I found out you moved on,
you’re with another woman.

I felt nothing.

I thought I would cry,
tear my hair out over you—
but I think I love myself now.

My weekly therapy sessions worked.

I am so many, many parts
Of the same broken vase
I hold my weight
Disproportionally
And tilt
Asymetrically
I'm still art
Some of the pieces have been mend
Some of the lines are liquid gold
But we all hold
The pain
Compartmentalized
Surgically removed the warmth
From the heart and
The sad
From the mouth and
The pain
From the brain and
Surgically scatterend them across
And just like the memory is always one
And always weights the same
So is the person
One.
Unique and
Worth the same.

No one listens
to the girls, the women

Who will hear their stories?
Who will believe?
Who will care?

The counselor didn’t
“You were old enough to know”
Closest friends?
No, not really.
they’d rather find excuse,
minimize the wound…
The pastor?
he who possibly did even worse?
he who perceives in black & white
& also blames the victim?
(she was drunk?)
(her skirt—too short)
(she chose to be there)
(SEDUCTRESS!)
clearly not the zealous parents,
judgmental.
or the jealous other…he who claims ownership

& clearly not the voters

so I ask, WHO
Who will listen?
Who will hear?
Who will believe these stories dredged
from the depths of pain?

Those fears…nested in denial
their silence…
Those buried secrets
greedily devour heart & soul
while softly blooms faint hope
of a someday when
Enough who care
finally will believe…
…
No one listens
to the girls, the women
…
Believe Them!

I love nature

It loves me back

Rain plays the music of nature

Bees hum its songs

Butterflies dance to nature's tune

Flowers bloom in the sun

They all make me smile.