Poetry

Don’t Look Away

“Don’t look away, darling.
My brokenness is reflected in your eyes.”

Can you feel it too? How we share a similar haunted past? What it means to feel like there’s nothing left of you but a husk — a memory in a living body? Who we were then, and what we’ve become now? When we felt whole and happy, and the moment it all changed — when the world turned into the dark place we know so well today?

So please, darling. Don’t look away. We feel alone, but at the same time, we are in this together. You don’t have to feel so lost. Because I’m here.

I’m always here. In the dark. With you.

© Sarah Doughty

In the dark with you.

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Poetry

The Only One

“Don’t you see?
You were always the one.”

Don’t you see? You were always the one that could make my heart beat erratically. You were always the one that could make butterflies try to erupt from my stomach and fill up my lungs. You were the one that could steal my breath and leave me lightheaded, only wanting more. You were always the one that made my lips itch the need to kiss you. To hold your hand, if only to be closer to you.

So don’t you see? You were always the one for me.

© Sarah Doughty

Always the one.

Poetry

Soundtrack

“So please, don’t stop the music.
Don’t ever stop being mine.”

Darling, you’ve got the music in you. You had it all along. You thought your heart was shattered. Your soul was in crumbles. Your body a ruin. But you never stopped the music. You never stopped being the soundtrack of my life.

Darling, I could still hear you singing. I could still hear the melody in your breathing. I could still get lost in your eyes like they were oceans. But it only made your soul sing louder. Like those irises were loudspeakers. I could hear every cord. Every note. The tempo was paced to my beating heart. And it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever heard.

So please, don’t stop the music. Don’t ever stop living. Being mine. Don’t ever let me go.

© Sarah Doughty

Darling, you are my soundtrack.

Poetry

Awake

“The best part about waking up
is waking up in your arms.
You are the best part.”

My bed seemed massive, even with you next to me. I tucked my shoulder under yours and snuggled against you, preferring you over my pillow. And I slept better in your arms than I ever could on my own. When I woke, I smiled into your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and those slow, steady breaths as you slept.

© Sarah Doughty

You are better than coffee.

A loose excerpt from
my first novel, Just Breathe.

Poetry

Just Maybe

“Maybe this is what it means to live.
Knowing I’ve made a heaven out of hell.”

Maybe this is what means to be happy. Feeling like I’m home in your arms. Like your eyes are holding me still in this chaotic world. Like your smile is the warmth I’ve craved for so long. Maybe this is what it means to feel loved. To know that you’re here with me and would rather be nowhere else. To know that you’re home, too. Just being near me. To know that I am enough, just as you are for me. And maybe, this is what it means to be content. Knowing I’ve made a heaven out of hell. That you take me as I am, flaws and all. That you are mine as I am yours. That we are one. That we are gravity. Maybe this is what it means to live.

© Sarah Doughty

Maybe loving you is living.

Poetry

Hallowed Ground

“My body is a temple. And a graveyard.
Equal parts light and dark.
It makes me real. Just like you.”

For the longest time, I thought my body was more of a graveyard than a temple. But I’ve since come to realize that most temples don’t exist without some kind of graveyard nearby. Maybe it’s because people want a familiar place to come back to, where they felt closest to whatever god they believed in, their loved ones would be close, too. Or maybe, it’s merely a convenience, knowing they are nearby.

So, perhaps my body is the temple and the graveyard — all in one. Because life is never that clean. Life is never without some scars. Otherwise, could we even call it living?

But my hallowed grounds are filled with graveyards — scars — memories — all those things that have defined me, good and bad, as I’ve grown. Though most of them are inhabited by demons, things that have reshaped who I became as a person — and a woman — not all of them are ravenous and rabid. They are evidence of my survival.

So yes, my body was never just a temple, because I’ve lived. I’ve survived. And to me, having a graveyard just adds a bit of character.

My body is a temple. And a graveyard. Equal parts light and dark.

It makes me real. Just like you.

© Sarah Doughty

I am hallowed ground.

Special thanks to Blood Into Ink
for publishing this piece,
and giving these words
a place to rest.

Poetry

Differences Of Time

“Maybe all I can really say
is ‘I miss you.'”

So, I don’t really know
what I’m trying to say.
I just feel like everything
is so different these days.
Nothing is right.
The way it used to be.
The way it should be.
Most of the time
I don’t even know
if you see me the way
you did in the beginning.
Because I’m an entirely
different person.
Certainly not for the better.
Maybe all I can really say
is “I miss you.”

© Sarah Doughty

I don’t even know who it is I’ve become.

Poetry

Old Photos

“It was the way you looked at me
that left my knees weak.
I never wanted those moments to end.”

I look back at old photos of us and wonder where it all went. Back when I was smaller, freer. Open. When I could love you with abandon. Back when I would shamelessly watch your hands move, or stare at your mouth and wonder what your lips tasted like in that moment. I didn’t carry those burdens I hold like boulders on my shoulders.

I look back at old photos of us and wonder where it all went. Back when you were looking at me like I was the most gorgeous creature you’d ever seen, beautiful. Perfect. When you would take every opportunity to hold my hand or touch my skin with your fingertips, just to make sure I was real. Not a figment of your imagination. You looked at me in a way that left my knees weak. And I never wanted those moments to end.

What happened to those days? Why do I feel ashamed at the person I’ve become since then? That I don’t deserve those looks. That I shouldn’t be touched, because I’m just a spectre of who I was. I wonder what is left of me worth loving. Because you deserve so much better than the woman I’ve become.

What happened to those days? Why do I feel like I can’t look at you like before? Like there’s something wrong with wanting you? Like I can’t kiss you despite the screams in my head telling me to just do it. Why do I feel like it’s wrong of me to love you so much? Like you deserve someone that would lift you up, not hold you back.

Why do I feel so broken that I’m breaking us in half, too?

© Sarah Doughty

Can you feel the cracks, too?

Updates

Composition Of A Woman Is Now Available

Composition of a Woman
is currently available on
Amazon.com,
Amazon.ca (Canada)
and Amazon Europe
(Amazon.co.ukAmazon.de,
Amazon.frAmazon.it,
and Amazon.es)

Book Depository (free worldwide shipping)
and Barnes & Noble are coming soon.

Signed copies of Composition of a Woman
are also available on the
Sudden Denouement Etsy site.

If you’re curious to know more
about this book,
check out this quick video
from Dena Daigle.

Poetry

Blinded

“The day you told me you loved me
was the best day of my life.”

There was something about you. It called my name like a whisper on the wind. And my eyes, whenever they graced your eyes, your flawless skin, your perfectly imperfect hair, it felt like I was blinded. Like those were the most beautiful things I’d ever seen in my life up to that point. And I never wanted to look at anything else again. But that’s exactly what it was. I was spellbound, I was enthralled, I was smitten, and the longer I spent in your presence, the more my heart opened up to you.

Though I tried to resist it, I was powerless to stop it. And I knew you could crush my soul at any time. I was waiting for it, to be honest. Like a countdown I couldn’t hear or see. But then the day came that you finally said your heart belonged to me.

That was the best day of my life.

© Sarah Doughty

You make my days good days.