She was taught magic words when she was a toddler . Magic words like thank you ,please , excuse me and sorry. Beyond these social niceties , life taught her a magic word too . ‘Enough’ , the magic word that marked the beginning of being nice to herself !
Word pictures ,I painted
of myself, stare at me
Dark , broken , desperate
I don’t like what I see.
Why did I only dip brushes
in shades of black and grey,
when happy hues on the palette
hadn’t really dried away.
I cannot paint over those
reminders of love and pain
but am pulling out fresh canvas
to begin anew again.
I don’t have much that I’m taking along. The real ordeal has been about letting go and leaving behind . A few broken promises, relationships that have too many cracks and now beyond repair, people I placed in forgotten niches, journals that have more smudges from tears than stories in ink .
I look at what I’m taking along . It is so little , am scared , but there’s much to gain and look forward to .
I’m moving on to happier days , kinder people and more smiles . I think it’s time 🙂
They tell her it will all be ok , that this too shall pass, that the storm will calm .
She looks at them , confused. How can she tell them she’s in love with the storm ?
I’d play hide and seek
if I knew
I was being looked for
I’d run away
if I knew familiar feet
But I haven’t given up
I wake up to shouts of victory
Invictus , invictus , invcitus !
But as the sun dims ,
chants change .
As the stars appear ,
I wish to crawl into myself and disappear.
Thunder and my heart compete ,
I think I’ll deafen or be torn apart .
Then a lull , am asleep and alive ,
until I awake to familiar shouts
Invictus , Invictus , Invictus !
Lonesome socks , worn out shoes ,
Some things old , some things new,
Faded pictures , dried up paint,
Books I will not read again,
Dried flowers from happy times ,
Secret diaries , broken chimes,
Votives that once brightly shone ,
Broken beads that softly mourn ,
Decluttered , but how did I start
Clearing up my messy heart ?
“Show us your scars, we will not shun,
Let your darkest secrets be undone”
So I pulled down the web I’d spun
But hardly had I just begun
They turned away , one by one
When I had finished , there were none.
First the chorus chirped ‘ move on’ , what they later condemned as being ‘ unmoved’ . Unmoved , she looks at them , smiles and says , “ Move on.”
The times that I pleaded
I was chided to be strong
when hopelessness gripped me
I was told to trudge along
The abyss pulled , their hands withdrawn
Your battles are yours alone
Now that I’m out and need no one
They judge my heart of stone .