Your beating Heart

The black bird carried a twig

to the nest,

the shimmering light reflected

over the lake.

Spring entered our home

and our subconscious,

yet I have not stopped 

to welcome the sounds of the 

earth awakening

dreamily stretching

like a ballerina executing 

a pirouette. 

I've been nourishing

and nurturing

those that I love.

I have been sadder 

than they can understand

and stronger than I can comprehend

I have been living in the past

more than in the moment,

feeling the helplessness

of how time floats through

my hands and my days.

Moments that we can't get more of,

days once wasted lost and gone.

I've been stretching my limbs,

my mind diluted.

the wind whispers in my ear,

"You are strong"

it says.

I scream,

"Have you not seen my tears,

heard my defeat,

felt the weakness of my wounds".

I run through the torrents of rain

listening to the uplifting guidance,

longing to hear

the sound of your beating heart..   

A piece of ourselves

 

The sun honey colored

 and brazen

gleamed through the door as he entered

clutching bouquets of flowers.

Daisies, Lillis,Ginger

wild and beautiful.

I reached out for one,

the thorns of the rose

pierced my skin,

reminding me that life

was not always this way,

soft and loud with beauty.

The flower guy

was away in a mountain cabin

 writing his first novel.

I smile 

understanding the struggle of

bleeding unto the page,

pouring our fears,

unveiling our truth,

weaving our words.

How softly we click on

the keys of our devices 

writing feverishly.

Our minds holding boulders,

in the trenches of our thoughts,

fearful to leave on the page

more of ourselves than 

we intended to.

I trim the flowers

on a slant,

place them in the 

green and white crystal vase.

I cut my words

into shattered pieces of myself,

I place them on the page,

exposed,

quickly I

erase and

start over. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Forgiveness

I forgave her for lying

and trying to steal my soul.

I forgave her for bringing storms

into my days,

uncertainty in my steps,

and darkness in my hours.

I forgave her,

the sister I never had,

the confidante of secrets.

I brought her in from the rain,

from a past,

embraced her brokenness

unaware of her bite.

She loved me,

betrayed me,

said it was her illness. 

She took my heart,

sliced it open

watched me bleed

as she stood motionless.

I saw her photograph

on the internet,

her eyes haunted,

a scar on her forehead,

a ghost of yesterday.

It was not her words attempting

to crawl back into the place

she ravaged.

It was not her pleading voice

on the answering machine.

I forgave her

to crawl out of the gutter

she placed us in.

I forgave her as I battled

drowning in the outgoing tide.

I forgave her 

to forgive myself.

This poem was inspired by my friend Aidan Donnelley Rowley's new book The Ramblers. One of the protagonist had a mother with bipolar disorder. There was someone close in my life that was bipolar and ended up hurting me while claiming her love. She was family and it was hard. Aidan's book is beautifully written. You can find it here http://ivyleagueinsecurities.com/. It is so many things more than this, and it's about the questions of life and the struggles that we go through only to be end up better and wiser because of the journey. I recommend The Ramblers and I hope you pick up a copy today.