My loneliness is knocking,
Has been for a time now,
Was quiet at first,
Soft thuds every now and again,
Certain I would answer, yet considerate
Allowing time for me to come to the door.
The knocking is louder now,
Each rap shakes the door to my heart
Vibrating my core, leaving me unsettled
Perhaps I should open up to loneliness,
Let it in to settle by my heart’s hearth.
Keep me company, keep me safe.
My loneliness is knocking,
It is rude to make it wait.
I hate when people say that they “care about me” or when women call me their “friend”. It always seems like a cop out. Like they are dancing around words which hold far more meaning. Words they are too afraid, too cowardly to say. And I hate it.
There is a change in perception which comes as years drag on. I’ve seen twenty-five of these days and they’ve each held their own tone, flavor, scent. In younger years the senses were clouded, hazy, blissful. Sheltered in the lies told to children, lies about the world, about the holidays, family.
Teen years the haze got denser, sadder, angrier. I knew I had been lied to, but I couldn’t tell you how or why. I still played along with the script of deceit laid out for me because I knew of no other alternative.
Twenties though, those are the fun years. Sight keener, haze dissipates, almost disappears until the truth can be seen. I sit here on this day, Christmas day. Alone, without family and I see. I see the how and some of the why of years, months, days past and I understand. The truth of it.
The truth hurts though. How can it not ? I see the things done to me as a child. I see how poorly they were handled. I see how easily I am cut and sliced from the pages of family history. Blood matters. Papers don’t. They joked about shredding my adoption papers. Because it was funny. Because it didn’t hurt. Because that’s what they did. They chose time and time and time again. And I was never the choice. I was always second.
So I sit here, alone, on this day and I see through the haze. I see the truth.
…she knows I’m just a broken, sad girl living in a broken, sad world.
I wish my heart wasn’t surrounded by walls
I wish my soul had just a few less scars
I wish my body didn’t clench when someone
Took me into their arms
I wish I’d believed them when they’d said
I could reach for the stars
Perhaps I would have, were it not for that pause;
I wish the hand I was dealt had slightly different odds.
Last night, a man was met.
He spun words of magic and
Linked them from the depths
Of his spirit, directly to the cosmos.
Using words like “awake” and
“Waking” in the same line,
Pulling attention to the meaning
Of the phrase, the purpose of words.
Stream of consciousness –
He writes about philosophy
Nature and love.
Weaves them together to tell
The story of his heart.
Invites you to join in his reverie
Asks that you understand
However small, a bit of his soul.
Rage. Rage. I blink back my fiery tears. I will not allow this wave to take me under. The current is strong, but my resolve is stronger.
I am blinded. Droplets of the salty sea fly into my eyes. Bring salty tears to the brims of my lashes. I rage. Oh how I rage. Balance lost, I flail my arms in a seemingly futile effort to steady myself.
Another wave. I have yet to recover from the first. Yet here it is. Stronger, larger than the last. Again, nearly pulling me under. I gasp for air. Fight to surface. This is a test of my strength, my cunning my fortitude.
I must not fail. I will not fail.
Fight fight. Rage rage. Live. Live.