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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
Doom sets in watching night turn to day, horror and grief at what I’ve done—circadian rhythm brutality murdered by my own hands.
The light bleeds in through the blinds, thwarting my best efforts to block it out.
I know what I must do.
Hide the evidence—the bags under my eyes tucked away, the subtle pause in my movements, and my draw more southern than I usually give.
The bitter black mixed with sweet richness keeps me going for the rest of the day.
They all know what I did that night.
I know they can sense it.
I killed her.
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
If I’d ever see anything more poetic.
I peak here, I think to myself,
my stride hastening unconsciously
as my eyes follow the path of the page,
as if I could make out the scripture,
knowing good and well Sunday school
was the only school I wasn’t the top of my class.
I thought it followed me
all the way to the crêpe shop—
come to find out
there are more than one.
The sky rains Bible pages down on me,
no longer do I have to focus to see
John,
Matthew,
hell even Ruth’s here.
The absurdity of the situation
would make you believe I’m embellishing.
i’m not.
It’s just a sign I refuse to acknowledge
And as a poet,
I'm inclined to write.
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
Were just another mess,
Just another distraction from the actual task at hand,
From the impending doom luring over me,
A fate of my own making
The consequences of my own actions.
I did not think I'd make it this far
To be worrying about such
things,
Especially when I had a hand in trying to make sure I didn't get here.
But I am now
And that's all that matters.
And as I sit on the floor of my half packed dorm avoiding the training for my job, finals, and whatever has slipped my mind,
The velvet green fur of my "treasure" box has me enthralled.
I'm transported back to a simpler time,
Back when I aspired to be a "Professional Jewelry Untangler"
Wonder how the adults could let these
Beautiful
Priceless
pieces get in such disarray
Yeah, I understand it now.
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
If crying is good for you then why does it make my head hurt? Why does it make
my eyes puff up and my nose run and my face salty? My face is dry and wet all at
the same time now how does that work?
If running is good for you then why does it hurt? Hair and face drenched in a
different salt from before, all sound drowned out by a thunderous roar from
within. Every inch of you screams but you push nonetheless because it’s good
for you, how?
It was easier as a child. I could run for hours and cry for days—in that order
specifically—but now that I’m older everything has its limits. Whether I can
see them or not.
Too much water, too much food, too much love—all of it bad. Too much of
anything is bad for you, the art of indulgence they’ll say.
But why?
English is weird so all of these questions can simply be answered with one
simple word: Because.
I said simple
Not fulfilling.
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
A song close to the heart; meant to be sung
Sung like a hymn by the mother,
On that one bright Christmas eve.
Am I worthy of redemption?
Do the trees
Have a place for me?
Does the sparrow sing of sorrow?
Do the bees hum of spring?
Will the river wash away
all what is left of me?
They sing “joy to the world,”
but what joy can there be?
When the young no longer giggle,
and a laugh, a memory—
Oh what a world,
but ours nonetheless.
A world where mercy falters,
and the weary seldom rest.
Where the innocent grow quiet,
and the strong forget their song.
Where the choir keeps on singing,
even though the notes feel wrong.
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
Just a crack in the ground,
a pavement laid unevenly,
But let her tell it the world has failed her.
She is the sun so bright and
warm never expecting anything in return,
gives to all without prejudice,
never once worrying
about her own energy–she trips.
.
.
.
Just for a second
she wonders,
Why couldn't the world show
her the same kindness?
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
Flower in the hand of a gorilla is as lipstick on a pig as band aid on a bullet wound.
They may not get it,
Tell me there no point
And that I'm just wasting my energy,
But I see the beauty
And I know what I mean.
There is hope for me
yet
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
There’s a certain feeling after I cry.
A cool sensation pooling in my feet, threatening to crawl up my calves, never quite making it
There. A sorta hollow buzz from my knees to my stomach, feeling there but not in the way for once. Arms heavy like fatigue, but so much softer—much kinder—all the way down to the tips of my phalanges, twitching ever so softly. Aware of the thud of life—for once not so thunderous, slowly and steady.
I’d like to call this feeling calm,
I think that’s her name.
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
When the earth stands still what will we do?
Will we go to work as normal
or will we fly off the edge?
Will the news report on it?
Will they tell us to stay calm?
Will the children still wake up for school?
And will the fridge still hum at night?
Or will all hell break lose
as people abandon their humanity?
I know I'll come find you, my safe space.
Cuddle up nice and warm, somewhere high and dry,
and watch the cacophony
as everything I've ever known
violently
fades
around
me.
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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Nevaeh Gantt Poem
Raising high to touch the sky.
It knows when yard day is,
shrinking its presence just this once,
matter of life and death.
When it’s time she becomes a new beauty,
stops imitating the sun for her
new cloud-like persona,
drifting carefree.
Strong like dandelion — I grow.
They’ll tell you she’s a weed,
that you shouldn’t want her around.
But if you accept her and all her glory,
welcome her and all her parts,
you might find out
she makes an awesome tea.
Copyright © Nevaeh Gantt | Year Posted 2026
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