How dare…

Please don’t change your mind on me

don’t grab your things and flee

when I tell you I actually care

don’t pretend you never wanted me

don’t make it out as though I’m crazy

but more than that don’t stand there

trying to justify

go ahead and tell me the truth

look me in the eye, you stone cold coward

tell me how you took advantage because I care

moulding my behaviour with lie after brutal lie

how dare

you stand there and try

palm this off on incompatibility

“it’s not you it’s me”

as you calmly stand, my heart in your hand

without an ounce of guilt

squeezing it like a stress ball,

watching the colour drain

don’t even try to feign

repentance

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Mind my healing heart

Some fractures heal slower than others regardless of your age. A fractured humerus may heal in several weeks, while a fracture in the forearm takes much longer. Just like fractures hearts heal unequally depending on how you break them.  A love lost over distance or disagreement is something we can process more simply than a broken ego.

You are wrong.

You are unlovable.

You are not good enough.

These are words that inflict major trauma. Like a violent car crash those words are not something you get up and walk away from. Your self-worth – your femur – is the longest and strongest part of who you are. It doesn’t break easily, but when it does it won’t heal quickly. It’s easy for friends to forget you are still tender. To make light of flaws he rubbed raw. They don’t realize that at your core beneath your skin and your flesh, bone is grinding against bone where he broke you. Every time someone nudges you playfully it makes you winch. Any joke that touches against that spot pains.

It’s hard because we want to be strong; want to be okay; want to forget what happened. So we stop telling people it hurts…

We push ourselves to lean into the injury; to keep playing the game. Through gritted teeth swearing we are okay as again and again and again people bump against our injured hearts.

Because you want to be strong; you don’t wear your cast. Because you want to be brave; you get up too soon. “I don’t need to be protected. I am not soft,” you tell yourself. Then you limp into a new a set of arms with broken bones still desperately trying to heal. Thinking this will protect you. This will be the salve you need to treat your confidence – your worth. A quick fix. But he cannot heal you. It is not his place to fix you.

We carry battered bodies without any sign telling people we are fragile; praying that it will be different this time . Of course you’re going to get bumped. Of course he’s going to lean against you were it still hurts. He doesn’t know. How can he when you didn’t tell him? You will ignore it and ignore it and ignore it until one day he playfully bumps you a little too hard and that bone breaks along an old fracture line.

Time heals all wounds. Give it time. Only you can fix your own brokenness. Only you can make it okay. Allow yourself to heal, to stitch together the holes his dagger tongue left with your own words of love and affirmation. Repeat after me – I am right, I am lovable, I am good enough.

Poem for Krysie’s Broken Heart

My beautiful darling

don’t give him that kind of sway

my most favourite

who is he to say

how precious you are allowed to be

who qualified him as the judge of your worth

you are a fresh spring on a barren earth

don’t let him quashed the joy in your eye

if you must then cry only

to wash him from your heart

to remove any soot from his touch

and I

with words of love and affirmation

will wipe away any hurt that is left

because love you mean so much

much more than he could ever see

your heart so big pressing against your chest

never deserved this kind of hurt

if you ever believe you are worth

as little as he has reduced you to

come sit by me, I will show you

how the light reflects off everything you touch

my darling don’t blame yourself

because he was dim

Till I see you soon

I notice,

tired pink flowers,

in a large recycled yogurt tub

reclining

wilting quietly without notice

While angel voices sing

sitting on chapped living room couches

Beautiful once, but retired now to such worn-out places

filled with old things and young faces

each wanting my full attention

wanting to mention how was their day

I need you to listen, listen what I have to say

large brown eyes beg,

take my hand too,

say eyes for voices too small to know how

why God couldn’t I have had ten hands to hold with

or more arms to dish out enough hugs

can you ever have enough hugs

for small bodies looking for someone to hold onto?

For somebody to be there,

to kiss bruised knees and have time to play

for someone just to care, enough to stay

How Lord can an afternoon ever be enough

where do I find the courage to say goodbye

to small faces asking me why

I’ll tell them as I always do

I will think of you

Till I see you soon

 

Death of a Sunflower

I came home after our fight at 1 am

wiping tears vigorously

angry at my own distress

I tore off my dress

fell into bed but sleep (like peace) evaded me

 

so I jumped up with the energy

of someone with places to be

and fought the dried sunflower

from its hook on the wall

like us it’s pretty yellow leaves had turned brown

a short summer fading into fall

do you remember stopping to pick it for me?

 

I fell to the floor cradling it’s broken body

hushing it with my tears

amazed at how quickly

it – we – had wilted

perhaps we were prettier as a thought

a flower in a field to be admired from afar

but never picked, never brought home

to be arranged on the kitchen table

 

2 am

you never said a word
though you had your mind made up long before
had been sharpening your knife quietly for days
never gave me a second to amend
it’s not that I didn’t see the blow coming
but I never thought it would be the end

you didn’t want  us better
never said you were unhappy before that night
but at 2am in a parking lot
trapped in the car’s head lights
you finally had your say
and what a say it was

you left me bleeding out
flat lining on the ground
I could barely make a sound
calm, cold, calculated
you stood
firing bullets carved from my mistakes
I couldn’t have said something
even if I’d known what to say
what can you say when someone takes your flaws
sharpens them
and cuts your self-worth to ribbons
there was no way

nothing I could…

say:
I tried…
I’m sorry… I’ll do better?
Tears in my eyes, it didn’t matter
You didn’t want it
you didn’t want me

like a lame dog tied to tree
you weren’t prepared to waste any more time,
nothing I could say would have changed your mind
looking down the double barrel I knew
you were going to put us down
never in my life have I felt more unbearable, unlovable

unwanted

I limped off
sunk into the driver’s seat
and drove away
leaving my heart behind
bleeding and broken at your feet

and like a deer in the headlights
you barely lifted your hand

What if…

“What if?” I cry into the night

“What if” echoes the traffic light

What if it hadn’t

What if I could, what if we did

What if we should

Like broken time I wind aimlessly

Bruised with thoughts of what could be

Enough to fill infinity

They chime like clockwork in my mind

What lies ahead, what falls behind?