This burst of anger I feel
and hatred I can't explain
even more when I was told I should—
forgive you
pity you
not expect much from you
and trust all that you have shown me
and how in this feeling I mustn't stew.,
A note
Recovery is rarely the clean, forgiving thing people are told to aim for. It often looks more guarded, more cynical, more careful — and that is usually a sign of repair rather than damage.
You are probably further along than you think if you ruminate less than you did, if their name no longer moves anything in your chest, and if you have stopped narrating your life in the hope that they are watching.
It takes a moment of presence
that makes life a present.
To question the awkward silence
in curious wonder
of the changes you see
in yourself and me
that will rattle your comfort
and threaten your safety
lest they be no returning from
feeling nothing and numb
wondering
where all this is coming from
such a moment of surprise
for all the moments compromised..
I was given hate
so I stored it,
then given love
so I wore it.
I was given love
for the stored hate
so I couldn't
see straight.
Then an outpour
I couldn't ignore
of so much loving love
to be talked out of
with no room to store
but to sit back and endure
all the true love coming my way
feeling like such betray
all because no room was made
to address the hate of which I was afraid...
Scared.
So scared.
Unable
to untangle.
Wanting to.
Desperate for it
I found-
what I wanted
understood what I needed
though coiled and confused
about what I deserve
about what I don't receive
from hands that couldn't give
and eyes that refuse to see.
The joy in reading books
written for children
strangely felt like a soothing balm
to a bruise I couldn't see
as the simplicity in the lesson
carried wisdom in it's hope
that what lies ahead
is also healing wounds
for which many a tears were shed...