When you wrote “a wine stain on my favourite white cotton shirt,” I felt that. That image carries the kind of pain that seeps. It doesn’t scream, it stains.
And when you said, “At 23 my shirt was crimson red… I hate the colour red,” I stopped breathing for a moment. Because I know that red too well... the kind that almost swallowed me whole. I committed the act myself once. Clinically died for seven minutes, and survived it by sheer luck. And even now, years later, I still think about what that red would’ve done to the people who love me. How it would’ve haunted them the way your “ghost of a white shirt” haunts you.
Your words reach into that quiet place most people never see. The one where grief and guilt blur into survival.
You captured that ache of “why did I have to lose me too?” so perfectly.
God, that question has lived in my chest for years.
Thank you for writing this. For bleeding it into the page so someone like me could find themselves in it. I’m so deeply sorry for what you’ve lived through, and so grateful you’re still here to tell it. 🖤
I felt every word. Great poem!
Thank you, Dorie. ❤️
Such a touching piece Mia! Beautiful 🤍
Thank you Hannah ❤️
Powerful and beautiful.
Thank you, Glenn!
Love the metaphor of the white shirt...so powerful.
Thank you Angad!!
Beautifully written..🌷
Would love to connect with you!!
Thank you love 🫶🏻 ditto
Oh 🫠 that’s a great one !
Thank you Lexie 🥹
An incredible piece of work, the writing is amazing.
Thank you so much Duncan, means a lot. Love your work! ❤️
Oh thank you, feel free to subscribe to my work
I’m already subscribed to you so back at you! 🫶🏻
It was wonderful, and it makes life difficult when one's parents die in childhood.💐
Thank you, Nazmus. It sure does, but we got to let it shape us and not define us. ❤️
Doesn’t formation give definition? If it does not, then reality itself does not shape us for it is through consciousness that both gain their power.
This is soo beautiful ❤️
Powerful and raw. I loved every part of this. Thank you for such an impactful experience. I wish your heart so much healing and love!
sheesh.. this hit me so hard
thanks for sharing.
You're good with words and this is a beautiful piece 👏🏾...... It's something deep
My heart cried. Such a lovely piece.
This piece wrecked me in the most human way.
When you wrote “a wine stain on my favourite white cotton shirt,” I felt that. That image carries the kind of pain that seeps. It doesn’t scream, it stains.
And when you said, “At 23 my shirt was crimson red… I hate the colour red,” I stopped breathing for a moment. Because I know that red too well... the kind that almost swallowed me whole. I committed the act myself once. Clinically died for seven minutes, and survived it by sheer luck. And even now, years later, I still think about what that red would’ve done to the people who love me. How it would’ve haunted them the way your “ghost of a white shirt” haunts you.
Your words reach into that quiet place most people never see. The one where grief and guilt blur into survival.
You captured that ache of “why did I have to lose me too?” so perfectly.
God, that question has lived in my chest for years.
Thank you for writing this. For bleeding it into the page so someone like me could find themselves in it. I’m so deeply sorry for what you’ve lived through, and so grateful you’re still here to tell it. 🖤
Thank you, Mercy! 💛