The Wounded Me

The wound had festered,
Until it reached the surface,
There it was open,
The air stung,
How I did shriek!
Unable to believe such harm had been,
Was of, was in
But it could not be unseen,
And beckoning alone would not heal,
And so I gathered gauze of aid,
And let in the attendants for my mind and soul,
To dress the painful opening that was now exposed,
And it promised not to close,
To be stubborn as cells stitched together a flesh bandage for the wound,
And it was painful,
The knowing, the being, the healing.

Time passed,
Much time passed,
And I look back on an invisible scar in disbelief,
How was that me?
Who was that me?
The wound is closed,
But the memory of phantom pain shocks my mind once in a while,
And strange photos,
Strange writings,
Strange thoughts of things not as they really were
come back to me,
To me,
To the me that is whole,
But who remains vigilant,
For the feared return of the wounded me
that once resided here.

Breathe (It will be okay)

Your hurting hurts,
The pain may linger,
But you are strong
Even at your weakest,
Even when you can do nothing
But cry,
You persevere,
What else can you do?
You could give up,
But you won’t,
And you don’t,
And still you must cry,
Tears bathe your wounds,
And then you breathe,
Another breath,
Another day,
And yes,
It will be okay

Someone’s Hero

I do not see it,
Day to day,
The me that takes your breath
I need reminded now
And then,
That I am much greater
Than I imagine,
How far I have come,
How much I have done,
I must stop and really try
To recall,
But from the outside
From someone else’s view,
To appreciate
That I may be
Someone’s hero,
Just by being me,
Despite the odds,
By living,
By persevering

Your Meaning*

You are.
Your existence is not meaningless,
It has had meaning before you could ever even know,
Your actual meaning you may never fully know,
But it is there,
Others see it,
moreover feel it,
Even at a distance,
We know,
it is fully embracing,
There is more,
More meant for you,
Even when times seem endlessly void,
There is an outlet, a point, a goal,
Perhaps you have hints of it,
Or perhaps it is around a bend,
But this is not all,
Your hardship is not pointless,
You are maturing,
into the being you were meant to ripen into,
Your purpose,
your purposes may not be obvious,
now or ever to you,
There is a point,
There is meaning,
There is good
In the fact that
you Live.

  • Written for A.M.

Love and Hurt

Written 2010

I do not know how to foster
the kind of patience, understanding,
and strength that i need, that this requires.
I don’t know how to keep sane
when everything around me
is pure insanity.
i don’t know how to be loving,
though I love,
when everything in my nature
tells me “this hurts, don’t accept, fight back”.
and so, i read and read,
searching in words to find the answers,
that i already know.
answers that are before me
just as stories, stories that tell our lives.
Our lives in different locations,
with different names, and dates. but no solutions,
no fixes.
we are the guinea pigs for this life,
and we’ve so far been dealt a difficult hand.
we love and we hurt,
we hurt and we love
and that is how we live
in our little home