She is Not a Quitter

 

My little heart keeps asking me “why?”

I hear her tiny voice in the quiet early morning hours,

but I have no answer for her.

She has stayed up all night again.

Thinking about the past, feeling the pain and sorrow of the now.

She has fallen into a deep dark pit,

Her little voice echos off the steep, cold sides.

I keep reaching out to her but her tiny hands

Have not the strength to hold on.

So she sinks back to the bottom and

Remains in sorrow and darkness.

It is so painful to witness this.

She used to be such a happy little thing,

Always positive, always trusting.

Albeit, sometimes a bit too naive for her own good,

But it was a naiveté not based on stupidity or ignorance but

One based on a choice to trust and believe in spite of the red flags not to.

I am afraid for her, she is tired and there are

Beasts down there with her in the darkness.

They are evil, heartless beasts who lie to her,

Who tell her she is not good enough, that she is unlovable and a fool.

They sneak in while she sleeps and

Whisper doubts in her ear.

I keep trying to tell her to be strong and not listen to their lies,

But I don’t think she can hear me yet.

So, I wait on the edge of the pit

With an open mind and open hand to catch her the next time she climbs to within my reach.

I don’t mind waiting.

I know she will try again soon in spite of her pain and sorrow.

I have faith in her – she is not a quitter.

Soft Sadness (April 2015/with edits)

The silence of midnight is

The silence of wanting.

It is dark and lonely. 

A time soft with sadness

Until the memories sneak back in

and bring with them a scent, or a look

And it is almost enough, almost

But not quite.

 I know I will long for that touch

That voice, that look,

Until once again he comes back and turns the silence of longing

Into loving.

A time when my sorrow will be erased by his touch,

His hand in mine and

His kiss will fill my sole like

A light in the darkness.

Yet again…

Still,

I know, as I have all along that 

The darkness will return and

He will never be mine to keep.

A Lesson in Love

I wrote this particularly dark piece in November of 2015 after having just found out that the man I thought would be the love I had always wanted and had been waiting for was… well, not who he presented himself to be.  It hurts my heart to read this but it remains valuable as a reminder of the power I allowed someone else to have over me… a lesson I won’t soon forget. 

 

 You Are the Lucky One

 

“If I laugh just a little bit

Maybe I can recall the way that I used to be, before you

And sleep at night – and dream”

Cat Stevens

 

Will that time ever come to be or am I

Destined to spend forever wanting,

 

Dreaming and remembering

Your presence in my life.

 

Sometimes it seems like it was all just a dream, but it can’t be because

I still feel your hands on my body in the night,

 

I smell the scent of your skin in my bed and

See your light in my soul.

 

In my dreams I hold you, I feel your arms surround me and

Taste your mouth on mine.

 

You hold me close as I listen to your words,

Words you whisper in my ear

 

As you make love to me as only you can do.

Your passion is overwhelming, your hunger for me insatiable.

 

How does that end, how can passion like that just stop?

Where did it go?

 

Does she make you feel like I did?

Does she make you forget me?

 

If so, than I guess you are the lucky one.

Lucky to go from one love to the next without taking a breath.

 

No nights lost in the pain of what was

Or of what could have been and the why of it all.

 

No time spent in a wanting so intense that it drags you to the bottom of a dark pit,

A pit with steep, slippery sides, with no end, no way out,

 

No footholds, no dreams, just darkness, only darkness.

It is not the soft, comforting darkness of our times in each other’s arms,

 

Those times in the dark of night when we were the only two awake in the world,

Two alone sharing nights of love and trust, sweetness and heat, but

 

It is a cold and lifeless darkness, the kind that smothers you in ink, sucks the breath from

Your lungs and crushes your skull with its heaviness.

 

A paralyzing, frightening darkness that turns your thoughts back in on themselves to

Deceive and choke you,

A darkness that disguises all the goodness in the world and soaks it in pain and anger.

 

This is such a terrible place to be … I can’t find my way out…

But I am glad that you have not been sucked into the pit as well,

 

Because the only thing worse than being here alone would be

Knowing you were here too but hiding from me in the darkness.

 

 

 

 

My Child Self (still there, inside, waiting)

 

Sad little girl,

Come, sit with me.

Let me hold you, dry your tears,

Kiss your sweet little face.

I know you are hurt, I understand, I see her,

I see how she is, how she treats you.

Come and sit close, you can trust me,

I will protect you; there is no hurting here.

I know you are too little to understand, and

Too innocent to see the shame and fear she holds inside.

All you know is the pain of her betrayal.

I know and see how hard you try to please her, yet still she is hateful and mean.

I hear her tell you daily that you are not good enough, are funny looking and how she wishes she had never given birth to you.

I see and feel your pain and frustration, and

It breaks my heart to watch this happen to us.

I have learned and grown while you have waited and now the time has come

For me to come back in time to you, to a time when we were one.

Look for me and don’t be afraid, come close and I will read you a story,

I know she never did.

I will hold you like my baby and sing your sorrows to sleep,

She didn’t know how.

I will show you that you are better than good enough, and

I will prove to you that there is nothing wrong with you, in spite of what she said.

You will never be alone again,

The wait is over.

Trust me my child-self,

I have enough love for both of us, I pinky-promise.

 

 

After re-reading this post it has finally dawned on me why my anger and hurt at being neglected is still so strong… that was my punishment as a child for not being what my mother wanted me to be…. first she would yell at me and then she would ignore me, not speak to me for days at a time, and when she finally did, it was only to affirm how worthless I was… my husband treated me the same way, and so did other men in my life… unbelievable… so wrong and so sad for that little girl who still lives in my heart.

One Horrific Night

I sit, as if in a dream, in my warm, softly-lit, safe, living room.  Wood-stove fire crackles contentedly while on the TV screen, volume off, a scene of unspeakable horror at an outdoor country music concert is replayed.  It runs like a nightmare in the corner of my living room, showing me that all is not right in this secular world.

The scene plays over and over as if we need to be convinced of the horror people are capable of but in the midst of the carnage, heroes stand out, people saving people, people finding courage they never knew they had, to help strangers in a time of unnatural horror.  People on the streets, news reporters, first responders all look for any shred of human decency in a scene brought on by the damaged and painfully twisted mind of one man, one human soul, one of us…

This shooting is a symptom of a long held disease of our society, one that has been neglected and hidden for too long.  Serious mental health issues affect so many people but go unnoticed or ignored. We have to stop treating the symptoms and start treating the cause.

I am sad to think that this horror will happen again.  It only takes one person with one gun… one disturbed mind, one horrific night.

I Am Sure

 

Revelations come to me when I least expect them unwanted, but insistent that I listen.

They are the kind I don’t want to know and  don’t want to hear.

But they come anyway .  Maybe to clear the way,

To open my  heart and eyes and speak the truth to my soul.

But they are hard truths to take.

My heart says no, but my head and soul say “Yes, listen and know”.

My heart is a child, trusting , self-deluding and innocent.

My soul aches for her in her time of pain and sorrow.

Love is not only felt by my heart, my soul loves too.

But my soul  is blessed with a stronger constitution, a greater consciousness, a better understanding.

 It is older and wants to protect my heart, wants to spare her from pain but knows it can’t.

So it warps itself around my heart and holds her while she weeps and sleeps.  It knows that time will heal her and is patient in the waiting time.

My soul knows my heart is good and kind and that she loves unconditionally and breaks because of it.

My soul knows that my heart knows no other way to love so it waits and loves and holds and protects with gentle hands and the love of God.

Together, in time,  we will love again,  all three of us,

I’m sure of it,  my soul told me so.

It Should Have Been

 

The poetry of my heart

Follows the song of my soul.

Although this heartache drowns me and

Its sorrow depletes my very being,

I hold my love for you close,

To protect it from those who would cheapen it.

From those who don’t believe it ever was, including, sometimes, you.

but I know that

It could have been.

It should have been.

 

(this is an updated, rework of a poem I posted two years ago)

 

 

Sunday Evening Sorrow

Sunday evening sorrow

A lonely time, a time in between.

 

The old week has ended,

The new not yet begun.

 

Another ending, freshly felt and remembered in sadness,

Will not end as easily as last week, it continues to linger and hurt, refusing to let go.

 

I am left behind,

Alone with this Sunday evening truth.

 

There is no space

No thought, no warmth.

 

Need is strong but left unattended, neglected,

And words that linger are incomplete.

 

Conversations left unfinished,

With thoughts not expressed or maybe expressed but not received or wanted.

 

It starts and stops,

Comes and goes but comes back only to stop again.

 

How can the coming stop,

But the stopping go on and on and on?

 

I thought there was no separation,

But now I accept that there is nothing to be separate from.

 

The empty space is all that remains within me,

The void was never filled, the dream never realized.

 

One thought had weight and ruled the results,

But mine did not.

 

But isn’t there really only one thought, one truth

One meaning?

 

I just don’t know anymore, I used to think I did, used to feel it in all there was

But now, it is gone and all that is left is the doubt.

 

I want to fight back, regain what I had, what I love

But I can’t. And even if I could, it would be futile; there is no longer another side.

 

What I thought was one is now two.

There is no energy, no anger, only the wanting and needing.

 

And so I sit, just sit on my cushions

In this Sunday evening loneliness

 

And watch the candles burn away the time

And hurt of love left behind.

 

 

 

Rain

 

The sound of rain takes me to a place of inner peace as the

Rain falls in sheets and slides down the roof over its edge in a curtain of water.

Tree leaves dance with the weight of the rain and

Flowers wash their faces in its freshness.

The sky is lower on rainy days and

Holds us close and grounded.

Sounds are muted and muffled and

Light is  defused in grayness.

But it is not a sad and depressing grayness,

But a soothing and peaceful shade

Full of the necessity of sorrow.

A rainy day is soft and dark.  It begs us to stop, rest and be mindful of our surrounds and loves.

It reminds us to take the time to be lulled by the patter of rain on the windows

Into a place of inner stillness,

And there remain, content to just be and accept what is.