I wish I could talk about it.
I do, but I can’t.
Once I find the words,
the dam will burst
and floods cause damage.
So instead,
I turn within,
hoping the problem is me,
because I can fix me.
I grew up thinking
I could earn what I need,
but love isn’t earned.
It just… is
or it isn’t.
Isn’t it?
Half of me stares, unfocused, at nothing in particular. I, her, we dissociate. Pleasantly warm, feeling nothing emotionally. Mentally, I remain in neutral. How good it feels to be nothing at all! Half of me flips rapidly through a rolodex of stories, half-baked daydreams. If only I could catch
And when I see you my heart crumbles to dust. For as lovely and healing as I am, you are as fearful and wounded. I am sad for you-- how painful must this be! I am sad for me, but I know that while I am deserving of love, this
I didn’t go to the party for this moment. I stayed home to sit by the window-- cat on my lap, writing by candlelight-- so that when the sky opened up, I would be there with the window open, to let the warm petrichor waft through. I skipped to
Who is she? This woman within, who I keep fossilized, buried under years of dirt in the sand that packs my soul. How could I let her become forgotten? Exploited, abandoned in man’s endless conquest. When did the rest of my being grow so dry? I once was a