with teeth taken out of it,
but in flows, too,
the body of a stiff mouse
half cooked by the heat of the stove
information technology was toughening under.
I have an easygoing style virtually me.
I've been an inviting host —
meaning to, non meaning to.
Oops — he's approaching with his tongue
already out
and moving.
Analyze the risks
of condign a ravine.
Compare those with the risks
of condign a well
with a well-bolted lid.
Which I'd prefer
depends largely on which kinds
of animals were inside me
when the lid went on
and how probable they'd exist
to savor the h2o,
vs. drown, freeze, or starve.
The lesson: close yourself off
at exactly the right fourth dimension.
On the 24-hour interval that you wake up
under some yellow defunction
with a smile on your face,
lock the door.
Live out your days
untroubled like that.
Source: https://bookriot.com/poems-about-breaking-up/