One of the most enriching, forward-thinking, fastest-growing online creative communities flourishing right now is the Poetry community, especially in those scenes that center on marginalized voices — Women, POC, Neurodivergent, and LGBTQ. Poetry Spotlight is a feature aiming to showcase the work of some of the most talented creators we’ve discovered making waves on the Internet literary circles, inside or outside the mainstream. This seventh installment features the work of Lacey Ramburger.
Lacey is a 25-year-old writer/poet from Owensboro, KY. She writes articles (mostly found on Thought Catalog) and is a master of the miniature poem (mostly found on Instagram). She enjoys reading, petting all of the dogs, and writing sad things despite that she’s not usually sad. She’s also written a book titled Being Whole: All The Things I Never Told You Or Admitted To Myself which is available on Amazon, iBooks, and Kindle.
Reckless
Once, I dreamed that I asked Cupid if I could borrow some of his arrows, because I was convinced that I could find a gentler way to make someone love me than by creating a wound. He agreed, so I fashioned them into pens and wrote the most passionate love poems the world had ever known. I sent them all to you, but when they arrived, you ended up cutting your fingers on the edges. I’m sorry that any amount of my love always comes with some form of injury. I’m sorry that I’ve never wanted to be the only one who’s bleeding.
When I Realize I’ve Named So Much Of My Pain After You
What is the name of the pain that shows up when you know someone will never fully love you, but never fully leave you? I don’t think it has one, but if it did, I believe it would be the same as yours.
Another Attempt at Breaking Us
Do you know what it’s like to love the ghost more than the person? To love the part of us that died more than the lives we lead now? I have always been much better at writing eulogies than the actual burying of anything. I’m still slowly carving our names into the headstone. I’m still pretending I don’t know where the shovel is.