I was a guest at my own funeral that day
Clutching the rice I wouldn't throw
I watched her in white
Mourning her name
Bury me under its sound.
Vows were like knives
Piercing my chest
Ribs choking my lungs
A thousand promises
Broken within me
I died when she said it was love.
How can she stand with him?
Upon the altar?
Once upon a time
She warmed my bed
How can she stand there
And call him a lover?
I was more than a friend.
I envy the one who gives her
His name
When I couldn't offer
My hand
Tell me, bride
Is he lovelier than I?
Or is it because he's a man?
They called it a union
But I called it my death
The death of the love I had found
I perished in silence
But I still hear her name
She buried me under its sound.
YOU ARE READING
Written in Red
PoetryA compilation of poetry I wrote during high school about sexuality, heartbreak, navigating the world as an autistic woman, dysfunctional families, grooming and abuse, and more.
