The Words I Never Got to Say

By: Abigail Handojo 2022

Broken glass silently slips to the ground,

Shattering into pieces I no longer recognize

My mind’s loud, but I won’t make a sound,

Ideas spilling over, willing me to memorize

You can find my mouth closed in conversation,

Swallowing sentences instead of saying them

I would interrupt if I had a clue where to begin,

But many would rather read to me than listen

For me, writing isn’t a hobby, but a catharsis

I wouldn’t call it a gift or a “way with words”

I am not a poet but a stained glass artist,

Fiddling with fragments people never heard

I turn my tears into rhymes and call them art,

Jumbled thoughts and suppressed replies

Repurposing feelings by shredding them apart,

For it’s easier to write truths and tell lies

Texts can’t be ignored if I don’t hit “send”

Letters can’t be ripped if they were never written

I can’t regret chances if I don’t take them,

And I won’t second-guess myself if I just fit in

I used to lock up my stained-glass creations,

For being too transparent and easily breakable

Now I don’t have to hide behind “third-person,”

Unlike past years, I finally believe I’m capable

So thank you for taking the time to read,

What I believed wouldn’t see the light of day

Writing is just how my soul chose to bleed,

To immortalize the words I never got to say

Note: This poem was originally meant to be published in Fresh Ink magazine before it got discontinued. Since then I've rethought what these words mean to me, and though I may not wholeheartedly relate to this poem now, I still found it worth sharing (or landmarking) where I used to stand.

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Original cover edited using IbisPaintX and Picsart