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You told me how you wished you were holding me in your arms but behind my back you had let go of my heart and smiled as you let her fall from your brittle hands. You promised to protect her. You promised to hold her for the rest of our lives. And now here she lay face up on this bed staring blankly at the ceiling with tears of second guesses and regrets flowing for anyone to see. She is numb and homeless, strong but trying to keep going. You broke her.
You promised.
Rebekah M Hearn Dec 2018
I wish I could tell you.
I wish I could explain to you how hard it is to not be terrified of losing you even when your hand grips mine so proudly.
How my heart aches at the thought of waking up in this world without you a part of mine.
I wish I could explain how men you don’t know planted these seeds of self doubt and insecurity, how I’m not the girl I was before them.
I wish I could let you see the bottles of old tears and loneliness that followed every betrayal.
Oh how I wish I could wipe this slate and show you how she danced in the sun without fear of falling, how she loved with no fear of the unknown.

I wish, I wish.
Rebekah M Hearn Jun 2018
***
So trace your fingers up my spine until you’re just below the top then tear away the skin until you find your way to my heart.
It’s been so long since it’s seen sun it’s felt so alone. Neglected and rejected, yeah, we’ve faced this world alone. So take her if you want her, we’ve recovered twice before. We’ve heard boys say “you’re all I want” then walk right out the door. She’s been racing at the thought of you it’s hard for her to breathe so take her deep inside your soul and make your home with me.
Rebekah M Hearn Nov 2017
Planted in my mind by my father.
Fed & watered by my first love.
Shined down upon by my second "love".
Ignored in the winter months after the sun left us.
Then there was him.
It seemed like for once the tiny ***** in my mind where it grew from was slowly starting to wilt and die off.
Then the spring came.
You let me down, and the next thing I knew it was 100* and the small darkness grew at an astounding rate.
I was trapped in my own personal ****.
Trust?
Issues.
Rebekah M Hearn Nov 2017
J
I once woke up in the middle of the night and saw the silhouette of your side from the light of your television.

I smiled and imagined driving a car over the curve of your hip into the dip of your side.

I imagined all the hands that held onto your back that didn’t appreciate the way it carried you when you wanted to stop trying.  

I wondered if the next girl would appreciate these tiny things about you.

I wondered if she'd watch you nod while a cigarette hung loose from your lips as you drove.

I wondered if she’d watch you drive with your knees, carefully trying to  drink your third cup of black hot coffee.

I wonder if she’d care that the demons that slept behind those blue eyes were whispering again or if you had even told her of how they tormented you.

I wondered if her skin would sear as you moved her hair from her face.

I wondered if she could make you blush how I have.

I wondered if you would let her in deeper than I was allowed.

I wondered if you had told her of the nights I held your face while you cried.

I wondered if you could teach her how to love you as hard as I tried.

I wonder if you make her feel like home?
Rebekah M Hearn Nov 2017
His legs are hairless.
He's the strongest man I know.
Inside his mind he's 18 again, trapped in a constant battle against a now aged enemy.
He's a father, grandfather even.
He sits with his back to the exit, making sure he can protect us.
He is haunted but proud.
He came home on ships full of broken toy soldiers, wound tight and released into an unknown land.
They returned him in less than pristine conditions, cracked and frayed from a war they did not ask for.
His fears and dark thoughts settle in the lines in his face and on the thick skin on his fingertips.
Pill after pill, meeting after meeting, he is tired.
He wants to wash away the things he's seen that he cannot repeat out loud to us.
"He stirs in his sleep." She says.
Trouble and reoccurring demons fighting battles behind his restless eyelids.
He fought for my future.
He fought for my freedoms.
He is my troubled soldier.
I wrote this about my grandfather who was in the Vietnam war. I'm not sure if I will ever show this to him but he himself writes poetry. He's struggled with ptsd since the day he came back, I'm too scared to ask him what haunts him.

— The End —