Content Warning: **
contains themes of emotional abuse, trauma, gaslighting, and healing from toxic relationships.
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There was a time I called it love—
that swing between cruelty and kisses.
One moment, silence like a storm held in the throat,
the next, a necklace left on my pillow,
an apology wrapped in gold.
I learned to flinch at both.

They pulled the pendulum
with hands that always smiled.
I lived at the center of its swing,
never falling, never flying,
just suspended—
believing pain must be earned
and kindness, a prize for obedience.

Love came in riddles.
It said: “You’re too much,”
then whispered, “Don’t leave me.”
It said: “No one else would want you,”
then bought roses by the dozen.
It told me I was broken,
then demanded I stay whole.

I shrank to fit their moods.
Measured my worth in how still I could stay,
how quiet I could be.
There were days I swallowed my voice
like it was poison
and thanked them for the silence.

I learned the language of gaslight—
how to doubt the bruise even as it bloomed,
how to question my own reflection.
Was I too sensitive? Too cold?
Too easy to anger?
I asked myself so often
that even the mirror hesitated to answer.

They called it love.
And I, desperate not to be alone,
called it survival.
I stayed.
And in staying, I disappeared—
faded… slowly,
like a photograph left in the sun.

When I cried, I apologized.
When I laughed, I waited for it to be taken back.
That’s what trauma teaches—
how to build walls so high
you forget which side you’re on.

And then,
you arrived.
Not like a savior—
but like a quiet thing.
A question, not a cure.
You didn’t ask for my ruins.
You brought no blueprints.
You simply climbed.

You climbed the walls
with patience and small kindnesses,
spoke gently to the ghosts I had mistaken for myself.
You didn’t rescue me.
You reminded me I was never the fire.
Only the one who walked through it.

You never promised healing.
You never called me beautiful
when I was unraveling.
You simply sat with me
in the rooms I had locked from the inside.

And somehow,
without ever asking me to trust—
I did.

Not all at once.
But enough to believe
that love doesn’t have to ache.
That it can be a steady hand
and a soft place to land.

I still remember the pendulum.
But I do not live inside its arc.
Now, I walk.
And someone walks beside me.

I no longer flinch when the door shuts.
No longer shrink to be held.
I have learned the sound of my own name
spoken without sharpness.
I have learned silence can be soft—
not punishment,
but peace.

There are days I still brace for the swing.
Old ghosts don’t disappear,
they just stop steering.
But now I meet them with open hands,
not fear.
I say: I see you. I survived you.
And they leave a little quicker each time.

Some nights I still wake
waiting for love to hurt.
But then I turn
and find it sleeping next to me—
unchanged, unthreatening.
Not a weapon.
Not a promise.
Just a presence.

And I,
who once mistook survival for love,
have begun to choose differently.

I write my own rules now.
I raise my voice,
not to defend—
but to declare.

I am not the bruises I forgot how to name.
I am not the silence I once begged for.
I am not theirs.

I am the story after the fire.
The garden that grew in the ash.
The voice that returned, hoarse but certain.

I am not healed.
I am healing.
And that is enough.

I liked connecting the dots when I was younger—
drawing a line from dot to dot to make the picture.
My tongue between my teeth, with concentration traced on my face
as I connected the dots to make the picture.

I still like connecting the dots.
But now, I’m trying to make the picture of who I am now—
why I am the way I am now.
Connecting the dots to find out what happened
to the old me—the hopeful me, the happy me.

Connecting the dots to find the events that led up
to this different person I’ve become,
connecting the dots to make the picture of me now, inside and out.

I’ve connected the dots.
There is no picture—just a jumble of lines
leading in no clear direction, passing over each other, and lines cut off, just one massive knot of confusion.

So, with my tongue between my teeth
and concentration traced on my face,
I’m trying to make a new picture.
No dots, no lines—just me,
making the best new me I can.

I've been staying up at night,
Burning the midnight oil.
Thinking about our fights and something didn't feel right...
I don't deserve you...
I do not deserve you in the ways that you treat me.

I know that I was wrong,
and you always played along.
Even when I had hurt you, you still loved me,
we looked like fools.
I don't deserve you...
I do not deserve you in the ways that you treat me.

And I,
for the first time
in a very long time,
heard the birds sing
and felt the wind against my face
and only had one thought:
"This life is so beautiful."

And I,
for the first time
in a very long time,
allowed myself to breathe
and let go of my worries.
And I looked up at the sky
and it was so clear.

Clearly I,
for the first time
in a very long time,
loved myself
and chose myself
again.

You want perfection
While I hold your baggage
But can you hold mine
For just a second
Oh wait you can't
I see
Also do you want to
Remain blameless while
I hold all the stakes
Well that's fine too
Let me spoil you
Even with you
Sitting on my back
That's that true real love
I doubt there
Ever be a tipping point
As I carefully hold it in
With no spaces
To vent
As I smile

It seemed so much had been lost.  

So much had slipped through
A grasping hand,
A yearning heart,
A desperate mind
As mine.

The dull march of days present
Was shadowed by the
Gloom of regrets and
Shrieked by a shrill wind at lonely,
Bitter hours.  
What was mine? What was ours?
Gone for good and all?

My love, it seemed, was only
Ever a dark dream.
In my swelling and stinging agony,
Love was
As a locked door
And my heart was a bloodied fist
Beating against it.  
A wraith-like specter of doubt clung to me
With oppressive raiment,
Scrapping over exposed skin
Like course, mortifying fabric.  

Then, from out of a pristine past,
A voice  
Called out to me.  
The herald of an angel
Rung clear and glad as winter bells,
Celebrant!  
The dark narcissus of mortality was
Driven off!
The burial cloak was split;
The stone was rolled back!  

A hope newly found
Surrounds and soars above me,
As a deep, azure ribbon of
Stretching, unending sky!

I am imbued with cheering thoughts
Of our days gone by!
Glories recalled in a moment relived;
Revelries and song lifted with voices
And hearts, stout and full!

Together,
With my beautiful Eurydician queen;
Returned, she was,
From an underworld of time.
We coax and stir
The memories of first passions,
Innocent, powerful and pure.
We are now bending
The arc of our history,
Rending the precious pearl of affection
From the murky domain of
A love denied.  
Renewed and viewed through  
Prismic fractures of sadness
And through the sharp focus
Of blue eyes, in rapt recognition,
Surprised!  

Today is reborn,
Lived again and again,
With each pulse of the clock,
Each beat of my heart.  
The blood within
Is purged of that familiar poison.  

All is potent and refreshed:
You, your face, your voice, your touch, your scent,
Your vibration pours to and through me, once again!
Oh, true friend,
Tender lover,
Gently knocking at my door.
You return from distant lands
Remote and misty,
Bringing light and love
To my lonely shore.
I approach from my realm,
Far removed.  
Age and ages have chiseled
The shape of my soul.
In part, it is smoothed;
Refined with wisdom, empathy, and clarity.
Also, though,
It is,
In part,
Broken, jagged, and cracked,
As the forgotten sculptures
Of ancient empires,
Renowned
And doomed.

Yet I realize, all at once,
That I am not forgotten.  
I am not doomed
To shadow.
I breathe,
I seek,
I still have hope and
Words to tell!
And I still have my love for you!
My life is now freed from that
Sad spell.  

This breath,
This stony soul
(Sculpted by the Artist of Pain)
And this trammeled heart
Trembles in desire of
Your beauty,
Your touch and
Your presence --
Your calming presence,
Bringing levity,
Reassurance
And familiar stories of
Hopeful remembrance.  
From love recalled,
Comes your unexpected
Embrace and
Sweet sign of friendship.

That time of distress has come and
Gone and we turn to discover that
Our tender connection remains,
True and undefeated!
It rises with the earliest song
Of still sleepy birds,
Lilting on the cool air of the morn.  

This uplifting emotion
Again flows within me,
As an angel granting absolution,
Touching me in a place
As deep as first love.  

Welcome!

Mourning and its endless blue,
ends in a journey that
makes us value and love again;
mornings in endless blue.