Palm open, hanging lonely at my side, empty, longing to entwine with fingers constant and consoling... The images are starting to fade, I can't feel your pulse. A dramatic sophomore's first heartbreak poetry.
high school poetry
Day 3: Form of Death – Raw Grief at My Grandfather’s Grave
I kneel before you, grass imprints on my hands and knees... The dirty, gray, aging stone tries to tell me you're not here anymore, but I feel you. A raw, visceral poem of grief written at my grandfather's grave.
Writer's Growth 