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Best Poems Written by Makitia Thompson

Below are the all-time best Makitia Thompson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

Where Shall My Hand Rest Now?

I still reach for you.
 In the dark,
 in the quiet,
 in the spaces where your warmth
 used to live.

My hand remembers.
 It remembers your chest,
 steady beneath my palm,
 the heartbeat that guided me home.
 It remembers the way you’d squeeze back
 without words,
 just to say you were there.

Now the sheets are cold.
 The air feels wrong.
 I move through rooms
 that once held your laughter
 and feel the silence pressing
 against my ribs.

I thought love ended with anger,
 with distance,
 with choice.
 But I never imagined
 it could end
 with absence.

They tell me you’re gone,
 but my body refuses to believe it.
 My hand keeps searching 
 for your hair,
 your breath,
 your touch -
 finding nothing
 but the echo of you
 lingering like smoke.

How do I live in halves
 when every part of me
 was built to lean on you?
 Where shall my hand rest now
 that it can no longer rest on you?

I whisper your name
 into the pillow
 like a prayer no one answers.
 The world keeps moving.
 I stay still.

And in every small moment
 between night and mourning,
 I reach again 
 and find only air.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

The Question of Breath

Why am I here-
 to breathe, to ache, to stumble
 through the labyrinth of days
 that end the same way they begin?

Sometimes I wonder
 if existence is merely repetition-
 waking, eating, striving, breaking,
 all written into a cycle
 that no hand can erase.
 The stars burn their scripts into the sky,
 and still I ask:
 Do they weep for the same reasons we do?
 Do they tire of their endless roles?

Life is a question that never answers back.
 It leaves me with echoes instead,
 the sound of my own voice
 ricocheting through caverns of doubt.
 I want to believe there is purpose
 in this breath,
 in this heart that refuses to still,
 in these hands that keep reaching.

Yet purpose feels fragile,
 a glass I clutch too tightly,
 afraid it will shatter
 before I ever learn
 what it was meant to hold.

So I keep walking through the questions,
 not because I believe they’ll end,
 but because the asking itself
 is what keeps me alive.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

Even In Death We're Bound

I watch you.
 Always.
 In the quiet spaces between your steps,
 in the moments when you think
 you’re alone.

I tell myself it’s love,
 this hunger that follows you,
 this ache that claws at my chest
 every time you pull away.
 I tell myself
 I’m the only one who truly knows you,
 the only one who can keep you whole.

You run,
 but I’m already there.
 You hide,
 but I’ve memorized your shadows.
 You build walls,
 but I find cracks.

Life without you is no life at all.
 I’ve convinced myself of that,
 over and over,
 until it feels like truth,
 until the lie becomes my heartbeat.

You don’t see me.
 Not really.
 You only see the weight of my presence,
 the hands you never asked for,
 the words you never wanted to hear.

But I’ll make you see.
 I’ll make you stay.
 Even if you don’t want me.
 Even if you run.

Even in death,
 we’re bound.
 Even in the silence
 of your absence,
 I will still be here,
 pressing my shadow into yours
 until you cannot tell
 where you end
 and I begin.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

The Altar of Your Absence

I built a temple for you
 out of hours I could not afford.
 Every prayer
 was the shape of your name,
 every offering
 the sacrifice of my sleep, my breath, my will.

Devotion, I learned,
 is a double-edged worship.
 It is holy, yes-
 but it is also hunger.
 And hunger, when unanswered,
 becomes desperation.

I waited at the altar
 long after the candles died,
 knees aching,
 heart splintering.
 Your silence grew taller than cathedrals,
 yet I still bent my head to it
 as if silence were proof
 you were listening.

What kind of faith is this,
 to kneel before someone
 who does not even notice
 the blood at my feet?
 To believe in salvation
 from hands that never reach back?

Still, I remained.
 Because love, in its rawest form,
 is not gentle.
 It is a tether that bruises the skin,
 a chain dressed as devotion,
 a prayer whispered into nothing
 with the desperate hope
 that nothing will answer.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

Edges

I am walking the edges of what we were,
where memory meets the present,
and every step feels like a question
without an answer.

I move forward,
yet I am still here,
trapped between letting go
and holding tight,
between the ache of loss
and the pull of desire
that never truly fades.

Your face lingers in shadows,
in the quiet spaces of my day,
and I catch myself
reaching for something
that no longer exists.

Edges are strange things,
they teach you to balance,
to feel the weight of longing
without letting it tip you over.
I am learning to live
with the tension,
to let it shape me
without consuming me.

And still, when I close my eyes,
I taste the ghost of your lips,
the memory of your warmth,
and I wonder
if I will ever fully step away
or if desire
will always trace the lines of your absence,
drawing me back
to the edges
where love refuses to die.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

Let Them Call It Rage

Let them call it rage
when I bare my teeth in silence
or scream without needing permission.
Let them say I’m bitter, bruised,
too much, too loud,
a wildfire when they wanted a breeze.

They named my fury “ugly”
because it cracked the porcelain of their comfort,
because it didn’t ask
to sit quietly in a corner,
because it came dressed in all the wrong colors,
red like blood, not pink like politeness.

Let them shrink from me.
Let them whisper when I pass
that I’ve changed, that I’m colder now,
that I carry myself like a knife.
They never asked why I had to sharpen myself
just to walk safely through the day.

Let them call it rage
when I say no without a smile,
when I stop explaining the hurt
just to make them feel better.

This isn’t a tantrum.
It’s reclamation.
It’s the sound of centuries unraveling
from my throat,
one scream at a time.

Let them tremble at the truth I carry.
Let them stare at the flames I became.
I was never soft enough for their comfort,
only silent enough for their control.

But silence didn’t save me.
It never does.
So now,
I roar.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

Tell Me What It Is to Live

I have wandered through rooms
that echo with the steps of others,
through streets lined with faces
that feel like reflections
of someone I almost recognize,
and I keep asking
what it means
to truly live.

Is it the rhythm of breath,
the pulse beneath the skin,
the quiet satisfaction
of surviving another day?
Or is it something larger,
something that presses against the ribs
and refuses to be ignored,
something that shapes
the hollow spaces of the soul
into something that belongs
to itself?

I try to trace it in memory,
in the moments I felt most myself:
the laughter I could not hold back,
the pain I could not bury,
the trembling when I realized
I was both less and more
than I ever imagined.

Tell me what it is to live,
I whisper to the empty air,
because I am tired of moving
like a shadow,
like someone borrowing time
instead of holding it,
like someone watching
instead of being seen.

Purpose is slippery.
Identity slips between my fingers
even as I grasp at it,
and the reflection staring back
does not always answer.
It only asks me to keep searching,
to keep naming,
to keep leaning
into the quiet ache
that reminds me I exist.

And so I wander,
hands brushing against the edges of myself,
feet tracing circles
in rooms that may never hold me,
asking again and again
for a voice to tell me
what it is to live,
for a body and a soul
that will finally answer
without shame,
without hesitation,
without fear.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

And So We Collide

There is a moment
when skin meets skin
and the world shifts
without warning.
It is neither wholly sin nor wholly salvation,
only the tremor of bodies
recognizing something divine
in the other’s touch.

The air thickens
with heat and hesitation,
and I feel the pulse
of something older than shame
coursing through my veins.
It is holy in its recklessness,
sacred in its surrender,
and it frightens me
because I know I cannot name it
without trembling.

Every brush of fingers
feels like a prayer
that has slipped its way past
the lips it was meant for,
and every gasp
echoes the hymns
I was taught to whisper
when no one could hear.

I want to pull back,
to cloak myself in rules
and commandments,
to remind my body
that devotion is not found
in the fire of desire.
But something in me leans forward,
pressing against restraint,
pressing into the pulse
that tells me this collision
was always inevitable.

And so we collide-
not with intention,
not with cruelty,
but with the quiet force
of two truths
meeting at the edge of breath.
The sacred and the sensual
do not ask permission,
they do not negotiate,
they simply touch,
and I am left
to reckon with the tremor
long after
the bodies have parted.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

Like Lightening In My Veins

There are moments
 when love feels like flight,
 as though the air itself bends
 to lift us higher.

Your smile is not just light,
 it is acceleration,
 a rush that floods my body
 until I am dizzy with wonder.
 Every glance from you
 is electricity-
 not pain,
 but the spark of being alive
 in ways I had only imagined.

Euphoria is dangerous,
 a fever of the soul.
 It makes the ordinary miraculous:
 a shared laugh becomes music,
 a hand brushing mine
 becomes revelation.
 The world is still flawed,
 but through you
 I see it gleam,
 as though touched by divinity.

I fear this joy sometimes,
 its intensity,
 its sharpness.
 But what is love
 if not the willingness
 to surrender to the storm
 and let it remake you?

So I leap,
 I fall,
 I burn,
 I soar.
 For in your presence,
 every nerve sings,
 and I am made infinite.

Details | Makitia Thompson Poem

Hello God, Please Answer Me

I have been speaking into rooms
that never answer,
into nights so quiet
that even my own heartbeat
sounds like a lie.

I do not know if you are listening,
or if the prayers I’ve whispered
are swallowed before they reach you,
or if I am too small
to be noticed
by the vastness
that claims your name.

Hello God, please answer me.
I ask not for miracles,
not for signs, not for light-
only for a word,
a flicker,
a trace that you are near
and not just a shadow
I pretend to know.

The ache has grown familiar,
settling like dust in the hollows of my chest.
It weighs heavy,
makes the ribs ache,
the tongue stiff,
the eyes too tired
to look anywhere but down.

I search for meaning
in the echo of silence,
in the pause between breaths,
in the spaces where hope
once lived.
But each answer I find
is only absence
dressed in the promise
of something better.

Hello God, please answer me.
I do not ask for comfort
that softens the edges of pain.
I ask for proof
that you hear the cracks
and the fractures,
that even in the darkness
your hand reaches toward me.

But the night remains vast,
the world indifferent,
and my voice
splintering into shadows
falls
back into the hollow
where prayers go
to wait
and I wait
with it.

Best Poems Written by Makitia Thompson

Where Shall My Hand Rest Now?

The Question of Breath

Even In Death We're Bound

The Altar of Your Absence

Edges

Let Them Call It Rage

Tell Me What It Is to Live

And So We Collide

Like Lightening In My Veins

Hello God, Please Answer Me

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