The Most Exquisite Kind of Sadness

The most exquisite kind of sadness

Does not exist.

It is an absence.

A void where nothing used to be

And where nothing will remain

It’s a chamber I feel, eating away at my heart

While it whispers in my ear

That there was nothing there to begin with

I can name the greatest time I felt this sadness

And it wasn’t when mourning something that used to exist

I did not feel those exquisite tears fall after funerals

Nor in between goodbyes and good lucks

The sadness came for something that never was

And never will be

A sadness written out in paragraphs and poetry

So long the Iliad looks like a pamphlet

And a comedy

I still feel this sadness sometimes

Because I still keep pursuing those memories

And you can’t remember something that wasn’t there

And you can’t feel what didn’t exist

And you can’t love when they didn’t exist

When he was never there

And today, I write about the most exquisite kind of sadness

Even though it’s an absence


It’s been almost two years since I’ve felt this emotion, but I can recall it like it was yesterday. It still plucks at my heartstrings sometimes. I think that memory built part of who I am today, and although I believe life would be easier without it, I think there was definitely something learned from that time.


The Present

I feel a little cold.

And a little angry.

I feel a little scared

And mostly alone.

I feel that chill seeping deep into my bones

I can feel it making a home around my heart

Just as it did

One month apart

Seems like forever to me

And now I’m limited on how to be free

And I don’t quite feel like I’ve got my future right

I feel like I’ve kind of lost my foresight

And it makes me a little scared.

And a little mad

I feel like raging, but then feel bad

Who am I to want to cry?

I’ve got a great life, so why?

Why am I angry and why am I sad?

Why do I mourn something I never had?

Maybe I’m making it up for the show

But it feels more like I’m trying to hide a blow

And feeling guilty for the bruise someone else left

But I couldn’t possibly let this make me bereft

Over everything I own

So I’ll enjoy what I have

And stop staring at the ceiling

Wondering how I got so sad


This is a very personal poem for me. I wrote it during an emotional time, a damaging time, and I believe I capture most of what I feel through the lines. Felt. I would like to change my style, and I believe I will soon. Writing sad poetry only constructs sad thoughts, surprisingly.