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Aimee Titus Poem
I walk through the echoes of my mistakes
that reply louder than the pulse in my chest
each one a shadow whispering
that I am less that I should be.
I hold guilt like iron,
believing I have poisoned the trust
my only love took forever to gain for me
I hear the old voices,
the ones that call me selfish,
lazy, unworthy of the air I take-
and they cling to me like smoke.
But somewhere beneath the noise,
a quieter truth trembles:
that I am more than the hurt I have I've caused,
more than the names I've been given,
more than the weight I've learned to carry.
And though the night feels endless,
there is a part of me still reaching,
still wanting to be seen,
despite knowing I will never be deemed
as something other than broken
or anything worthy of living.
Copyright © Aimee Titus | Year Posted 2026
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Aimee Titus Poem
See it?
The cracks, the fractures - open, bleeding.
My mind laid bare, a battlefield of glass,
barbed wire threading through my thoughts,
indoctrinating spirals slicing through every soft impulse.
Chaotic proportionality,
twisted in the wake of your hands.
You constructed this wreck,
hammered rules into bone,
scarred my spine in silence,
every word a shard left to corrode in me.
visceral in every memory,
every cut screams with the echo of control.
Ant still-
you walk on it.
step after step,
your words drive splinters deeper into my skin,
indifference pressing down like stone.
Every slash bears your signature,
every jagged edge charts the space you occupy
while I lay shattered beneath it.
I do not flinch.
I do not move.
I am the ruin you made me,
exposed,
and yet you're still upright,
on the pieces of me
you discarded.
Copyright © Aimee Titus | Year Posted 2026
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Details |
Aimee Titus Poem
I hate everything -
the reflection my mind shows
is jagged,
pointing at every flaw
with cold, surgical precision.
I do not understand the lessons
I should have learned by now;
The maps others followed
were incinerated
before my fingertips met the pages edge.
I speak.
I act,
and every word fractures the air.
faces tighten
like brittle glass
under unseen pressure.
And still, they call me
"The best thing in the world",
light and death,
while I spread the poison like a disease
just from inflating my lungs.
Sometimes I wish to vanish quietly,
leave no trace,
no smoke,
no echoes of the names you once called me.
But the accusation of selfishness strikes with immediate,
deafening gunfire.
I continue to patch the wounds and holes left by others,
my unneeded and wasted blood filling the voids
while my skin breaks cleanly,
my heart tears without mercy.
The figure my mind has constructed
waits in the dark,
unmoving.
while I screamed with my burning lungs
to take me away
Like when "Love" took away the pain
that used to be enough
to keep me here.
Copyright © Aimee Titus | Year Posted 2026
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