A Poet's Bleeding Heart🖤📜🪶

The River

I have always loved to swim. 

The water whispers to me, propeling my steps one after another toward its sparkling bank.  

It asks me to sink my toes into the cool pool, to let the water lap at my heels. 

I have always loved to swim. 

Though, as an old soul I'm no longer a match for the rip tide of the roaring rapids. Brutish and swift, an engulfing and relentless wave after wave. Pounding water into your lungs with punishing pain. You swallow, but only to gasp for air, taking it in like tiny blades. 

I have always loved to swim. 

I think, perhaps, you'll find me languidly afloat. A place you aren't asked to kick and scream and choke. You're only asked to float. Head tipped back, half submerged as the sweetly swirling currents  weave through every saturated curl. You close your eyes and let the sun seep into your soul. You don't have to see anymore. You're being carried away, all you are asked to do? 

Simply,

float. 

So, I think I shall. 

I have always loved to swim. 

I think the rapids love to play. 

But learning to exhale in the flow of the low and slow? 

Now that's where the deeper currents seem to go.

You could nearly part your lips for the water, so to slowly drink your fill. You feel it dampen and douse that burning firey will. You allow it to seep deep into that seceret burning well. 

I have always loved to swim. 

I believe I could be one with the water. Little by little I could learn to open up, swallowing a bit more by every sip and gulp.

I think I'd hold it there if only for just a spell. To savor the taste of freedom on my tongue. A reverant "yes" down my throat as I  swallow every one.

Until the water then pulls me under. Until half submerged becomes a half measure. And then it's time to fully surrender.

I think I could open my eyes under that crystal clear essence, just to watch the last few bubbles bobbling to the surface. 

I don't think I shall miss them, as I find I don't even need them here. I don't have to fight to breathe or flail.

I'm simply held by that pressure, a steady grip that won't fail.

I have always loved to swim. 

I guess soon I'll pay the toll.

It's just a matter of time

before The River 

swallows me

whole.

 The fact that I wrote this after sitting parked in the grocery store parking lot for 2 hours.. because i simply couldn't function until I purged how I truly felt about your accidental, "almost" betrayal. 

Sorry to say "almost" is still too close for my blood. 

Warning Bells 

Sometimes,

I genuinely think that there is something inside my head that isn't wired correctly. Perhaps in the same way that it seems nearly impossible to exist in a way that feels comfortable for me. I can't seem to do what others do. 

I can not simply look away just because it's unpleasant.

I can not simply ignore it just because it causes discomfort. 

I can not simply pretend that I am well just to make the interaction smooth.

I can not simply pretend my heart didn't stop when you clenched your fists.

I can not simply gloss over the fact I could have adorned beautiful purple flowers across my eyes and lips. 

I watched your hands close.

My eyes were wide open. 

I watched your mouth shut.

My body unleashed an unholy flood of ice into my viens. 

I watched my own fear streak my face, reflected in the whites of your eyes as you snarled at me.

I felt my heart slam shut so ferociously the rattling in my bones still makes my teeth chatter as I write this.

You looked at me with disgust and spit venom so slick and putrid that I could nearly feel it like acid eating into my skin. 

How am I suppose to look away from that?

How do I pretend the person who promised to protect me is also now the person who forced me to flee for protection from the same hands that held my face when I cried?  

Couldn't you see my face? Did you see me cry? Didn't you hear my panic inside? My eyes must have said it, my lips were surely frozen. 

"Wait, it's me!" 

I wanted to say it. Because suddenly it felt vital to remind you. I looked at you as if I had never seen you before, and I saw the face of a florist in bloom. You would have made a beautiful bouquet of my jaw and nose. The most beautiful flowers, arranged with... love? 

No. 

No.

I do not want your violent flowers. 

I don't want a love that makes me tiptoe across the more well behaved of the floorboards.. just incase you wake to ask why I linger in the night, you always make me feel so guilty for following the call of moonlight.

You never remember how much I just love to gaze at the moon and stars.. probably because you never bothered to share the view with me..  you only ever reminded me of the time.

I don't want a love that makes me flinch when I ask if you are feeling well, simply because you can't be bothered to entertain my silly little care for you.

How dare I express concern for the love I held so close? I should have been more considerate. I should know better than to pester you with my attention. 

I only ever wanted to be loved as deeply and truly as I crave to love those around me.. I want to know every tiny particle of you. Every single one is sacred and wholly special because each molecule is purely you. I wish to see every single one up close and admire the craftsmanship of such a delicate treasure: a magic beyond any and all else, it is the magic that makes you,

YOU. 

But you scold me when I let my eyes linger too long, trying so hard to count each one of your lashes before you blink and make me lose count again.. I didnt mind starting over.. it meant I could look a little longer, but you hated being "scrutinized".

So, I agreed I wouldn't look as closely, if only to keep you comfortable. 

You wanted to give me a beautiful bouquet, in honor of your truest love for me in that moment.

I must now politely decline. 

I have never enjoyed watching such beautiful hues of blues and berry wither to putrid greens and gold.

Flowers always wither.

It is a gift that never gives.

I could have sworn I mentioned that to you before, but...

I guess you must have simply

forgotten. 

I wrote this letter poem shortly after going no contact with my 'mother'. 

May you never find a moment of peace, as you so greedily tried to steal every one of mine.

🖕🏻Joke's on you, you monster.🖕🏻

Hope you like being the star of all my nightmares. What a legacy, Bravo. 👏🏻

"Dear Mother,"

I could have been a good daughter.

We could have shared smiles over sipped coffee at a local shop by my new home.. the one you've only seen once.
Neither of us knew then that it'd be the first and last time you crossed my threshold.
I know it now, I wonder if you do too?
On second thought, though, I'm sure you won't notice such a minor detail.

I could have been a good daughter.

We could have roared with laughter till our bellies ached at an inside joke one of us made.
Laughed until we were gasping for breath and wiping our eyes, trying to stay present enough not to burn the dinner we forgot we were making.

We could have made it a regular thing between us. Making dinner together for our weekly weekend visit as a family, but then again, you aren't familiar with that word are you? 

"Family"
No. I suppose not. I suppose if you were, we wouldn't be here, would we?

I could have been a good daughter.

We could have embraced and really meant it for once, maybe as a simple greeting or maybe after sharing some long forgotten memory that sent us both down a warm and tender stroll through some blissful veil of nostalgia.

I could have been a good daughter.

I could have held your hand when dark and dreary rain clouds loomed over your head, threatening a down pour of despair.
I could have molded myself into your umbrella the way you had always been mine. But that's just a silly little fairytale isn't it? A hazy dream, but never reality. It must be, for I've felt soaked to the bone for so long my marrow must be soft and green with mold by now.

I could have been a good daughter.
But you'll never know that.

We never shared smiles, you were too busy sharing insults and rage with a five year old.

We never roared with laughter, I was too busy sobbing on the bathroom floor until my belly ached while you burnt our dinner, too busy shouting at me through the door.

We never embraced like we should have because while you were too busy pointing out all my flaws I was too busy repeating your words to my reflection in the mirror.

That little girl deserved better than you. 

I never held your hand during dark days because you were too busy telling me it was my fault the clouds loomed above you.
I don't know if I'd have been any good at it anyway. You'd never taught me how to love and heal. You taught me how to fear and bleed. 

I could have been a good daughter.

I just never had the chance, for you were never a good mother.

I have always had a complicated relationship with my siblings. Life was unfair to us all, and in a lot of ways, never seemed to right some scales. 

I spent many years no contact, then we got back in touch, and have gone back to no contact. It is a hard thing.. to love someone so deeply and want so badly to help them.. but all they see of you is "danger". 

I still miss you, sis. You will always find home with me... no matter how far you drift. 

"I Hate You"

I used to say "I hate you."
Back when I was told it was true.

I used to curse your name,
as if I could rip you out by the roots.

I used to think us foes,
like you were the monster up ahead.
I never realized, at the time,
those were fictions in my head.

We sharpened words to weapons, the way our mother taught.
She seemed to revel in our wreckage,
never caring of the cost.

Standing toe to toe,
I remember how we'd shout.
"This feels like a victory"
thinks the one who made it out.

We'd limp away feeling bruised,
Bloody hearts strewn on the floor.
Our mother winking to the victor, as we shut our shared room door.

I used to say "I hate you!"
Back then I believed it was true.

I used to spit upon your name, as that distance between us grew.

I coated myself in loathing,
letting it melt into my skin.
It sizzled and bubbled, scalding my heart. (That shield, in 20/20, was thin.)

I thought that Time would prove my cause a worthy one to uphold,
to prove there was some justice hidden in all that damage doled.

But Time and Perspective are an inseparable pair,
striding often side by side.
So when they came to tell their tale, my shield cracked,
and I cried.

The twist in the end was that neither of them were ever truly to blame,
because kids can't be players, they're only just pawns, in an "Adults Only" game.

I used to say "I hate you..?"
Back then it was all I knew.

I used to ponder on your name, wondering if you thought of me too.

We should have stood together, sisters united hand in hand.
But mother wanted rivals,
and so we never stood a chance.

And though we've grown much older now and can clearly see all the cards,
maybe somethings can't be fixed when all that's left are shards.

We tried to find those girls inside, the ones we used to be.
Swapping shirts, and singing songs, and dancing in the street.

But people change and history can't,
and those two don't always mix.
We're just broken people with broken hearts,
that might be too broken to fix.

I used to say "I hate you"
Now I know that was a lie.

Sometimes I speak your name to myself, first I smile.
Then I cry.

I wish our story had different chapters, and we both played different parts.
But know you are never the monster in mine,
only my sister,
forever in heart.

Now I say "I love you."
And I hope you believe it's true.

Yes, even now I say "I love you, sis."
And that is the solemn truth.

Moss

If I was the stone,

You were the hand that reached

out into the endless ether,

and plucked me

from the throng.

If I was the stone,

within Your palm I rested,

as You turned me over,

examining every ridge and groove,

ghosting fingertips across my jaggedly rough edges.

If I was the stone,

I could have sworn I heard You

exclaim how smooth I felt

beneath Your touch.

Though,

perhaps I must have

only

imagined it.

If I was the stone,

You were the deepest rumbling cloud,

splitting open a wide chasm above me,

unleashing a torrential downpour of potential.

If I was the stone,

You were the rain that saturated me,

leaving droplet fingerprints

over every inch of my surface.

You seeped deep into every

c r a c k

and

f i s s u r e

filling me up

completely.

For a moment,

I was whole with evanescent

bliss.

If I was the stone,

You were the hand that set me down

gently,

back into the rubble.

I wished desperately that stones had limbs,

so I could have tried to reach for You.

But stones don’t have limbs.

So, instead,

silent pleas fell from

phantom lips.

If I was the stone,

You were the moisture left behind.

An ephemeral reminder

there had – in fact – been a storm,

rain had – in fact – soaked into

the deepest

darkest,

most tender,

parts of

me.

Still,

I’d gaze into the clear cloudless sky,

the memory of raindrops

would leave me

utterly overwhelmed.

If I was a stone,

I’d be wet.

I would begin to feel the twining, climbing

roots

crawling, creeping, across my skin,

finding purchase.

Anchoring into every

c r a c k

and

f i s s u r e.

I don’t think I’d mind it though.

The lush, green, blanket that

consumed me

would be

hallowed.

A reminder,

lest I be dazed into believing

You only poured into me,

in my dreams.

If I was a stone,

I’d be enveloped in

moss.

Through soft, leafy, tendrils

I’d gaze at the sky with patient

reverence,

                              waiting,

     waiting,

                       waiting,

for more raindrop

fingerprints.

"Ensnared"

Crystal dew drops glisten,
Silken threads snag my gaze.
Molten orbs glow in the late morning haze.

I taste the heat on my tongue, iridescent gleaming web.
Liquid amber jewels, lulling siren songs in my head.

"Come to Me."
I hear it, then.

I feel the call prickle across my skin.

Hungry threads whisper,
Silken wings stutter.

"Come to Me."
I hear it,
Louder now.

I feel the call weave it's threads 'round and 'round and 'round.

Gossimer lashes flutter,
Silken wings shudder.
Resplendent, the trap that lay..
Still it calls.
Helpless, I obey.

"Come to Me."

The words caress my spine, trickling fire into my viens.
Golden baubles filled with promise, invite me in for just a taste.

Silvery threads call my name,
the echo louder still.
How I long to press my lips to that sweet forbidden silk.

"Come to Me"

"Come to Me."

"Come to Me."

On trembling gossimer wings, I touch the threads that call.
And with shimmery glittering wings, into silken arms I fall.