I miss him. I love him. He was never mine.

I miss him
because I loved him; love him
without understanding the
how
when
or why

Lord, help me, I found the best kind of connection in the worst kind of unavailable.

No, really,

help?

walking to work today I realized we'd never have another Christmas
I've been rereading words from when you knew me
                                                                   from that sumer at the lake
                                                    where I heard of your Nita

and how you two became my boys

     logically i know you couldn't write at the end,
that you didn't know me
                                                                                                                        but my heart doesn't care
it didn't hurt when you died
          
                                                            because what awaited
here for you was hell, but today
it hurt
       and I missed you like crazy
                          I hope you know that
    how deeply I loved you
                                          and your Nita
                                                                                                                and that perhaps you're together
                                                                                                        as you were always meant to be
                                                      and maybe you'll guide me to my other
                                            for my own life list

The musical screech acts as the pleading prayer I could never quite articulate
     the jazz moves around me and through me
I don't understand but I find profound clarity in the minutes that transform into moments
                the album bares witness to the realization I never gave voice to

           that I've only ever held the illusion of love
                                                            ­                     the impression of caring
but love isn't found when you're the other woman,
                                            in addicts broken promises of next time or a summer love in the age of innocence before either of us were aware of ourselves or who we needed to become

true love isn't riddled with entitled expectations
                                                    ­                                      it's given

                                                          ­         it's a gift

   when you begin expecting it, feeling ownership to it; over it
                                                              ­                            that's the same moment you begin to lose it
I believed I'd been neglected; abandoned, God's not given me the love I want
       but inherently in the want it was wrong
  and in the earnest it was flawed
                                          all my examples are broken
                           and today I wondered if maybe, just maybe
   He gave me so many broken spots so the Love,
                                                           ­                 both His and the one I await can be a salvation I can't fathom
                 today He filled all my gaps with the promise this won't last forever
       that what awaits is greater

Through tear stained jazz gospels I felt healed
      not by the removal of problems or broken pieces, because they will always exist
but by Hope
            by Home
                  and by Love                                          in due time.
                                                        <3

The circles under my eyes darken with all the sleepless nights I’ve spent
                     Consumed

     By the answer I can never be
For my loves haunted by addiction

   For all the fragments

          I’m wondering if all my empty spots where love didn’t learn to grow are showing
   Wondering if only God can love the broken things, if only God can love me

It took three days back in that life to make me question
   Everything
I’ve become
                 Of my value
         Worried people can see the sadness induced insecurity that’s triggering desperate longing
   Craving the wrong places, people and choices because my haunted loves are right –
       short term escape is more tempting
     But it means ****** of who I was meant to be and I’m unwilling to sacrifice everything I fought for
                    Everything I am
                               My self-renaissance

                Today it’s a battle of tear stained lullabies and vintage heartbreak revivals
                        And I may be losing now
But I’ll be ****** if I lose the war

I’m ribbons and lace, polka dots and florals
          Naughty and nice, femininity embraced
  I’m scars and secrets, broken hearts and hook ups
                
                       I’m exhausted

                     Defeated

      A captive of my past, uncertain of my future, longing for wholeness
   Congruence
     Afraid of who I become in survival mode

Broken.

  Praying for relief
      Unable to handle this world of political ties and lies
  Wanting to remember what air used to feel like before it was stained with despair and regret
  Hoping one of these days turns out to be better.

It was cherry blossom season in Washington D.C.
       She was stunning, but something was wrong
   She wanted the trampled blossoms for souvenirs
       A representation of her rage
            It made sense only in her mind, where reality and fiction were blending
               We didn’t know then the hell that awaited
          I didn’t know I was about to be changed forever

In the days that came I held her as she cried,
Answered questions about the voices     that haunted her
  That no one could hear
Walked with her when the world
         Was full of fear
    And she was alone

Later we’d know this was an episode, a problem with a name and a treatment plan, but in that moment
It was her and I, holding hands, making promises and blending our tears to the injustice of the situation

In the months and year that followed I was alone. She went home and I stayed behind,
In infected rage. Not at her, but at the world,
   At the people I loved who turned their backs as I held her through hell

I carry the cherry blossoms behind my right ear
A reminder of D.C. in the spring
Of her and I against the world
Of knowing hell to appreciate heaven

A reminder that life is beautiful, fleeting, and merely a season.
A reminder I’m never alone
<3

Past: I grew up in the land of men
Present: Culture shock into the wonderful world of women
Future: Close, meaningful, healthy relationships

Past: A sense of being trapped, a predetermined path to struggle
Present: A struggle to opportunity
Future: A completely broken cycle

Past: Self-hatred at worst, doubt at best
Present: Transitioning
Future: Authentic wholeness

Past: Done
Present: Healing
Future: Beautiful