Heartbeat Poems
Empty Chest
by Kailey Norris
I feel my heartbeat through an empty chest,
Calm is a state of mind.
A state of being.
Physically, calmness is the ability to block the mind,
Focus on slow breaths and smooth heartbeats.
11/19/23
defeated by memories
by SJ K
Sometimes it feels like my tears are more like a waterfall than drops. And like my eyes are merely sponges, already full, because when the slightest memory of you comes to mind, tears are always ready to fall.
But how else could it be when a part of me is dying? Maybe already dead? Decaying?
Sometimes it hurts my heart to breathe and think and live, and what and that it is keeping me alive feels more like a dense weight when my life itself is now one unknown, without you.
But how else could it be as the memories that once fortified and shaped it become distorted and reconfigured, melting into deeper places, out of reach for the sponge that my eyes have become, tucked away, since the memories that once brought me joy are now attacking me?
And after eight years, this army of memories has built quite an arsenal. Enough to defeat me, perhaps.
......
Continue Dancing
by Anisha Nyambe
As you dance, take every step as if it is your last,
Every move should be your best.
Dance to the tune of the music you play
Let your heartbeat respond to the beat of your music.
If ever you are to fall, get up and continue dancing.
Empty Chest
by Kailey Norris
I feel my heartbeat through an empty chest,
Calm is a state of mind.
A state of being.
Physically, calmness is the ability to block the mind,
Focus on slow breaths and smooth heartbeats.
11/19/23
Continue Dancing
by Anisha Nyambe
As you dance, take every step as if it is your last,
Every move should be your best.
Dance to the tune of the music you play
Let your heartbeat respond to the beat of your music.
If ever you are to fall, get up and continue dancing.
defeated by memories
by SJ K
Sometimes it feels like my tears are more like a waterfall than drops. And like my eyes are merely sponges, already full, because when the slightest memory of you comes to mind, tears are always ready to fall.
But how else could it be when a part of me is dying? Maybe already dead? Decaying?
Sometimes it hurts my heart to breathe and think and live, and what and that it is keeping me alive feels more like a dense weight when my life itself is now one unknown, without you.
But how else could it be as the memories that once fortified and shaped it become distorted and reconfigured, melting into deeper places, out of reach for the sponge that my eyes have become, tucked away, since the memories that once brought me joy are now attacking me?
And after eight years, this army of memories has built quite an arsenal. Enough to defeat me, perhaps.
......
