Would I be forgiven,  
if I lay with my cheek
pressed flat against the *****
of the grass,  
sparkling
with last nights rain that came
in startling sheets,  
as heavy
as the shame, wrapped
around my heart in threads  
woven
out of calculated missteps,

Would I awaken  
as fresh and fragrant
as their small green bodies
bodies that bend softly
under the kiss gifted  
by the morning mist,  
shivering
under frosted silver cloaks  
in anticipation
of the suns awakening.

Tell me, would I be forgiven?

I reel in the silence of my own heartbeat
This familiar aching embarrassment
Spreading through my limbs
And instead of facing the hurt that pulses underneath, I embrace
The racing molten lava burning through my veins.
Explosive, I strike out physically
The energy throbbing behind my furious eyes as slick mitts slap dull against worn canvas
The sweat that mats my hair, dripping into my eyes to leave a residual sting,
Is chosen over tears
That have been shed over one far too skilled at yanking my heartstrings.
I succumb to the hot fire flood
Pounding fists into bags worn and tattered
A scream of frustration building behind clenched teeth
Unwilling to voice the pain
Of distance gained through meaningless conversation.
The hurt of unexpressed sentiments held back to create space
For my insecure imagination.
This wall of rage rolling across the shattered surface of
heartache at being
ghosted.
Once again.

How hard is clear communication?

I kneel at the heart of my exasperation
My own lack of courage.
The kind of bravery allowing one to speak real words of feeling.
But it hurts when you don't respond
like you used to
And your words - cut short - hold little meaning
seemingly altered and unforgiving.
This jostled dissonance mocks my vulnerability
So instead of defaulting to crying
I bypass tears and scream
Fists flying.