She has a name.

After all, she has a titular role.

Sometimes, she'll go by other names. My personal favorites are Anger, Sadness, A Filter, Pretending, Comparison, Expectations, Faking It, Perfectionism, and Silliness, amongst others.

But one day, she whispered her name to me, so softly that I thought it was just the wind.

"My name is Grief... my name is Grief" she repeated to me.

I cried at the weight of her words.

For I already knew her name, but I didn't want to believe it. But there it was, out in the open. Vulnerable and real.

Some days, I slam and lock the door in her face, ignoring her knocking.
Other days, I don't even bother to get up as she steps lightly into the room.

I hope someday to give her a hug and thank her for her years of wisdom and hurt, and how the two are inseparable.

There's something else too. She told me it the other day, under the too-long absent winter sun as I wept once more.

"I'm your sister... I'm your sister" she whispered, gently and lovingly.

I hold an impossible mirror above my head, just out of reach.

The audience can't see it, only me.
They clap and laugh and grin while I do my routine.

Meanwhile something hangs overhead.

So I'll do the dance, I'll put on the show, I'll do what they want.

But I scream within,
for mirror shards are no fickle sin.

"More! More!" they chant.

So I hold up the mirror instead.

But they know no difference.
For the mirror,
is what they've always been fed.

I wept for myself today. A younger me, that is.

For what I wish I could tell her. For what should have been.

I mourned for her years of pain and apathy and feelings of invalidation. For what should have been.

I would give her a big hug, for all the ones she didn't receive.

I would tell her to be brave, but to remember to cry too, for what should have been.

I would take her bra shopping and celebrate her womanhood, for what should have been.

I would tell her about my own pain and trauma. I would teach her what empathy is, for what should have been.

I would encourage her to be honest. I would be serious with her and teach her about grief and sadness, for what should have been.

I would tell her that it's not over. And that she is not who or what others think she is.

I would tell her to smash the impossible mirror she is holding up, for what should have been.

And I would hold her. So, so close. For what should have been.

My heart broke 700 times

I'm glad you found your closure
It feels like it opened a cavity in my chest
A billowing hole ******* the air
From out of my lungs and
Away from my brain
Away from the sanity I've created
Where I thought I felt secure
But instead the infrastructure was so weak
That the simple memories you mentioned
Left a mark on me yet again
As my heavy heart weighs me to my bed
And I wish so desperately to be alone
I feel as though I'm dying
I must accept reality as it is
I know that all too well
That's why I agreed to meet
To see you
To see me
To see us
Now
We're different than we once were
And while I understand how and why
My soul mourns the moment
And I know I should just live it fully
Because so soon it'll pass
And once again
We'll be strangers on the street
One heart armored with reinforced steel
The other a sloppy mess of
Broken shards and what ifs
Rotting until it turns to ash
And new flowers bloom from its death

My heart is in such a fragile place.
I don’t realize until it suddenly starts to ache.

‪Sitting alone in my car at a park‬
2am and the tears start
You drive away
because I say it’s okay
But the stitches in my heart
Are tearing apart.