7.20.20
For years you carried me
(in your pockets)
when I couldn’t carry myself.
I never wanted you to put me down.
But oh, how you’d remind me of how heavy I became.
Too much, always too much.
Desperate to avoid the pain of a cold bed,
lonely hands,
an empty womb,
I found ways to make myself easier for you to carry.
i enter the back door
into the devil’s territory.
i’m just passing through but
misery desires company.
trying to refuse is dangerous;
he knows my every weakness and
how to use them as weapons.
“just in time for a meal by the fire”
he smiles,
and i smile back
though flashing my teeth so he knows
i am a lone wolf at heart
and i will not be easily won over
this time. Continue reading
sweet dreams stir me restless
(or are they memories from a time unremembered?)
my blood and wine soaked mind spills over
into my sheets that always dry by dawn.
every time i close my eyes
i see you for the first time again
and trembled in my sleep.
this all could be my reality
if only i’d wake from this terrible dream.
(pinch me darling)
i remember you from another life
and i love you all the same.
but brick walls and pitfalls
and nightmarish longings paint the morrow
a deeper shade of shadowed sorrow.
oh, how i long for the morning
if only it would bring you back to me.
perhaps tomorrow’s sleepy memories
will bring me rest or relief.
There it is again.
The reminder. Those thoughts, memories, echos. Those ghosts that creep around corners and remind me that I’m still in the dark.
I swallow a hard lump in my throat. I feel the contents of my stomach creeping up closer to my mouth. I clench my jaw and squeeze my hands closed as I wait for the panic and pain to pass. But it doesn’t pass, instead it gets louder.
I miss him so much. No I don’t. I miss who I thought he was. The person I loved is gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone. He’s gone.
Over and over I repeat it to myself to ground me to reality and calm my mind. Maybe if I say it enough, I can accept it. Maybe I won’t flinch at the thought anymore.
Maybe next time I say it, it won’t tear me apart to remember how replaceable I was.
Terrah Holly Writes 