They say that when something is broken,
And put together again,
It is more beautiful than before.

That somehow,
Amongst all of those cracks,
Crevices,
And flaws that once weren't there,
There is some appeal.
That somehow,
In the broken reflection
Of a shattered mirror,
There is a fineness unattainable
In original perfection.

If that is true, I should be
Far more beautiful
Than it seems I really am,
Far more valuable
Than I could ever hope to be,
And far sturdier,
Having been broken before,
Than I was in my mint condition.

Alas, this isn't how things tend to work.

Life has a way of rearranging the compounds
Of our minds,
Twisting and bending and breaking them
So that we suddenly think, fear, and hope
In the exact ways it wants us to,
Instead of the ways that we want to.

Suddenly there is an alteration that cannot be undone,
A seam that cannot be ripped,
A stain that cannot be removed,
Though we attempt to both free
And punish ourselves
With every kind of bleach
We can reach for.
And still to no avail.

I feel as though I am a sad,
Sad piece of merchandise,
Sitting in the corner at the flea market,
Where no one sees me,
And no one wants me.
Why should I blame them?
By nature, we are always looking
For the next best thing,
Shinier, newer, something we
Can be proud to possess
And show off to the world.
This can hardly be said
Of a tarnished good,
One that cannot be fixed by
Any amount of glue,
Polish,
Or gloss.

It is difficult to hide one's scars
Underneath a sheen that's sure to fade,
Eventually revealing what a fraud you are
To all who admired you.

This is the heartbreaking truth
When it comes to what is broken.
What is shattered,
Dented,
Marred and scarred,
Secondhand and second-best,
Cheapened by its battered use,
And prized only by those
Who don't know any better
Than to add it to their pile of junk.

"Maybe it'll come in handy one day..."


Or maybe....


...just maybe...


...it could be handy now.


Maybe with the proper TLC,
A gentle hand and a gentle heart,
Willing to work with what others
Overlooked as worthless and a waste of time,
That something could become a real treasure,
Something valuable and beautiful to behold,
Maybe even more so than it was
Before someone ever dropped it,
And left it, trashed.


I believe a little love goes a long way,
But that a lot of love can change anything.
And that we would be surprised
At what that which we deem broken
Is really capable of doing for us.

To be put back together... I will smile.
To be loved despite my cracks and dents... I will laugh.
To be seen as beautiful, valuable, and desirable as that which is new, I will rejoice.
To be given the chance to be everything you ever needed... you will never want for anything.


The more often that something is damaged,
The less it has to offer.


I have very little I can give,
But for what little spirit I have left,
My heart,
And the love I have saved up in both,
That I am more than eager to share.


And although I fear being broken again,
Left to be another repair project for a forgiving soul,
I can't help but think it is better to be held and dropped,
Than never picked up at all.

All my life...
There has never been a shortage
Of people to tear me down.

I have never been without
Someone to throw the words that cut,
And leave me bleeding
Without a nurse to tend the wounds
Or the means to heal them.

It wasn't often that I went without
Hearing something to remind me
Of how little I was worth.

I was told that I was no good at this,
And shouldn't pursue that.
That, "if I were you, I would skip the audition."
And that I wasn't allowed to do certain things,
Because,
"You're not good at it. Get over it."
Still a ******, I was called a *****,
And was only bought clothes bigger
Than what I needed,
Because someone would rather
Convince me to hate my body,
Than change their own.

I was told that if I didn't do
Certain things,
That no man would want me.
And that he would go look elsewhere.

Though I had hands laid on me,
And not in love,
It was the words that held the most
Power.

The words that followed me.
That haunted me.
That poked at me and taunted me,
Making it impossible to ignore them.
The words that eventually,
Despite my greatest efforts,
Began to ring true to me.

And the mission whose missiles
Were these very words
Became a success,
Making me feel unlovable to the
Highest extent,
Packing me with baggage
That no one should ever bear.

The pain was indescribable.
The recovery, impossible.
The hope that I might prove it all wrong,
Harder to keep alive than
A butterfly who had already had its wings
Ripped from its body.

I had never wanted so much
For a kind heart,
A brief, flickering light
To draw me in
And keep me warm...

To nurse the cuts that always bled,
No matter how I wrapped them.
To offer gentle words
And a gentle touch.
Things that I ached for
Like food and water.

I struggled to hold on to the hope
That there was someone
Who might tell me differently.
That I was no *****,
But beautiful
And deserving of love.
That I was no terror to behold,
Or bane to their existence,
But someone that made it a little
Brighter.
That I was no problem to be solved,
But a person, a being with value
To be held
And loved
And looked after.
Someone who held purpose
And whose heart deserved
Healing
And someone to hold it,
Someone to look after it.
Someone to hold and
Look after me.

I strained to hold onto the possibility
That I could make someone happy,
Instead of only inspire their hateful words.
That I might hold some merit to someone,
And be a welcome part of their lives.

But then I realized...

No one would want all of that.

No one looks to nurse wounds
And fade scars.
No one aims to prove false
The insults and jabs and discouragement
Thrown at you.
No one wants to wait patiently
For the trust to grow while the
pain subsides.
No one wants to bear the patience
Of dealing with a broken person
Who every now and then,
Cracks a little bit.
People want shiny, new, and undented.
Not something that has been shattered
And clumsily pieced back together,
Never looking quite as pretty or worthwhile
As the perfectly intact,
Looking like it might break all over again.

I worked to fix myself,
Always trying to make better
Something I couldn't even identify.

I worked to become perfect,
To gloss myself over
And fill in the cracks,
Hoping to look like that
Lovely, intact counterpart
That I would never be.

I felt as though I waited
For something to happen
That never could be,
And for someone to come along
That would never show.
Like a constant replay
Of a jilting at the altar,
I waited for something
I dreamt about so often
I had nearly convinced myself
It was real.

I realized I could never undo
What had been done.
I could never take back
What had been said.
Because these actions
And these words
Were not my own.
And making up for someone else's
Mistakes
Is about as successful as taking
Medicine
To cure someone else's illness.

I could never fix it,
But I must always
Bear the results.

I deemed myself,
Again,
Unlovable.

I began to wonder
If this had been the purpose
Of those words all along.

To create someone unlovable
Because the speaker could not
Find love themselves.

Surely,
Only a monster would do such a thing.

But monsters are real.

And this one wasn't hiding under my bed.

Isn't it ironic, lovely ones,
How so many pretty faces
Can hide a demon's soul?

How the same eyes which bat their lashes
In flirty beckoning,
Offer a window into wickedness,
An entrance to an evil place,
That harbors evil things....

How the same lips which speak such pretty words,
And lovely falsities,
In pleasant company
Drip poison behind the safety of closed doors,
Without the courage to speak so
In the outer realm...

How the same mind which seems so wise
Can foster such horrid operations,
An assembly line of treachery
Which twists and warps that
Which really is
Into what is isn't,
For its own selfish, devilish purposes...

Isn't it odd how the world's
Cruel jokes
Have remained so timeless,
Doomed, like history,
To be repeated,
Over and over again?

"Do not judge a book by its cover," they say.

And isn't it funny how this phrase
Aims to promise some unknown good
Behind that cover,
But never entertains the possibility
Of evil behind it,
Instead?

Yet it still holds true.

It is far more dangerous
To trust a pretty face not supported
By pretty words and actions,
To have faith in a glittery exterior
Without pondering the worms
Which breed underneath,
Than it is to doubt
A far less attractive cover,
Beaten, threadbare, its title worn off
By the winds of the world,
May guard a mine of diamonds within.

How foolish of us all
To take at face value
That which we see, hear, and touch.

How irresponsible
To abandon the idea and support of proof,
And let our judgment laze around,
About as useful as if it we hadn't had it at all.

I find it hard to pity those moths
Which do not examine the light
Before letting themselves fly into it.
When the static crackles,
And the glimmer flickers,
And the wings are burnt and injured,
It is too late for a second thought, then.

And as a bystander,
I cannot reach out and pull them from it.
I can call out my warnings,
My cautionary tales,
And even my proof that the light,
In all its beauty,
Harbors a special kind of evil
That they clearly cannot see,
But I must let them learn.

As much as it hurts.


I truly believe that what we put out
Into the world
Will come back to us.
Perhaps not today,
Or tomorrow,
Or anywhere
In the forseeable future ahead.
But it will return.

And though my human nature
Demands I bring order to the wicked,
Expose their evils for the world
To shudder at,
And cower away from,
It is not my job.

These forces which surround us
Bear that burden.

I, a small and staggering presence
Among billions,
Can only perform what I know it right,
And good,
And kind,
And hope that my fellow man,
Instead of drooling at the sight
Of fool's gold,
Will find a true beauty in this instead,
And choose to abandon all that deceives.


On a day which has no date,
No time,
No existence until it is ready,
Justice will come to the evil ones,
And those foolish enough to follow them.

How gloriously the wicked will fall,
Their cries ringing in ears
Which heard their sneers and cruel remarks,
Underhanded jabs and petty,
Childish words,
So many times.

Ears which will hear the music
Of that which was sown,
Being reaped
In the rays of a glorious sun.

Those untrained minds,
Which sought the disappointments
Of easy friendships
And sparkling facades,
Will fall, as well,
Regretting their decision to
Believe in the unreal,
And abandon their sense.

And I, at the end of it all,
May stand with fewer than I started with.

But, with those solid few,
Apart from the unstable masses,
I will still stand stronger
And better than I was,
And with minds like mine,
Rooted in goodness, kindness,
And grateful for the difficult journey
Which brought forth the lesson that
Examining a person's cover
Is well worth discovering what lies beneath.

Beware.

Where are you?

Do you hear me?
Do you see me?
Do you remember me?

I have always been here...

Tell me you remember me...

Tell me...

What did you used to tell me...

Lean on me, you tell me.
But when I try, I fall.
There is more often empty space
Than a warm embrace
To catch me.

Shivering in the cold of denial,
Where I can see neither my breath
Nor any warm, outstretched hand
To help guide me,
Rubbing bruised limbs from
Falling to the ground again
And again
(Lean on me, you tell me),
And blindly stitching at a wounded heart,
I get to my feet again and again,
And I fight.

I fight to feel that I still matter,
That I mean something to you.
Anything at all....

I fight to believe that I am still beautiful to you,
That I still bring light and color to your world,
That I am still the one who has your heart.

For in these days, I only feel that I hinder you.
That I, in needing you at all,
Even for the slightest thing,
Only slow your progress in your
Grandiose plan for your life.
A life you once said you wanted me
To be a part of.

As I hurt, I remain silent,
Not wanting to distract you.

You must understand, I'm not trying to ask for much...

Only that, in my moments of pain,
Where life is not so kind,
And people are not so gentle,
And my mind, body, spirit, and heart are not so strong,
That I might find warm solace in your arms,
That once so readily held me,
Protected me,
Shielded me from all that hurt me.
I only want that small comfort
Of running to you
And letting the tears
Or the words fall,
And having your gentle voice,
And loving smile,
And protective stance
Greet me,
Telling me it's all right to hurt,
And it's all right to need you.
That there is no shame or guilt
In these things.

Things that I dare not ask of you now.

I bear such guilt,
And I bear such shame,
For asking this of you.

Do you know how it hurts...
To find empty space again and again,
To feel like I am of no worth,
Despite how I try,
How I try so hard
To be perfect for you
And make you happy,
Always make you happy before myself.

I have always been there for you,
Never once turned you away.
I wouldn't dare.
My love for you forbids it.
I promised that no battle you fought
Should ever be fought alone,
Because I would be your fellow soldier.
I promised no celebration
Should be celebrated alone,
Because I would cheer with you.
I promised that no storm
Should ever pass where you did not have shelter,
Because I would always be your rock,
Your lighthouse,
The warm, safe place you would always have to go to.
I have never left,
And will never leave you
To face life,
The heartless *******,
On your own.


But in my darkest hours
And at times, my brightest dawns,
In my moments of despicable self-acceptance
That I need a hand to hold,
That I cannot take it on my own,
You are nowhere to be found.

Well... I suppose that's a lie.

I know exactly where to find you,
But I cannot go there.

I cannot interrupt you,
Keep you from what you are doing,
Because in those hours,
And among those people,
You have far greater things to concern yourself with
Than I.

Than what I might be thinking,
Feeling,
Fighting,
Celebrating,
Giving,
Taking,
Believing,
Denying,
Remem­bering.

Always remembering.

Remembering a time
When love held a far greater place
In your heart
Than work,
Than pride,
Than cold indifference,
All of which seem
Quite comfortable there.

They say that money is no object,
But she is the apple of your eye.

And I cannot help but envy her, for I once was in her place.

I had always been what you desired,
Now a pawnshop token you could take or leave,
Or so it feels.

I wish I could satisfy you the way she does.
That seductress,
Always luring in on a silver line
Those who believe she is the key
To happiness.

I wish I could have her wile,
Her charm,
Her tricks and beguiling ways
That have so captured you,
The way I,
And my simple acts of love,
Though I could not do much,
Once did.

I will never compare to her,
Never measure up to the
Beauty she beholds,
At least in your eyes.

I am a rather simple creature,
I suppose.

I have never had so much to offer
But my heart in whole,
And the promise of a lifetime
That I would never leave.

Maybe money truly does make the world go 'round.

But I never thought she could replace me.

Well played.

Hello, anguish.

Long time, no torture.

How have your travels been?

Tell me, did the fires burn
Too hot for you?
I thought, for once,
I had banished you
To whichever pit
Of Hell
You managed to arise from,
So that you may
Find me so easily,
As the goal of a hunt
Caught in your crosshairs.

I should have known better.

Well, while you're here,
Please have a seat.
Sit anywhere you like.

Anywhere but THERE!

You must be a well-seasoned guest
To know exactly which door to knock on,
And exactly where you want to rest.
So of course you pick my heart,
And lay your feet upon my soul.

I do so hope you're comfortable.

Insistent *******.

How have I been?

Why, how kind of you to ask.

What's your motive?

I've been fine, really.
A little sporadic uneasiness
Here and there,
But mostly on the fast track
To regaining my peace of mind.

Well, I was actually
In the middle of it
When you arrived.

I sound like I'm talking to a therapist.

Yes, I need 10 milligrams of Stop Talking To Inanimate Feelings.

Oh, don't be sorry.

As if you ever are.

I don't mind the company at all.
I do spend so much time
Alone these days.

I was well on my way
To finding my resting place,
My place of solitude
And productive thought,
A fragile teacup
Of a space
In the landfill
Of the world.

Some days are better
Than others.

What's that?

A gift, you say?

A souveneir, perhaps?

To hell if I'm keeping whatever it is.

What might you have for me this time.

Some sort of anxiety, I'm sure. But what about this time around?

My schooling? My finances? My family? My relationship, matters of the heart?


Oh.

Uncertainty.

Well... it wasn't
what I was expecting,
But still, it's nothing less
Than what I would expect from you.

Uncertainty about what,
Though?

There's no label this time.

.........

What do you mean,
It's a gift for identifying?

And WHERE are you going?

No.

NO.

You cannot simply leave this here,
Resting upon my weary shoulders,
Which bear so much already,
And leave me to figure it out.
You mustn't simply waltz off
Into the unknown blackness
Of the recesses of the human mind,
As if you haven't a care in the world.

You are a terrible guest,
Showing up uninvited,
At a most inconvenient time,
Bearing gifts of unneeded,
Unnamed weight,
Leaving me to figure it out.

Fine. Leave.

You wretched, vile creature.

See if I let you in again.
Begone, and let every door
Hit you on your way out.
May every jagged rock
In your path
Catch your foot in your
Sadistic, carefree walk
About the earth.
May every web
That spiders weave
Entangle you
Beyond rescue.

Yes, goodbye.

Now, what of this....
Thing?

It has no name,
Yet I am supposed
To know what it is.

Hmm.

Feels like...
Questioning.

Yes, there's questioning here.

Many questions.

But of what?

I have questions about
Many things,
As my curious nature
Must have it so.

Also feels like...
Emotion.

Unwanted emotion.

How that little beast
Does manage to bring
The worst gifts to me,
At the worst times,
Is beyond me.

He needs a hobby.

Let's see... emotions
Of the heartfelt kind.
Of the deep recesses
Of that bipolar *****
Which no ne trusts
And everyone breaks.

Emotions and questions.

Oh dear God.

No.

No, I must dispose of it
Right away.

This is the sort of thing
I fear most.
HOW did he manage,
Also,
To get fear in there,
As well?!

No, it must be thrown away.


"Do not yell your curses at me!"

"Who are you to say that I
Haven't an idea at all
What I want, and when,
And where, and why?!
What judge are you,
And with what authority
Do you claim I am divided,
My side unpicked,
And that a canyon
Lives within me?"

"Petty fool, you are not welcome here!"
I know what I am doing!
And I shall make the rules,
For it is I who must obey them!"


Alas,
There are no rules.
None to be made,
And none to be followed.

Even more tragic,
Is that I know not
What I am doing,
And I doubt I ever will.

For it is these,
Of all horrid gifts,
Delivered without
Notice,
At the precious price
Of losing sureness of mind
And peace of the soul,
That may not be returned.

The gift that keeps on giving,
Until I decide it shan't...

A decision I cannot bear to make,
While in company
Of battered spirit,
Fearful heart,
And overconfident,
Incessantly calculating mind. 

For now that he is gone,
I must entertain them, too.  

*How did I ever get so lucky?

I wish I had known
Long before now
That I was doing everything wrong.

That the things
I did and said
Were of so little help,
So little merit,
So little worth,
That they made me
Mean so little to you.

I wish I had known
Long before now
That it is not enough
That I should love you
Unconditionally.
Everyone in your life
Must follow suit
In what I do
For you to bear the
Smallest fraction of happiness.

They say that one person
Can make such a difference
In your life.
But I feel that I make
No difference at all either way,
That should I stay
Or should I go,
Your life would move on without me.
I feel that my presence
Makes no more difference
Than my absence would,
Should I vanish from your life.

I feel I am simply existing,
At your side,
In waiting.

I wait for the days
When you want to have me at your side,
The days when you smile, and laugh,
And tell me how beautiful I am,
Regardless of what I'm wearing,
How my hair is done (or undone),
Whether or not my makeup is perfect,
Or I am wearing any at all.

I wait for the days when
You come to my door
And as soon as I open it
Pull me into your embrace,
Openly expressing your joy
In seeing me,
In being with me,
In being mine
And calling me yours.
In making me feel like
No one else could ever bring
Such a smile to your face,
And such a warmth
To your eyes.  

I wait for the days when
You wrap me in your arms
With a strength that I imagine
Can only be borne of love,
Shielding me, protecting me,
Safeguarding me in your unending
Quest to be all that I want,
Though you already are.

I wait for the days
When you kiss my forehead gently,
And in that kiss
Express that
I am yours to love in my entirety,
To protect in my frailty,
To bring along with you
As you tread your path of life,
As your partner in crime,
Your co-pilot,
Your fellow adventurer.

I wait, now, for those days
That used to be everyday
In our little utopia.

I wake in the morning
With the hope that today,
I will make you happy.
That I will bring light and color
Into your life and your world,
As you once so often told me
That I did.

I wake with the hope that today,
I will be special to you,
And beautiful,
Priceless,
Treasured,
Wanted,
Loved.

I wake with the hope that today,
I'll get it right.

I'll get it right, won't I?

Maybe I just need to try a little harder.

But such days, now,
Are few and far between.
More like a game of chance
Which I hope I can win,
At least every
Now and then.  

I know not where I went wrong.
So I can only offer an apology,
A small, fragile thing
In my trembling, outstretched hand,
In hopes that you will take it from me
With the same gentleness
And delicate care
That you once employed with me.


I am sorry that I have failed you.


I am sorry that I am not
Enough for you,
That I am only one person,
And as such,
Can only give you
What one person may.

I am sorry that my softspoken words,
Of encouragement, of comfort,
Managing to cover
Debilitating inner pain
That I could not make everything
Right for you,
Were not enough.

Could I have said more?

I'm sorry that my gentle touch,
Easing the furrow in your
Worried brow,
Working the stress
From your shoulders and back,
Upon which you carry
Far too much,
Holding you as you were ill
Or upset,
Or too tired and weary of the world
For anything more than
Laying in my arms,
Was not enough.

Could I have done more?

I'm sorry that I possess
Very little in the way
Of material goods,
That I could not help you more
In your search for a way
To have a better, richer,
More fulfilled life.

I wish I had more to give you.
Had I the world in my palm,
It would be yours,
And all that was in it,
Yours as well.

Could I have given more?

I have, in truth,
Done my best.
I have given all that I had,
And all that I could,
And still more that was not
Really mine to give.
I have never wanted so much
To give all of everything,
In every way,
To someone.
And it tears at my heart,
Claws of gargoyles,
Nails of coffins,
Thorns of roses,
That I don't have a way
To do such a thing for you.

I am only sorry
That what little I did have,
Likened to the offerings
A peasant might possess,
Were of meager proportions
That could not satisfy you.

My heart shatters
As a bauble falling
To an unforgiving,
Concrete end,
As I tuck myself
Into a half-empty bed,
Wishing your warmth
And your smile
Were coming at me
From the other side.

If a pair of arms to hold you,
A pair of ears to listen,
A mouth to speak kind words
And remind you how much
You are loved,
A heart that beats for you
And shakes violently
At the thought that it might have
Lost its worth in your eyes,
Are ever what you seek,
And are what might make you happy,
I will be here.

I will always be here.


I am so sorry....

*...that I failed you.

Hush.

Cease your noise.

Fall silent, all you who gather here
To lay down the suffocating burdens
That rest so unforgivingly
Upon your weary souls.

Your lamenting shall bring you
No greater harm,
Nor any relief,
While you are here.
Your cries will go unheard,
For we have either heard them before,
Or we cannot hear them over our own.

Your tears will be free to fall
But none shall amount
To any great difference.
If you must cry,
Water the earth with your expression,
And return to her
What she once gave you.
Do not let your tears
Of loss,
Be a loss themselves.

We are here together
To break free
From all that binds us,
All that holds us back,
Holds us still,
Holds us captive;
All that has broken us,
Beaten us,
Forgotten us,
Used us,
Taken advantage of us,
Looks down upon us
With the kind of sneer
That could only come
With deriving great pleasure
From causing great pain;
All that has brought us anger,
Sadness,
Incredulity;
All that has taken from us
The light by which we once
Tread our own paths,
And as it grew dimmer,
Our paths,
Winding,
Weaving,
Twirling,
Crossing
But never so that we met,
Became one.

And we are here
To let go of all
Of these things,
Because of which
We have harbored
Unspoken rage,
Unshed tears,
Confessions that were
Never made,
Or perhaps,
Never should have been.

We are here to release
The binding ties
Which in love,
Would bring us together
But in their hateful existence,
Have driven us all apart.

I stand before you with a match.
This match,
A rather unremarkable
Piece of timber,
Was tucked snugly with its
Equally unremarkable
Brethren
Into a pouch.
Thrown among a heap
Of the same,
With no consideration
That it might have
Been better off
Remaining a part of the tree
From which it came.
It was one tiny part
Of that tree,
But what of the possibilities,
That it might have been
Something great?

It might have been a branch
Upon which an eagle
Built its nest.
Or, even more incredibly,
A twig that helped compose
Her nest,
And for however long,
Supported the incubator
That would bring her legacy
To life.
It might have been a part
Of a ******'s dam,
A vital part of an ecosystem,
And whose absence could mean
Life or death
For so many others.
Or it may simply have become
Compost
When the tree had died,
Become a part of the soil
Which would support
Future generations
Of every lifeform imaginable.

But now...

Now, we will never know.
This little match,
So very typical,
With its plain composition
And tiny red cap,
Will fulfill a typical purpose,
Today.

I strike this match
And say to you,
The flame that it will create
Will be the new flame
For your personal path.

It represents illumination,
A casting out
Of the darkness you were in,
A reawakening of all that
Might have been lost,
But can now be saved,
Or that has been lost,
But now makes room
For something better.

It is a rekindling
Of the joy that life once
Brought you,
And the magnification
Of that joy
Which it will still yet bring.

It is a revitalization of the good in you,
The light which you shed
On so many unappreciative lives;
A light which
You still have the chance
To shed
On those who truly need it most.

And it is a reminder to you...

...to not be a match.

Do not let them throw you in
With the rest,
Assort you as though you
Are common!
Do not let them pull you
From everything great
That you might yet achieve,
Just so that they may
Assign you a typical purpose!
Do not let them light you once,
Use you,
And then cast you aside,
Having already taken,
In that one small flame,
Everything that you had to give.

And now,
I light this match,
Upon the branches
You have laid here.
The branches that
Have broken off of
Your tree of life,
And now can be no more.

For everything that you have lost,
There is a branch for it.
Remember, now,
That what once was alive,
And has now been separated,
What is now dead,
Can no longer
Serve a purpose.

So I tell you,
Pull from your heart,
Your mind,
And your soul,
What has had the undeserving
Privilege of plaguing you.
Extract it,
Remove it,
Cast it into the fire.
Set it ablaze,
And while it burns,
Abosrb the warmth
From these flames,
Which remind you of
Who you are,
What you are worth,
And the warmth
With which you will
Illuminate
The darkest,
Coldest places
Where you, yourself,
Have returned from.


Cast them!


Cast them now!


Push aside the weakness -
That is not who you are!
Summon every fiber and cell
Of your newfound strength
And let all of it go!


And now,
It is done.


Now,
They are ashes,
To be blown away
In the same wind
Which dried your tears
These many years,
And will do so
For years to come.

Incinerated,
They are swept away -
The broken hearts,
The lost and forgotten dreams,
The stolen opportunities,
The harsh and unforgiving words,
The hopeless, sleepless nights,
The sunrises which brought no new promise
But reminded you of everything
That could go wrong -
They are gone!


They are nothing now!


But you,
In their absence,

You...


...are everything.