The Truth of the Fallen




they don’t care about how happy you made me

during those few, short months.

People don’t want to hear about

how many times you made me laugh.

They simply don’t want to know

just how important your touch was to me.

How much we cared about each other

is irrelevant to them.

Our deep affection,

though it meant the world to us at the time,

is meaningless to everyone around us.

These people would much rather

hear about how broken I was

when your mouth stayed shut.

They care more about

the anger and anxiety I felt

than the sweet nothings

you whispered to me those nights.

They want to know just how torn up you were

when you thought we’d be nothing.

It is the tragedy

within what was us

that people care about.

That’s what they deem interesting

and important.

Not because they’re cruel

or heartless,

but because

the people who care to listen

are fallen children themselves.

They are just like us.


The kids of the light

tend to cling to what is real

and the truth,

not the lost words

of a troubled child.

The person reading this

is probably so far in the dark

that the bright light

of love, hope, and possibility

is blinding, disgusting, and mocking

all at the same time.

It is so far out of their reach

that simply entertaining it

is too much of a strain.

But being exposed to more black

and more pain

that is the music

that will reach their ears.

Those are the words

that will make them feel better.

Not because we cry, too,

but because they don’t cry alone.


So our story is mute,

unless I talk about the cold,

far distance

between our clenched hands.

What we had is nothing to them,

unless I say that our gazes

are filled with desperate despair

that prays for a reunion.

Though we had our moments of light,

we’re still a tragedy my dear.

We’re still children of the darkness.

Because, yes,

we stabbed each other

and twisted our diggers in our hearts,

but it’s worst

because we dig the blades deeper

every minute we spend apart.

Our desire for each other

wouldn’t be true or complete,

if I didn’t mention

the space between us,

yet how badly

we want to crawl toward one another.

I am forced to say

that we look to the light for more,

but choose to live in the dark together

with all of our fallen brothers and sisters.



About Tatiana Figueroa Ramirez

Born in Puerto Rico and raised in the mainland United States, I graduated with a B.A. in English Literature from the University of Maryland, Baltimore County (UMBC) and am a 2016 VONA Voices Alumna. I currently perform spoken-word in the greater Washington D.C. area and have previously performed in Philadelphia, Miami, and the Dominican Republic. Most recently, I have been published in Public Pool, Spillwords, and The Acentos Review, and Here Comes Everyone: East & West Issue.

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