unbearable

There were words spoken
out of turn
and a sharp twist of truth sprang out
ugly, unwanted, embarrassing- the very thing
that was supposed to be disguised
appeared boldly and she-
left voiceless and without
the opportunity to shift
her weight in preparation
for attack- tripped backwards, slipped
behind her words and left
without us noticing, while her body remained
at the table, quietly listening
to nothing at all, her eyes
carving alibis
into each breath

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On termination.

Never
feels like a long time
to not check in
with someone who has
bared her soul, placed a
shakey heart in your hands
and asked you not to
drop it.

 

 

Soul on Fire

[The title for this poem was inspired by the Ferdinand Foch quote, “The most powerful weapon on earth is the human soul on fire,” as quoted recently by The Better Man Project Blog (here). Everything else is my own.]

First, the recurring
Exposure. The residual
Re-experiencing of a scene
Witnessed. Directly.
Lived. Personally.

The correlating stress:
Reactive. Dissociative.
Persistent. Intrusive. A heightened
Arousal.

A diagnosis: internalized.
Acutely disordered. Insecure.
Inhibited. Restricted social
Engagement. Avoidant attachment.
Neglect(ed).

She is remembering her
Self. Her soul is
On fire and this
tumble
of words
can’t describe the inflammation
caused by the friction
of her
still burning
trauma.

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for the light

There is a girl
sitting
in front of me.

There is a tear
slipping
down her face.

We meet each other here-
across a low table,
beneath a large clock.

We are repairing
something invisible
that only she can touch.

We are deciphering
a code
we can only read together.

Every week,
another teardrop
soaks into her cheek

and I imagine
it traveling
deep into her core,

where a small tree
is growing, and thirsting
for the light.

thirsting for the light