By Zenia Zaheer
I’m a graveyard of love,
buried beneath the weight of poems
that no one stayed to read.
A soul worn thin by heartbreak,
each crack a story of someone who left.
My words are stitched from silence,
written for the ghosts of friendships
that promised forever
but disappeared before dawn.
Every poem I write bleeds—
raw, aching, desperate to be heard,
but left unheard.
I’ve known love only as absence,
felt it more in the spaces where it wasn’t.
Even the echoes of friendship
fade too quickly,
leaving me with nothing
but my own shattered reflections.
I’m a soul that gives too much,
a heart too big for the hands that held it,
and now, too broken for anyone to fix.
By Zenia Zaheer
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