Time does not heal every gaping sore
Instead, it can create a festering wound that slowly seeps poison into every pore
Time cannot erase all the hideous pain
It rather gives a purpose for walls to be built in order to keep the mind sane
Time will not provide a safe haven from harm
Although, it can reinforce the locks on prison doors that no one can disarm
Time should have given me my freedom
Or at the very least, granted my parole
However, I have become uneasily comfortable with the internal terror
Whatever uncertainty lies beyond my confinement, scares me more so
Dusk broke through the nighttime sky, filling it with fire and bright light as the distant sun peaked over the horizon.
It was a quiet warning, I knew. Although my mind did not want to admit it.
But I took the hint, and slowly the fire of the sky dripped into cold drops and came cascading to the ground over my shattered heart.
Even the sky could not pretend to stand strong as the heart inside my chest continued to crack with every given moment.
The rain ended, and I knew it was over.
Billowing clouds encircled and surrounded me, attempting to form a safety net from the rest of the world.
The clouds parted and the sky cleared into a majestic array of vibrant colors. The broken pieces of my heart, now scattered across the ground, were lifted up and slowly pieced together, although the cracks within remained visible to the eye.
It would be a process, I knew, and maybe I did not want the cracks to completely heal, but I did want to feel whole.
And I will, with Him, and with time.
When you’re seventeen
and drunk off of
you start to give
pieces of yourself away.
It’s easy at first,
parcelling out knees
and elbows, and
all the bits of you
the world has
taken for itself
on playground sidewalks
and crashed bicycles.
But when someone wants
not the spaces
in between your fingers
but the one in between
Not for marriage
or God or
even the perfect person
to come along
because they never will.
And that’s okay.
Wait for yourself to grow
and to love someone
like candle fire,
a slow, bright burn
that makes the
darkness of night
like broken glass
that gleam under
and cut your
as soon as
you touch them.
next to lions
and drug addicts,
some too scared
to touch you.
And some promise
to never leave
you in morning’s light
without a new scar.
Because they don’t
understand that you are
if your secret places
your light will
return to you
when you least
Slip in, slip under
Under the veil of sense, under the veil of logic
Between realities, between what you, what I know
In between there, is where the work must be done
In the place where logic and words and sense make no sense
In the place where truth, beauty, pain and fear reside
Inside of you – inside of me
Where the hurt lies, where the scars are
The pushed downess, possibly from, definitely from the generations before
The male lineage
My dad, his dad, his dad’s dad, and so on…
They were fighters, so the story goes
The Watsons were renowned for fighting, for drinking
My dad followed and didn’t follow suit
He loved me, loved me so much
Loved me the best he could at the time.
How our daddy’s saw us and loved us effect how we feel seen by men.
Slip under the self-conscious, slip under
Raise the possibility that I could
That I could open up to life
That the harsh harsh critic could quieten and be replaced
Be replaced by connection to heart, to self, to other, to nature
The possibility that I can trust the unknown
That I could move from my heart and trust that movement.
Daddy’s first born
Why so silent daddy?
Better try and be interesting to get heard
Look pretty to be seen
Did you hear me daddy
Did you see me?
It's been awhile but I'm back.
After having my heart stepped on 1, 2, 3 times.
Once at homecoming when he left me for a better girl.
Once when walking into english class , and making eye contact with him
for the first time in over a year.
Once when my parents didn't accept me or you I was confused,
and you could not handle the truth.
1, 2, 3 counting the days...
1, 2 3 could I end it all now?
1, 2, 3 I'm done looking for you in all of the crowds.
okay, take the pill and split it;
okay, drown it down your throat;
okay, take the dream and the scissors;
yes, the one dream where i remembered
how to play four squares with bricks for
balls, with smoke for the air around
yes, the one dream where somehow, we
painted bruises into nebulas, our scars
into stars, our whole arms would become
a galaxy that we would call “not healed,
but getting there.”
yes, the one dream where psychologists
and men in business suits demanded
our whole history, slitting our brains
to find the right pills.
yes, the one dream where my hands
shake at the acceptance letter I was
handed, my future was set in sky
yes, the one dream where my hands
can hardly pin down silver and yellow tears
yes, the one where I am leaving
yes, the one where i leave the mixture
of puke green tiles for stargazing in
the middle of nowhere blue, to
hardwood floors that are now mine
yes, the one dream where pavement
tore skin like my hands tore the papers
with failing grades and red.
yes, the one where i have said that i have
lived, i have lived, i have lived, and i
okay, cut the dream.
okay, leave the shattered remains on the floor.
okay, leave your green eyes behind.
okay, let the remains melt away,
they will, in time, like time always does.
okay, let the rain wash it away.