The shape of you left behind - By Salem Youngblood

Written By: Salem Youngblood

Category: Poetry

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

Introducing "The shape of you left behind," a powerful poetic work by Salem Youngblood, featured in the Poetry category of the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. This poignant piece delves into the haunting presence of memory and the enduring impact of loss. With its evocative imagery and emotional depth, Youngblood's work captivates the reader, inviting them into a world of introspection and reflection.

About the Work

Salem Youngblood's poetry eloquently captures the essence of grief and the echoes of absence. Through evocative imagery and a deeply introspective tone, the poem explores the painful persistence of memories and the struggle to move forward amidst the shadows of the past. The piece masterfully uses everyday objects as symbols of remembrance, creating a vivid and emotional tapestry that resonates with the reader's own experiences of loss and longing.

The shape of you left behind

Original Submission by Salem Youngblood

There is a chair in the kitchen

that has learned how to haunt me.

It does nothing.

That is the cruelty of it.

It waits beneath the table

with its wooden mouth shut,

keeping the shape of a body

the way earth keeps the shape of a coffin long after the flesh has surrendered.

I have considered burning it.

I have considered sitting there.

Both feel obscene.

The house has become very good

at pretending you were never here.

The pipes still groan.

The refrigerator hums its stupid little hymn. Morning crawls through the curtains and lays itself across the floor

without asking permission.

Everything continues.

I think that is what I hate most.

The sun did not choke.

The clocks did not stop.

Somewhere, a woman laughed today with her whole mouth.

Somewhere, someone complained that their coffee was cold.

Somewhere, a child dropped a toy

and screamed as though the world had ended,

and I envied them

because someone bent down

and gave it back.

There are things

that cannot be handed back.

I know this now.

The body learns it first.

Before the mind understands,

the body begins searching.

A head turning toward familiar footsteps. A hand reaching across the bed.

A breath held

when a stranger wears the same perfume.

Some animal buried beneath the ribs keeps insisting:

there.

there.

there.

And each time,

nothing.

I have become an anatomy

of unanswered instinct.

My hands remember you.

My ears remember you.

My skin remembers being touched

by someone who knew exactly

where I ended.

Even my anger remembers you. Especially my anger.

Sometimes I want to dig my fingers into the machinery of heaven

and pull until something screams.

I want God dragged from His bright room and made to explain Himself

with His teeth scattered at my feet.

I want to ask Him

what kind of creature invents love and then gives it a clock.

What kind of mercy

teaches the heart a name

it must eventually learn

not to call.

There is no lesson here.

No beautiful transformation.

No silver seam sewn through suffering. There is only the chair.

The bed.

The cup I cannot throw away.

The thousand ordinary objects

that have become reliquaries

against their will.

And me,

moving among them,

performing the grotesque little rituals of the living.

Eating.

Bathing.

Sleeping.

Waking.

Waking.

Waking.

As though waking were not

the first wound of every morning. People tell me time is kind.

They say it softens things.

They are wrong.

Time is a butcher

with excellent manners.

It does not heal.

It merely teaches the knife

to cut so slowly

you can carry it inside you

without screaming.

And perhaps someday

I will pass that chair

without looking.

Perhaps someday

your name will enter my mind without taking something with it.

Perhaps someday

I will understand how a person

can become a silence and still be the loudest thing in the room.

But tonight,

the house is dark.

The chair is empty.

And every cell in my body is still waiting

for a door

that will never open

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, hosted by Hashtag Kalakar, celebrates the rich diversity of poetic and creative expression from around the world. This prestigious platform invites writers to share their unique voices and perspectives, fostering a global community of artists and thinkers. Participants explore a wide array of themes, contributing to a tapestry of literary works that inspire and provoke thought.

We extend our gratitude to Salem Youngblood for sharing the evocative "The shape of you left behind" with us. Your participation in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 highlights the profound impact of poetry in exploring the depths of human emotion. Thank you for your contribution, and we look forward to witnessing the continued evolution of your remarkable literary journey.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.