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Our memories lurch to a reluctant halt in their funeral march, so I can pour salt over them one last time.

Stephanie Briar

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It quietly stops my breath to realize that my greatest grand gesture, my last, best act of love was to let you go.
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Act Best Breathe Greatness Last Let Go Love Myself Quiet
Poetry? That’s easy. I just cut the vein, and let it bleed.
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Our memories lurch to a reluctant halt in their funeral march, so I can pour salt over them one last time.
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Trauma has deep roots indeed, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t pull the weeds.
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To the oppressed with no seat on the table; dreaming of change and better days, I will pull up a chair, and light fires in your name.
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The day I made peace with my pain was the day I was born again.
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Can hope bloom in the shade? Can time give back what it takes away? I once saw the answers to life in your eyes; now I can remember the words to goodbye.
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Light finds you just as I once did: an accident that is no accident.
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Standing in your power scares a lot of people. You become something formidable, intimating, and aspirational all at once.
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You could not keep me fed by throwing me bones and empty promises. I am ashamed to admit how much starving I did before I finally left.
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Love me until oblivion paints your portraits on my eyelids, sinking by eons into distance that never separates us.
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In the absence of you I look to the moon and pray that the stars light my way, too.
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You are what it feels like to watch the final silvers of sun fall and die into the silver ocean; tangerine sky giving way to moon-glow and starlight.
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