lisagrace

lisagrace Jul 19

My friend, I love you

I'm not in love with you, just to be clear.
It's not so much
in the way that you walk,
or the way that you talk.
Or even the way your long hair
is always just so.
Or your smile.
Or your warmth.

I remember the way that I used to be.
Quiet.
Unsure.
Afraid.
Naive.

But you pulled me away,
made me see that I could be more -
would be more, beside you.

I remember your birthday
at your family's restaurant.
I knew I'd already
ruined the night for myself,
but you found me
where I stood alone in the street...
and the silence softened.
You asked me if I wanted to dance.
I said no, it was already too late,
the damage was done...
but I wanted to say yes.

****, I wanted to say yes.

You're the one who listens to me,
who doesn't assume
I'll always say no thankyou.
I'd had "friends" like that before,
They made me believe
that I wasn't enough, just as I am.
But you...you believe that I am.

Now? I’d say yes.
No hesitation.
With you, the nerves quiet down.
I don’t feel like I have to hide.
It just feels safe.
Like I can dance without thinking,
and not be afraid of being seen.

But I've worried, even now.
Am I doing enough?
Do I check in, when it matters?
Am I still enough as I am?
You are a ******* gem, and all I want
is for you to sparkle.

I see how you are with others.
Lighter
Laughing
The way it skims the air,
untouched by my knowing.
I look at you and I wonder,
could I be like that?
Do I even want to?
I know my energy is quiet and subtle,
yet you meet me there and reflect it...
but is what we have enough for us?

This could all just be in my head.
I know I'm a worrier.
But I think you know
how much you mean to me.

I'll never say it.
I can't.
Not out loud, anyway.
But I can manage a birthday card
and a felt frame of a tabby cat
who looks like Julia.
The words flow easier that way.
And so I write it here too.

I really, platonically love you.
My squish.
My gem.
I love you.

A platonic love letter to the friend who helped me grow into myself.
This is for the ones who stay soft, who see you clearly,
and love you as you already are.

#platoniclove #friendship #selfacceptance #healing #growth #quietlove #spokenword #squish #foundfamily

lisagrace Jul 19

Silly Girl

Ah,

The cyclical effect
Of generational trauma
The incessancy of his
Encroaching dark aura
He refuses to look past his umbra
He cannot perceive the pain he inflicts
I'm sure that
He doesn't even wallow - only wails
A piteous cry. A melodramatic howl
And he dares to sit there and wonder
Why no ties prevail?

He is an old man now
And still he believes
That the disease that was he,
Was nothing more than
An elaboration. A tease.
The last so-called apology he had given
I had somehow still accepted gladly
The girl, still clutching one last note
She slid it under the door
And hoped

Silly girl,

She should have known
That hope is dead
There was never any perception
No conception of his venom
Two decades later,
And still he wails
This woman does not feign indifference
Moonflowers abloom,
Defiant in their noctilucence

**** him and his darkness!
How dare his mere presence
Make my stems cower
I'd thought those memories
Had begun to wither
Fading, obscuring into evanescence
But he'd made my leaves quiver

And here I am again,
Trying to bloom
Again

A poem about the long echo of abuse, and the girl who hoped—
until she didn't.

For anyone who's had to grieve someone still living,
and grow anyway.

#poetry #trauma #healing #abuse #generationaltrauma #survivor #hope #family #selfgrowth #moonflower

lisagrace Jul 17

Moonflower

I don't know what I feel.
I don't know who,
or what I like.
I just know,
that I do not feel
the embers,
I am blind to the spark -
The light

I think back on that time,
To that shallow kiss
I know that it was warm.
I know that it was nice.
Hell, I was on cloud nine.
But the moment passed.
And the butterflies were...sparse.

Was it him or me?
Was I just too slow?
Or he too fast for me?
I don't know.
I don't know.
I just...
don't know.

Three or four years
have gone since then,
And I still wonder why
Then I remember -
That wasn't the only time

There had been others before
We had courted,
And I was always wishing
I were elsewhere
Trying to spring forth
All of those feelings -
To lay my heart bare
...but they just weren't there

I still feel like the moth
With no flame
My heart,
In a state of decay
Now and then there is a stutter -
A flutter
Of something
I try to hold it -
But it just flies away

You may as well smear me
Across that windowpane

There are terms now
for what I could be,
The letters "A" and "D"
might feel like me
But I won't say a thing -
Not a peep
Not 'til I'm sure,
Until I'm really sure,
of what makes my heart truly sing

There's a pressure,
a quiet, constant hum
To know
who and what I am

They ask when
Not if I'll marry,
Bare children -
And start a family
Well let's just say,
That I'll not tarry,
To find a way
Out of the charade

Motherhood never spoke to me
It seems a cage -
Agony
I've only ever wished
to be free
Free to inspire,
To create
To ponder
Free to roam,
To dream
To learn
If only I knew the secret
For what makes me burn

But maybe it's okay
Not to know
Maybe I'm still blooming—
Unfolding slow, unseen
In the dark, I find
I do not cower
Instead, I glow -
I, the moonflower.

I will not blaze,
In the ways they expect
I will not leave entrails in the sky
But I still reach -
Only quiet,
and deliberate -
For the stars in the night
For why

Late-blooming questions and quiet reaching.
A reflection on identity, uncertainty, and learning to grow in my own way.

#poetry #identity #aspec #questioning #moonflower #growth #selfdiscovery #gentleness

lisagrace Jul 17

The Shallow Kiss

I didn't know it would feel like this
That shallow kiss
You grabbed my wrist
The second and the first
Were momentary bliss
I was on cloud nine
If only for a moment in time
We only met twice
I thought we'd been spliced
It was warm, and it was nice
I'd thought that maybe,
you could be my first someone
I'd promised myself - "I won't run"
An awkward thank you
My cheeks aflush
I stepped away,
And then came the hush

Why does this feel so strange?
Like my heart has decayed
Brown, and withered
A moth without its flame?
It was warm, and it was nice.
Still...we only met twice
I suppose I was too ready to open the door
Unfortunately,
This has happened before
Maybe if we were to meet twice more
I might feel a flutter of desire,
I'm sure

Three days have gone,
I wait, I stall
I don't know how to feel at all
Was it karma,
or was it fate?
Did the universe just spit in my face?
I thought I had been brave -
I said yes. I had stayed.
I was willing to learn how love might taste,
My heart might have bloomed
in haste - not chaste
But maybe that was the mistake.

"The ones before were purely ******"
"I'm not ready for love"
He said,

Something twisted in my chest

I hoped it wasn't true,
But I think you felt something different for me,
than I did for you
It seems you didn't want my feelings,
My hopes,
Or my dreams
I think you only wanted my body
Just to satisfy your needs
I was ready
Steady -
And now,
Empty

But it was warm, and it was nice.
We had only met twice.

A brief spark that left more questions than warmth.
Vulnerability, misread signals, and the ache of almost-connection.

#poetry #romance #firstkiss #confusion #vulnerability #aspec #heartache #almostlove

lisagrace Jul 17

Under the Door

The girl writes with practiced diligence
"Maybe if I explain it better...?"
"Will he listen this time?"
Another note slides under the door
Silence

A quiet poem about trying to be heard.
Repetition, hope, and silence—the things we send under closed doors.

#poetry #family #silence #unheard #trauma #childhood #longing #hope

lisagrace Jul 17

Rainbows on the Walls

The woman scrolls her usual scroll, not looking for anything in particular....then she sees it - not perpendicular.
Ethereal,
Quintessential.

Moons and stars and coloured gems all
glinting in the afternoon light.
The woman afixes them to her curtain rail
The girl gasps - her eyes wide.
Rainbows danced across the walls, a shifting, sparkling tide.

She breathes. She is delighted.
It's such a little thing, she knows,
The girl and I -
She is me and I am She.
The girl did not die in the fire

She stepped out, glazed with gold.
She still gasps at rainbows on the wall—
proof that wonder never grows old.

A soft reminder that it's okay to be a child at heart.
Sometimes healing means letting yourself play, notice, and believe—just like before.

#innerchild #healing #poetry #softness #joy #rainbows #childlikewonder #selfkindness

lisagrace Jul 17

The Kiln

My hands, smaller then, holding a ball of wet, smooth clay. Shaping it into what I thought were animals - but they all looked the same. Egg-shaped heads, dumpy legs, and fat bodies. Skewered out eyes and noses. But I loved creating these strange creatures. Once complete, they sat atop the cupboard, waiting, hoping to evolve. To solidify. To become. But they never made it to the kiln. The creatures stayed there, alone. Forgotten. Abandoned. A ghost of my childhood, one of the few joyous sparks.

I am grown now, still haunted. Still longing. But I have reclaimed the spark. There it is again. Malleable and messy. These hands, belonging to a woman now, caked with that familiar, wet slip. My thumb presses into the ball - a pinch ***. Another. And another. And yet, another. My heart sings.

The shapes are wobbly. Tumbler cups, too small for coffee...I didn't realise they would shrink this much! There are no two alike, fingernail marks and uneven lips. But I love them - just the right size for honey wine. Dinosaur stamps — a T-rex and a Brachiosaurus. A quiet rebellion in clay, honoring the girl who shaped beasts and walked away. They stack beside the kiln now, waiting again. But this time, they are not forgotten. I see them. I made them. The fire awaits.

The girl, a phantom
I reshape her. I mold her
Coalescing, whole
The woman is set aflame
Imperfect and beautiful

A piece about returning to old joys, reclaiming creativity, and shaping something gentle from the past.

#haibun #creativity #healing #pottery #childhood #selfdiscovery #poetry