poems on mars

my last breath will be a sigh of relief 🧡🤍🩷

[poemsonmars]

hi! i'm mars and this is where i post my poetry :) i'm 26 and use mostly they/them pronouns

i write a lot about love, heartbreak, mental health, and being part of the lgbtq+ community !! mostly about yearning though. there's a lot of yearning

please ask first and properly give credit when reposting my poetry to other social media!

and please feel free to tag me in or send me anything that my poetry has helped inspire you to make !! i love creating things together <3

you can also find me on instagram and tiktok @ poemsonmars !

thanks for stopping by, stay safe out there. 🤍

which poem of mine are you?

which poem of mine are you? pt 2

[you1h]

it is all you

/rupi kaur/poemsonmars/James Bay/Kiersten White/James Vincent McMorrow/Noah Kahan/

[poemsonmars]

loving her is so

foreignly refreshing,

like coming up for air

after years of drowning.

like finally learning how to breathe

without water in my lungs.

i didn't know her name yet

but i was swimming

towards the sunlight

in hopes of finding her.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

i miss you all the time.

i used your body wash

in the shower this morning

and sprayed my clothes

with your perfume

so i could keep your scent with me.

i wore it like a jacket

and let it keep me warm all day.

i guess it is easier to

accept that i deserve comfort

when it reminds me of you.

i would do anything

in the world for you, darling—

even learn how to love myself.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

i tell you that i haven't

been writing lately because

i haven't been feeling well,

which is mostly true,

but it is also true that

i don't know how to write you a poem

without it ending or beginning

with the words, "i love you."

i know i haven't said it yet,

and when you find out

how long i have wanted to

i know you will ask why.

i know i'm too scared

to do a lot of things,

even the things you promise

to hold my hand during

and kiss me for afterward.

i know i wait way too long

to commit to things because

i am terrified of being wrong,

but i am not waiting

because i am scared.

i am not waiting because

i worry that i might be wrong.

i've never been

less worried actually.

i am waiting because i am

scared that you will say it back

and that you will mean it.

i am scared that you will make me

feel like i deserve to be loved.

i have survived so long

out of spite and self-hatred

and longing for something better,

i don't know how to

live any other way.

i don't know if i'm ready to.

but i cannot keep it in any longer,

even if it means

that you love me back.

even if it means that you love me

into a better version of myself

that i don't recognize.

the truth is, and always has been,

as scary as it seems, that

i love you. i love you. i love you.

-mars

[sweatermuppet]

[poemsonmars]

i'm sick of not writing.

i keep trying but nothing comes out.

i can feel all of my thoughts

stirring uncomfortably in my bones,

deep in my chest,

in the shakiest parts of my hands.

i don't know how to

breathe without trembling.

i am scared that i have

lost all of my inspiration

the same way that i have lost you.

i am scared that everything bad

that happens to me is my fault.

—mars

[poemsonmars]

does it even matter if

i don't do bad things anymore

if i still have to

go to bed every night

with the knowledge that

i was once capable of doing that?

i thought redemption was

supposed to free me from my guilt,

not cover me in it.

my therapist tells me that

everyone is capable of change

but it's hard to believe in

something like that when

i feel one emotion and suddenly

i am still ten years old,

covering my ears

as my dad yells at me for crying

and trying not to flinch at

the smell of alcohol on his breath.

this will only make him angrier.

i am still ten years old

and i am missing my mother

and selfishly wishing she hadn't

gone back to school.

i am learning what it means

to feel like you've been left behind.

i am still ten years old

and i am experiencing

what will forever be

the worst day of my life

and i am wondering

where my parents are

and why they aren't saving me.

and i'm wondering why

i'm not saving myself.

a person isn't meant to live

with this much shame in their body.

-mars

[youwouldbehomenow]

Andrea Gibson 8/13/75 - 7/14/25 "I am more here than I ever was before. I am more here with you than I ever could have imagined." – Love Letter From the Afterlife

[poemsonmars]

i don't recognize myself

in the mirror anymore.

my face looks nothing like me

and my hands are far too mine—

riddled with scars and freckles

and bleeding at all the cuticles.

chipped nail polish

and too many rings.

a tendency toward

self-inflicted punishment.

i only know how to recognize

the parts of my body that cause harm.

i don't know who this person is.

i don't think they've

smiled in a long time.

i wave my hand in front of my face

and a stranger greets me in return.

on a kinder day, i might have empathy

but i have no words

for this imposter.

every route leads to anger.

i don't want to be angry.

i don't have the energy for it.

i just want my body back.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

an excerpt from letters to my brother that i will never send part seven

i am trying to believe my therapist

when she says kind things to me.

i am trying to learn how to

hear the words "it wasn't your fault"

without flinching in response.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

my father taught me

how to smoke and drink.

not how to do it but how to hide it

from the people that you care about.

where to stash the bottles

and how to swallow the smoke

down deep enough to

bury your guilt with it.

i got really good at

following in his footsteps.

you wouldn't even guess

i had glass shards coming out of

all of my softest parts.

i have found a dozen different ways

to mask my way through the pain

and i have found more

understanding for my father

than i know what to do with.

and i still go to bed each night

terrified i have become him.

-mars

[poemsonmars]

my desire has become a bloodsport.

a game of such violence

and such devotion,

i'm not sure which one

makes me more sick to look at.

is the hunt the worst part,

or is it the satisfaction

that comes from the

the thrill of the chase?

the relief that comes from

sinking your teeth

into something bloody

at the end of the finish line?

i don't even know how to

identify the things that i want

unless they're covered in blood

and begging to be left alone.

-mars

[two-bees-poetry]

two-bees escapril prompts!

Happy almost April, friends!! In case you were unaware, April is National Poetry Month. It's actually my favorite month, for exactly that reason! Also because it's jazz month, my anniversary with Noelle (April 14th), and April 26th, which is my birthday, is ALSO Lesbian Day of Visibility!

If you're not familiar with Escapril, it was a poetry "challenge" thing on Instagram, starting in (I think) 2019, run by an account called @letsescapril. Escapril isn't officially running anymore starting this year, so a lot of different poetry accounts have taken it upon themselves to post new lists of prompts!

This is just a no-stress, fun thing encouraging people to write. I mean, I made these, and I'm sure even I won't be able to post every day. Don't pressure yourself to write every day if it's going to make it so you can't write at all! Also, feel free to respond to these with any kind of art you feel compelled to make- I'll be thrilled to witness your creations. Tag your posts with #twobeesescapril so we can all read your beautiful work!

Happy writing! <33

[poemsonmars]

i tell my friend about the break up.

"what are you feeling now?"

she asks me. "guilt, shame, fear,"

i fight to keep the tremble

from my voice. "relief."

my friend asks me what i am afraid of

and i sit in silence trying to

get the words out.

i'm afraid that i'm broken,

i want to say to her.

that i'm unloveable and

possibly incapable of loving

another person and i will end up

miserable and alone

and that's what i deserve.

i want to tell her i'm afraid

because i don't know when i

turned into this version of myself,

this monster with my eyes

and my heart that runs away

from the people i love

despite knowing how much

it will hurt them if it means

the chance at fresh air.

i want to tell her i don't think

i've taken a deep breath

in a very long time.

i don't say any of this.

the words always seem to get

stuck somewhere in my throat

and i can't claw them out

without getting blood everywhere.

and i'm trying not to do that anymore

-mars

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Simone de Beauvoir, from a letter to Nelson Algren c. November 1949

[poemsonmars]

i pregame my therapy appointment

by chugging a monster

and chasing it with pepto bismol,

as if either will help

the pain in my stomach

or the noise in my head.

i don't tell my therapist

about this when i go inside.

it's only our fifth appointment

and she doesn't know me

well enough yet to ask.

i spend the hour trying to tell her

how loud it's been lately,

how bad it's gotten again,

and how quickly,

but i can't hear myself

over the roar.

i feel like i am speaking

and no words are coming out.

she gets this concerned

look in her eyes that i know

i will spend the rest of the day

trying to get out from

underneath my skin.

she asks me if i am safe

and i tell her that i know

the correct answer to that

question is yes.

even when i can't hear

anything over the roar.

even when i spend my nights

begging for a quietness

that never comes to me.

even when it gets so loud

that i spend the entire

drive home from therapy

trying to convince myself

not to wrap my car around

every tree that i pass.

the answer is yes.

whether it is the truth or not.

i tell her i've learned this

the hard way and i don't know

what her face looks like

because i've stopped

making eye contact.

she tells me that she would

like me to come in twice this week

and i don't fight her on it.

i don't have anything

left in me to fight with.

she is the only person

that might be able to teach me

how to find the quiet.

-mars