Personal Poetry
I saw it land
wet and coming apart at the corners,
still holding its shape
but barely.
I don't know how to give it back.
I don't know if you'd want it back,
ruined like this,
or if you're already gone,
building something new
with steadier hands.
All I know is
I'm standing here with someone else's sorrow
and it feels too heavy
for something made of paper.
The wind keeps blowing.
I keep thinking about that child,
how she must have watched it go,
reaching after nothing.
I do that too sometimes
reach for things already lost,
pretend my fingers might close
around air and memory
and call it enough.
Maybe we're all just
letting go of our careful work,
watching it scatter,
wondering if anyone will find the pieces
and understand
what we were trying to make.
Stunning. Thank you for this beautiful poem.
Fragile peace, folded with care. There’s so much tenderness and lived history in these few lines. And I agree with Asuka, that last line...
oh this felt like holding a tiny paper thing and not breathing too hard~
the folding part made my heart go soft
and that last line landed like a hush~
🩷 the delicate and the balance tentative at best. Yes don’t breathe too hard, don’t crush it in your hands.
The end of the poem turns so quickly. And the rhythm is so playful. Almost like a child’s rhyme.
Like ring around the rosie yes? It felt that way writing it, playful yet about something devastating.
Beautifully written Dorie
It’s a beautiful poem through its fragility. I really enjoy it.
I saw it land
wet and coming apart at the corners,
still holding its shape
but barely.
I don't know how to give it back.
I don't know if you'd want it back,
ruined like this,
or if you're already gone,
building something new
with steadier hands.
All I know is
I'm standing here with someone else's sorrow
and it feels too heavy
for something made of paper.
The wind keeps blowing.
I keep thinking about that child,
how she must have watched it go,
reaching after nothing.
I do that too sometimes
reach for things already lost,
pretend my fingers might close
around air and memory
and call it enough.
Maybe we're all just
letting go of our careful work,
watching it scatter,
wondering if anyone will find the pieces
and understand
what we were trying to make.
Stunning. Thank you for this beautiful poem.
Fragile peace, folded with care. There’s so much tenderness and lived history in these few lines. And I agree with Asuka, that last line...
oh this felt like holding a tiny paper thing and not breathing too hard~
the folding part made my heart go soft
and that last line landed like a hush~
🩷 the delicate and the balance tentative at best. Yes don’t breathe too hard, don’t crush it in your hands.
The end of the poem turns so quickly. And the rhythm is so playful. Almost like a child’s rhyme.
Like ring around the rosie yes? It felt that way writing it, playful yet about something devastating.
Beautifully written Dorie
It’s a beautiful poem through its fragility. I really enjoy it.