his voice doesn’t rise,
but something in his eyes changes,
just like that
in the way they suffocate her,
his words, precise,
his jaw muscles flexing and lips tightening to form
each
deliberate
syllable
his personality stretching and expanding to fill the vacuum left by her fear,
her retraction
her perceived nothingness
I looked at her, eyes the same as mine,
yet entirely different. Mine searched for truth, not rescue.
I couldn’t nod like I knew, couldn’t get angry, because it would make no difference. So I just listened.
Too often, my mother spoke about things I didn’t want to understand, but I knew her words needed somewhere to go, so I absorbed them through my skin, until my own breath tasted brackish.
I shelled it all in until I became little cracks, unobservable to the naked eye. A weeping window that grew opaque.
-image via Prexels
am I irrelevant?
I suppose asking that question
is like pissing in the wind,
when the answer is likely
to be twisted,
pointed back in my direction,
the wall of defense too thick,
when I’m left feeling peripheral,
in focus only when my voice is loud,
the squeaky wheel getting the grease,
a game of manipulation,
one I’m no longer willing to play,
when my thinking of you and hoping you’ll do the same becomes inconsequential,
exteraneous,
irrelevant
ash, blowing in the wind
-image via Pinterest, original source unknown
save it,
I’ve heard it all before
no need to back pedal,
or think so quickly on your toes,
trying to explainit all away with excuses
and beefy rationalizations
don’t you dare twist and pull
and try to point that poison
back at me
it’s not me,
it’s you
own it,
or walk away
because if you don’t,
I will
~image credit Pinterest, source unknown
please forgive me, for I have sinned,
it’s been so long since my last confession
on my knees, I poured out my heart,
but only left with more questions
the penance you gave, brought me no absolution,
I counted and prayed, slid the beads trough my fingers
yet the weight on my shoulders, just felt much heavier,
each step so wobbly, with a guilt that still lingers
what do you want from me?
haven’t I paid?
I walk with compassion,
on this ground that you paved
I give of my core, hope for each soul I encounter,
my heart is so open, it often gets crushed
and why, oh why, does it seem,
that my own voice is always hushed?
can you hear me?
do you care?
Oh, God – what if the one not listening,
is the me who’s too scared?
-image credit fineart-photos via Tumblr
Heart Breathings 